A Maid For Mr. Arrogant

Chapter 1

"No listen to me, I'll have the money by the end of the week—no, that's not possible—but I have it, just not with me." As I pulled of the highway late Friday afternoon I was having my usual conversation with my bank representative. Honestly half the time it seemed these people didn't have a heart. I knew I was behind on my payments. I knew the bank would be forced to begin the repo process within the fortnight. I knew the bankruptcy documents were still sitting on the coffee table in the living room of my modest third floor apartment that overlooked the rundown neighbourhood I'd come to call home. Why Mr. Adleson thought I needed a bi-weekly reminder of this was beyond me. They acted as if I never paid them, as if the months I did manage to pay out where nothing but a distant past that had nothing to do with my today. It just so happened that I was just finding it a bit difficult to make all my payments, through no fault of my own. Things had been tight since I left my mother's house about a year ago. I'd only just turned 18 and if I could help it I was never going back.

I was never an ungrateful child. Even after leaving, I could admit my mother did the best she could with what little she had. The problem wasn't her; it was the questionable men she always seemed to invite into her life. They never failed to drive an irrevocable wedge further and further between us. By the time I'd made up my mind to leave, I could do little more than offer her a hug and the promise of an occasional call to alert her of the fact I was still breathing.

"Ms. Cameron, you have to understand that we give deadlines for a reason."

"Well yeah, so you can suck the little that the poor have left right from under their ass before they can find an opportunity to right their situations. I get it, if we fail to pay it works out way better for you guys."

"Ms. Cameron—"

"Save it. Can I have the extension or not?"

"I'm sorry, no." Sorry my ass. There wasn't a hint of sympathy in his voice. For as much sensitivity and interaction training as these representatives received, it never ceased to amaze me how pretentious they tended to sound when it came to the part where they were meant to get down to the customer's level and empathize. I suppose I couldn't expect better. What did they know about dodgy apartments in the worst part of town? How versed were they on the subject of thin walls that alerted you to your neighbour's every moan when you wanted nothing more than to permanently plug your ears? Could they fathom the idea of a ramen noodle nightly diet?

In my frustration I slammed the phone down. The conversation was going nowhere but hell and I was unwilling to accompany it there. It was only belatedly that I realized my foot had also been slammed hard—against the gas pedal as my rotten luck would have it. By the time I could understand what was happening and make a shuffle for the brakes, it was too late. My front end had already unceremoniously rammed into the back of what looked like a new Audi.

Brilliant; absolutely great. I found myself praying against all else that whoever was inside hadn't been hurt. I was positive my insurance policy wouldn't' be enough to cover both vehicles in addition to any grievous injury that might have come from this. At present, I couldn't afford to hurt and neither could whoever might have been inside—unless they were willing to go dutch.

The door flew open and a man in an sleek, expensive looking suit stormed out. The force with which he exited the vehicle left me at a loss for several seconds; so much so that at first I didn't realize he was the man I'd seen in all those magazines; the incredibly rich one. There was just no way... It couldn't be . . . what were the odds of running into him on a nearly deserted highway? Of all the poor sods I could have rammed into, the universe shook its surprise bag with extra vigor and drew him. One thing was certain, he looked absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt pissed.