Emma spent most of the night cleaning up broken glass from the floor with a broom and dustpan that she found in a cabinet under the sink, lamenting all the mistakes and regrets that she’d had in life as she did so. She couldn’t even begin to deal with the congestion of emotions that were churning inside of her, so she chose to focus on cleaning and regretting basically every wrong turn she’d taken in life to bring her to this moment here today.
She was too wired to sleep, especially after having taken that disastrously long nap, and was also buzzing with a certain degree of paranoia that she couldn’t shake off. The only comforting reassurance in any of this was that there was a cop car stationed right outside her driveway, and so if anybody came back to assess the result of their vandalism, they’d catch him.
It took hours until all the shattered glass was in the trash and it was only after she was sure the floor wasn’t a dangerous walking hazard that she began to work on dusting away the cushion feathers, pulling away the ripped fabric from furniture and repositioning the dining room table. Whoever had done this had broken one of the legs but it still managed to stand up straight. She probably wouldn’t put any food on it anytime soon, until she managed to find something to put under the broken leg.
It was two-thirty in the morning until the living room looked somewhat normal. Her back ached from how much she’d been kneeling on the floor, scrubbing, cleaning, and wiping, and all she wanted to do was sit down. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked so hard in her life, and it felt like her body was going on autopilot.
She didn’t know what to do with the ripped cushions or sofa covers, but there was no way she was going to spend another hour staring at the graphited carpets. There was one, dark red one in the center of the living room near the fireplace, and another near the kitchen. One by one, she rolled them up and pushed them to the side of the room.
Finally, she was done. She looked around for the first time, taking in her dad’s house, albeit a little emptier than it had been when she’d first walked in.
For the first time since this entire debacle had begun, she took a moment to pause and simply absorb her surroundings.
The sofa was a deep burgundy, not really matching anything else in the house. A forlorn looking rocking chair was perched by an over-used fire place, its pit charred black from ashes and burnt wood. The mantle of the fireplace was lined with odd fishing memorabilia; a framed anchor, little seashells and an old photo of the different types of sailing knots you could make. The paintings that she hadn’t seen on her way in, that vandal had spared for some reason, were also of the sea, or the harbor, and one was of the lighthouse that she could see from the kitchen window.
The hardwood below her was old and creaked with every footstep, and all of the walls were painted a pale white. Beside the boxed TV-set were program guides, dating back years, so she assumed her dad had been a fan of whatever came on during primetime. She idly walked into the kitchen to see there was an odd sense of emptiness in here; no coffee pot, one frying pan, and a rickety looking tap that hadn’t stopped dripping since she’d arrived. If she hadn’t been standing at that exact spot, she might have missed it, but she spotted the edge of a little photo peeking out from under a broken drawer.
She realized it was jammed when she pulled it at first, so she knocked it a few times with her fist until it gave way and swung open.
The drawer was stock full of papers, but she shuffled through them until she found what she’d seen. A photograph that had slipped through a crack at the bottom of the drawer.
She felt something sit heavily on her heart as she found herself staring into a photo of herself around the age of four, sitting carelessly on her dad’s lap. They were by the harbor, she was wearing a yellow frock and he had on his favorite baseball hat. She’d be lying if she said she remembered this day. She didn’t remember much about her dad at all. But seeing that he’d kept this photo, and so very clearly died alone with nobody to even collect his belongings, made it feel like something was stuck in her throat.
She suddenly found she was holding back tears, and no matter how many times she tried to blink them away, they kept reappearing.
God, she was losing the plot.
She managed to make it back to the living room to shut off the lights when she realized that the tears had made it past her eyes and down her cheeks and it very much felt like her chest was shuddering with a need to dislodge the sobs trapped in her ribcage.
Damn it. She said to no one in particular.
In the darkness of the living room, safe from the protection of anyone who might see, she allowed herself to pause, sit on the bottom step of the staircase, and do what she always strictly prohibited herself from doing. Allowing herself to give in to the vulnerability that she’d been feeling for weeks now, and burdened by everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, she finally let herself give into her emotions and cry.
She’d let it all out now, and go straight back to dealing with her life tomorrow.
xx.
Emma slept in the same room as the night before, having taken a liking to the odd overly feminine pattern on the bedcovers and the simple wallpaper of pale blue daisies and lilacs. Although she didn’t even want to think about a certain man whose name started with an H and ended with asshole, she set the alarm for six – which was three hours from now. She’d effectively blocked out all thoughts of him and everything he had said for the evening, but she’d wake up and glance at the contract that sat on the chest of draws before deciding if she was going to hand herself in to county jail to escape him.
