Challenge The Proud

Mr. Conor and Amada

"She's a maniac, on the mop." - Challenge No.12 

HE DIDN'T LIKE AMADA. 

Connor Grant had hired a maid to clean his five-bedroom house, two times a week, because he lacked the time and inclination to keep his large home tidy, and he liked things to be just so, spotless, proper and orderly. Out of all the women who had come to interview for the job, he had settled on the young brunette with a Spanish accent and a big smile - Amada Rojo.

Connor lit up a cigarette and looked over his shoulder toward the pool area where he thought he'd heard the door. He had no peace when the maid was there. Amada stepped outside the house wielding a broom, with headphones in her ears and a playful hum accompanying her every gesture. She started to sweep the terrace, not sparing a glance in Connor's direction, and he was thankful she hadn't noticed him - a middle-aged man hiding to smoke, behind the tall bushes in his yard like a teenager.

He had given up smoking, but not really, not entirely, not when he was stressed from work. Connor had just lost two million in shares and he had three weeks to win them back. That alone was grounds for enjoying a nice, quiet, calming cigarette. But with that pesky humming and those perky movements only twenty feet away, Connor could barely keep from yelling at her, at himself and at the beautiful, calm sunset before him.

With a stomp and a sigh, Connor put out the cigarette and proceeded along the tall bushes and around his house, unwilling to face the maid at that time. He entered the house through the front door and headed straight into his office where he sat in his chair groaning with relief. Finally, he was alone and could now focus on what was important - market margins.

But as Connor leaned over his desk, he desperately noticed that his pen holder was on the left, his notebook, on top of the daily planner to the right, his paper clips were also in the wrong place, his reading glasses weren't in their usual spot either - nothing was as he expected! And why were there flowers in that vase?

"Mr. Connor?" Amada spoke just as he was growling under his breath, glaring at the cheerful but useless daisies that adorned the vase on his desk.

"Yes," was his dry reply and Connor shifted his attention to the short brunette standing in the doorway with a mop in her hand.

"You don't like the flowers?" She stepped inside the office.

"No."

"Who doesn't like flowers?"

"I don't. And stop rearranging my desk. I like it a certain way. Pen holder on the right - I'm right-handed - and my notebook always on the left, near the paper clips. Please, don't insist on shuffling things around."

Connor wasn't yelling at Amada. He was speaking coldly and distantly, as if stating facts, but his tone carried a certain demanding note that would settle for nothing less than perfection. He thought he held his temper well. It was important that he behaved properly at all times and he managed to do just that. Then why was she looking at him like that?

Amada's pressed lips, furrowing brows and momentary silence suggested he had managed to offend her somehow. After a moment she nodded as if she was doing him a favor.

"I understand," she said and turning around she concluded with a shrug of helpless surprise. "You hate the flowers."

While she left him alone, going back to her chores, Connor listened astonished as Amada continued to speak in Spanish which he didn't understand, but he easily picked up on her tone - she was angry with him.

Connor stood up meaning to go after the short girl and confront her. Why was Amada taking offense? What was she angry about when, out of the two of them, he was the one whose desk had been rummaged?