The Pretend Fiancé

“I won’t. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

“That’s my girl. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Bella hung up the phone and pondered about her current predicament. No matter what, she’d triumph over chaos.

Chapter 2

She went back to the apartment she shared with two other girls and started searching for jobs. The possibilities locally were slim, since she couldn’t operate a bucket truck and she didn’t have a beautician’s license. She didn’t qualify for the four hundred clinical trial for constipation and being a dishwasher or carwash attendant didn’t pay enough. She did a quick Google search to see if she could learn how to install hardwood flooring by watching a YouTube video but it seemed too complicated, otherwise, she could have applied for ‘experienced floor installer hardwood’ and made twelve bucks an hour. She should have been training in tire and lube skills, she decided and cast a wider net on location for job openings.

The new search offered her not only jobs as a surrogate mother or an Uber driver (didn’t want to rent out her uterus and didn’t own a car), but also something low paying called an inventory control specialist. Probably someone who has to count the Milky Ways and Slim Jims at the checkout every night to make sure no one stole any. Some of the ads, which promised opportunity for massive wealth were obviously shady. Others, she wondered about. Like the one for the live-in maid. She read it over six times, trying to find the catch. Then she called her little sister Madison for input.

“Hey, I’m making salads. What’s up?”

“Why are you making salads? I thought you were a sous chef?”

“I am. That’s what we do. Sous is apparently French for loser, and that’s the kind of work I get to do at minimum wage. So much for learning to pan sear sea bass. It’s crouton duty for me.”

“Once you finish cooking school, it’ll be different. You’ll see. I wanted your opinion on something.”

“First I have to get into cooking school and be able to pay for it.”

“Right. Well, you know the motel is going out of business, and I need a new gig. So I was looking on Craig’s List—”

“Wait. No dating guys from there. You’ll end up on the damn news as ‘the body of an unidentified girl’.”

“Not dating, job ads.”

“Right. You’re still in Arkansas. So what is there? You can sell Avon or you can be a truck driver.”

“Not true. Tire and lube work, too.”

“You don’t know how to do that.”

“I know. Thing is, I’m not tied to Arkansas. I mean, you moved to Tulsa, and I can finish school anywhere. So I looked out west. And I found this ad for a maid.”

“A maid? Don’t you mean cleaning ladies?”

“Not when they live ‘on the estate.’”

“Estate? Or brothel? This could be one of those rich guys with the kinky dungeons or something.”

“You loved that movie. And besides, it’s room and board plus salary, and I already know how to clean. For the kind of money it pays, I’d even do windows and polish silver.”

“Read me the ad.”

“Do you have time?” Bella asked.

“Yes. Just read. I can sprinkle shredded cheese without total concentration.”

“Okay, it says, ‘live-in maid needed for Phoenix estate, cleaning and laundry tasks as assigned, under direct supervision of the head housekeeper. $48,000/yr plus room and board.’”

“Hell, I’ll go clean his house for that. Anyway, it’s probably not legit. Probably some dude who wants to chase you around while you both wear French maid uniforms.”

“I checked it out, and it’s legit. The woman running it also works for some charity. I Googled the charity and it does a lot of good things for kids. And I saw lots of pictures of her. So she’s real.”

“Well, I don’t think she’d work for a creepy old man.”