When she awoke, it was still dark outside and she was absolutely freezing. Shivering, she shuffled inside her duffel bag until she found a thick sweater and pulled it over her head as she navigated the upstairs hallway to find a bathroom.
On her ever growing list of itineraries that began with a) find a job, b) find a second job, she needed to also find out how the heating worked in this house and how to get the water heater going. She’d realized yesterday that only cold water was running through the pipes and she wasn’t sure that she could last another day without showering.
After having postponed it as much as possible, and prepared with a cup of rancid coffee, she sat on the bed and read Hunter’s godforsaken contract.
General Terms
This is a contract between the two parties Hunter Stone and Emma Adenson.
The indebted, Emma Adenson, will repay her sum of three thousand and forty dollars, to her lender Hunter Stone, through the form of manual services. She will work eight hours a day, five days a week, for a total of 19 dollars an hour.
Her services include, but are not limited to cleaning, cooking, washing, attending her lender’s phone calls while he is away, grocerying, the maintenance of his car etc.
She is to attend work at 7.30AM Monday-Friday, and can leave at 3.30PM. She can leave early if Hunter Stone’s shift ends earlier, although this is not to be expected as a regular occurrence.
Sick days are allowed, however, Emma Adenson must provide proof that she is too unwell to work. Vacation days are a no-no, unless it’s a national holiday; the two parties can negotiate the particulars of that closer to the day.
Should Emma Adenson fail to comply with the terms of this contract, Hunter Stone has the right to terminate her services within a one-day notice, and reassess the method in which Emma Adenson will repay her loan.
She looked at the bottom of the page at where he had left a place for her to sign, and didn’t know whether she should laugh, cry, or both.
She found herself doing neither. She’d cried enough last night, and actually felt too drained to give that road another go. And if she laughed – well, she hadn’t lost it so completely just yet.
So she gave a dry smile at his gall. The guy had nerve, and for some reason, he had it out for her. But there was no way was okay with any of this. Nineteen dollars an hour would have been perfect had it not been for something she never signed up to pay for. At this rate, she would be working for him for about a month and a week. She had other loans to repay, bills to think of and there was no way she could work eight hours a day for him if she needed to sign up for two other jobs.
No, Hunter Stone was going to get as good as he got.
Emma got dressed quickly (it wasn’t as if she had that many clothes to choose from), and quickly applied some dry-shampoo in an attempt to disguise the grease building up in her hair. After layering up with a sweater, a jacket and a scarf, she pulled on her winter boots and got walking. The cop-on-duty seemed surprise to see her up and about so early, but he gave her a nod as she walked by.
It took forty minutes to reach his house, and her cheeks were pink from the exertion as she climbed the hill to get to his little man-cave. She hadn’t walked this much, at so early an hour, for years, and her chest actually hurt from the fresh, cold air.
She was surprised to see how many people were awake at this hour, despite it being pitch-black outside. She’d received more stares and more silent glances that lingered, and she assumed that word of the break-in had spread.
She pushed those thoughts to the back of her head and braced herself. If only Emma from a year ago could see herself now. If she’d known that within 12 months, she’d be ready to go head to head with a cop in her hometown, she would’ve laughed. It was insane how quickly tables turned.
He opened the door before she had the chance to even knock.
“You’re late,” was all he said as he opened the door to let her in.
At the sight of him, she couldn’t help but feel a sexual spark shoot through her abdomen, hot and headily. He was still getting ready, in the process of buttoning up his shirt and she’d caught a glance of his toned, muscular abdomen. She hated that she found him attractive.
And also hated the fact that he’d caught her checking him out.
“I’d have gotten here faster if my car hadn’t been towed away,” she drawled quickly to cover it up, although the smug satisfaction on his face proved that he hadn’t missed a thing. “I’m not going to sign that contract.”
He finished fastening the last button and then closed the door behind her to block out the chilly wind. She caught a whiff of his cologne; a musk of spice, cedar and wood. “So you’re coming into the station with me?” He was entirely unfazed by her comment, and simply pulled on his leather jacket. “Suits me just fine.”
“We’re negotiating.”
He raised an eyebrow, “are we now?”
“I can’t survive on working for you eight hours a day, every day, five days a week for nineteen dollars an hour.”
He gave a careless shrug, cocking his head to the side in an annoyingly, analytical way. “I don’t see how this is my concern.”
“Four days a week, at 25 dollars an hour.”
He actually gave a small smile, “why on earth would I agree to that?”
“Because you’re doing this to torture me for grudge you had against my dad, and I wouldn’t have this bill to pay if it wasn’t for you to begin with.”
