Maid for a Magnate

“Hey, Mum.”

“Sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I went out to breakfast with a friend.”

Catalina stepped from her bedroom and into the cozy living area. “No problem. I’ve been sewing all morning and lost track of time.”

“New designs?” her mother asked.

“Of course.” Catalina sank down onto her cushy sofa and curled her feet beneath her. “I actually have a new summery beach theme I’m working on. Trying to stay tropical and classy at the same time has proven to be more challenging than I thought.”

“Well, I know you can do it,” her mother said. “I wore that navy-and-gray-print skirt you made for me to breakfast this morning and my friend absolutely loved it. I was so proud to be wearing your design, darling.”

Catalina sat up straighter. “You didn’t tell her—”

“I did not,” her mother confirmed. “But I may have said it was from a new up-and-coming designer. I couldn’t help it, honey. I’m just so proud of you and I know you’ll take the fashion world by storm once you leave Alma.”

Just the thought of venturing out on her own, taking her secret designs and her life dream and putting herself out there had a smile spreading across her face as nerves danced in her belly. The thought of someone looking over her designs with a critical eye nearly crippled her, but she wouldn’t be wielding toilet wands for the rest of her life.

“I really think I’ll be ready in a couple of months,” Catalina stated, crossing back to survey her inventory on the shelves. “Saying a timeframe out loud makes this seem so real.”

Her mother laughed. “This is your dream, baby girl. You go after it and I’ll support you all the way. You know I want you out from under the Rowlings’ thumb.”

Catalina swallowed as she zeroed in on the lace and pulled it from the pile. “I know. Don’t dwell on that, though. I’m closer to leaving every day.”

“Not soon enough for me,” her mother muttered.

Catalina knew her mother hated Patrick Rowling. Their affair years ago was still a secret and the only reason Catalina knew was because when she’d been dumped by Will and was sobbing like an adolescent schoolgirl, her mother had confessed. Maria Iberra was a proud woman and Catalina knew it had taken courage to disclose the affair, but Maria was dead set on her daughter truly understanding that the Rowling men were only after one thing and they were ruthless heartbreakers. Feelings didn’t exist for those men, save for James, who seemed to be truly in love and determined to make Bella happy.

But Patrick was ruthless in everything and Will had followed suit. So why was he still pursuing her? She just wanted a straight answer. If he just wanted sex, she’d almost wish he’d just come out and say it. She’d take honesty over adult games any day.

Before she could respond to her mother, Catalina’s doorbell rang. “Mum, I’ll call you back. Someone is at my door.”

She disconnected the call and pocketed her cell in her smock pocket. She’d taken to wearing a smock around her waist to keep pins, thread, tiny scissors and random sewing items easily accessible. Peeking through the peephole, Catalina only saw a vibrant display of flowers.

Flicking the deadbolt, she eased the door open slightly. “Yes?”

“Catalina Iberra?”

“That’s me.”

The young boy held onto the crystal vase with two hands and extended it toward her. “Delivery for you.”

Opening the door fully, she took the bouquet and soon realized why this boy had two hands on it. This thing was massive and heavy.

“Hold on,” she called around the obscene arrangement. “Let me give you a tip.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but that was already taken care of. You have a nice day.”

Catalina stepped back into her apartment, kicked the door shut with her foot and crossed the space to put the vase on her coffee table. She stood back and checked out various shades and types of flowers. Every color seemed to be represented in the beautiful arrangement. Catalina couldn’t even imagine what this cost. The vase alone, made of thick, etched glass, appeared to be rather precious.

A white envelope hung from a perfectly tied ribbon around the top of the vase. She tugged on the ribbon until it fell free and then slid the small envelope off. Pulling the card out and reading it, her heart literally leapt up into her throat. Think of me. W.

Catalina stared at the card, and then back at the flowers. Suddenly they weren’t as pretty as they’d been two minutes ago. Did he seriously think she’d fall for something as cliché as flowers? Please. And that arrogant message on the card was utterly ridiculous.