The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Twenty: The Bold, The Beautiful And The Badass

*Dedicated to GoldenParadiseLost for making me an awesome variety of covers for TMMM! =)

A/N: Hello everyone! Glad to see you're still here as Charlotte's adventures in love and life continue...

For those who'd been asking for Brandon's POV, I'm not going to write them into this book at all but I've been writing separate entries for him in a diary/journal format in the Facebook fan page for The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield. The link's in my profile page so for those who want to peek into Brandon's side of things, check that out.

Hope you like this chapter. As always, I appreciate your votes and comments. 

I update this story on a weekly basis so for those who get a little impatient waiting, maybe check out Virtue and Vice (completed) if you haven't read it yet. It's a little more intense than this book but I've been told it's pretty sweet too.

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This day was probably never going to end.

At least it seemed like it because the ‘accidents’ kept happening, even after that short rendezvous I had with Brandon on the dance floor.

Someone must have been an active prankster as a child and kept a journal (or a running tally) of their best ones to use as future reference. Quantity didn’t always equate to quality but since I was the recipient of such abysmal tricks, I wouldn’t complain.

After finding worms in my tea cup earlier, I decided not to take anything from the servers anymore. I didn’t want anyone to get fired—yet. Maybe I had too soft a heart. Or maybe, I just had high tolerance because seriously, this wasn't the worse I've had in my life. These tricks were just annoying but they couldn't get under my skin—not yet. 

Even though my tormentors lacked imagination, or actually had a surplus of it in kindergarten-quality, they still managed to improvise.

While in the washroom inside Clifton House, I got locked in the stall. The mechanism locked from the inside but the knob wasn’t budging and I didn’t want to break anything (or my hand trying) so I crawled on the floor under the door since the walls were too high for me to climb. A couple of older women had walked in on me on all fours, halfway out from under the stall door. 

Thank God I didn't have to explain because they saw a piece of what looked like a thick wad of chewing gum that was wedged in the little gap on the fancy knob that moved from Vacant to Engaged. The gum held the catch in place that you couldn't unhook it and flick it back to Vacant from the inside.

The two women gave me sympathetic looks but didn’t say anything.

I was washing my hands when I pumped out some soap from one of the corner dispensers and found that it wasn't soap at all but some water with some kind of synthetic dye that stained my hand a dark green color. 

I tried the other dispensers and saw that they had also been tampered with. 

I stopped the two other women from using them when they came out of the stalls to wash their hands. 

“Someone probably accidentally refilled it with the wrong thing,” I had told them with a casual shrug as I sniffed my hands, cringing at the strong scent of ammonia. “From the smell of it, it’s probably plant food or something similar. I’d always wanted a green thumb—not a pair of green hands.”

“Will you be okay?” one of them asked.

I grinned and grabbed a few sheets of paper towel and thrust them under running water. “Oh, yeah. I occasionally garden. I can handle this, don’t you worry.”