“Those are all conjectures,” he walked into his kitchen to get some coffee, and she followed him. She couldn’t help but felt a pang of wistfulness as she smelled the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. “And your car was a ticking time bomb. I did you a favor.”
“I need a day off to look for other part time work. Do you want me to literally starve to death?” she was playing the guilt card here, and she was doing it shamelessly so.
And he was fully aware of that, “Five days, 22 dollars, you can have breakfast here.”
“You’re a real prince charming, you know that?”
“Ladies love that about me.”
“Sure they do, it’s why you’re still single, am I right? “ She didn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth until she heard them straight with her own ears.
And they struck a nerve, indeed. He took a swig of his coffee, watching her with those wolf-like blue eyes of his from above his coffee cup before walking to where she stood by the kitchen counter.
She didn’t back down. She didn’t know where she had mustered up this courage of hers, but she stayed there, adamantly holding his gaze. He came close enough to nudge up her face by her chin, his fingers dangerously close to the quiver of her pulse at her throat.
His eyes crinkled into a devilish smile, “right. Why don’t you tell me other thing that are wrong with me, and we’ll fix them together?”
She didn’t rise to the bait nor did she miss the sudden sexual innuendo he was implying. He gave her one steady look before letting go of her chin, placing the keys on the counter behind her, and stepping back.
“Get working. My house is a mess.”
With that, he sauntered outside of his house, closing the door behind him.
Emma took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.
Why did she suddenly feel like red riding hood, in a very dangerous game with the big, bad wolf?
Xx
It was only twenty minutes after he’d gone that she realized that she hadn’t managed to negotiate the contract to what she’d wanted. She was still working five days a week, for a rate that would only shave off a week of the original five weeks he had her working here, and still doing all these mindless chores she had no desire to. She’d have to re-negotiate, because he needed to understand she simply couldn’t waste her time doing this - it wasn’t an option. She still had the contract unsigned, and she’d make sure to change more clauses before putting her signature on that thing.
After shaking off the sudden weakness she’d felt in the knees, she begrudgingly stood in the kitchen for a good thirty minutes before she turned on the tap and began to wash his dishes. She still couldn’t believe she was doing this – especially since she’d stomped all over here with the intention of rearranging the contract whatsoever. How had he managed to leave without letting her change a thing?
She’d managed to get through two dishes before she stopped, looked back at the counter, and within three minutes, she was drinking her first good cup of coffee since she’d been in town. He wouldn’t notice.
On that thought…
Within another few minutes, she was at his dinette, eating eggs and toast, and reading the Harbordale daily. She’d make sure to clear any and all evidence that she’d helped herself to his food, but it had been too good of an idea to pass off and she held zero sense of loyalty to that man.
After she’d eaten, read about the local fishing news and gossip, washed the plates and the rest of his dishes, she began to feel the effects of only having slept for three hours the night before.
She really needed to get her sleeping schedule in control.
Despite the aches and yawns, she found a towel, a bucket to fill with water, and began working on the kitchen. It was by no means dirty, but it had been neglected, with a few stains here and there.
God, this was degrading.
She convinced herself this was just like any other job. An exchange of work for money. Nothing else.
She didn’t really know what she was even doing. But she began scrubbing, drying, wiping, mopping, soaping, until she felt her hands were about to fall off.
By the time she was done with the kitchen, it smelled like sunflowers had shit all over the place, and looked like every surface was shining. She dropped to the floor, sat by the sink, and rested her head against the kitchen counter, exhausted to the bone.
It had only been an hour and a half, but she felt spent.
As she sat there, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to take a few minutes of rest.
The next thing she knew, she felt her legs firmly wrapped around the hard edges of his waist, the heat of his breath on the crevice of her neck as his fingers roughly pulled her shirt over her head. He lifted her gently to pull away the fabric before she was firmly pushed back onto the soft mattress below, his body quickly covering hers.
She felt the weight of him, of that, press against her through his jeans and she held in a guttural moan. Instead she leaned up to catch his lips in between her teeth, and bit. He pulled back, and then nipped at her ear, his tongue hot as it stroked her ear lobe. His another hand trailed down her bare stomach, leaving chills as he slowly pried his fingers below the band of her underwear.
Emma jumped up awake, knocking over the mop that lay perched against the counter. It cluttered to the floor noisily, knocking over the bucket of water that spilled its content over the floors. “Shit!” she exclaimed breathily, trying to gather herself as she stood up before the soapy water could seep into her clothes.
Oh god. She’d dozed off, for a few minutes.
That wasn’t all that concerned her though. What worried her more, was that she’d just had wet dream.
Of a man that had technically become her boss.
She stood there, holding her head as if awaking from a bad nightmare.
Sleep deprivation was literally playing games with her head now.