Page 16 of Longing for Liberty

NINE

STATE NEWS: COMMUNITY THREE WOMAN IN STOCKS AFTER SHARING PORNOGRAPHIC IMAGE!

To my relief, Secretary Fitzhugh did not come to the penthouse the next couple of days while I was there.

Since he’d given me permission to take off my shoes while I worked, I was able to get everything done early and didn’t have aching legs and feet each day.

No wonder maids were getting plantar fasciitis, though they didn’t call it that.

They just limped around with their face in permanent winces.

Cleaning in heels was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard of.

With a belly full of rich foods like pancakes and thick bacon or French toast and ham, I left work on those days feeling strong and accomplished.

I loved being able to tell Jeremy that Fitzhugh wasn’t there and to watch his shoulders and face relax.

Perhaps the Secretary had realized I was boring and trustworthy and didn’t need to come home to check on things. I let that idea fuel me.

My libido had not lessened, which was so insanely out of the ordinary for me.

Twice that week after being awoken by the spotlight, I’d reached out for Jeremy and we’d come together in the darkness, half asleep but frantic for each other.

It felt like my body was having its last big hoorah, wanting me to reproduce again.

I guess it hadn’t gotten the memo about my tubes being tied.

And while it felt nice to feel alive in that way, it was also a constant distraction to think of sex all the time. Good grief.

On Friday, the Secretary broke his cycle of not coming home, arriving at three-thirty in the afternoon with his laptop.

He barely acknowledged me, seeming preoccupied, which was good.

Linens were almost dry, so all I needed to do was make his dinner and his bed.

I washed my hands and started prepping the food.

A gorgeous marbled piece of steak with a potato and broccoli.

I cleaned the potato, poked it with a knife, and stuck it in the microwave.

Then I seasoned the steak, let it sit to get to room temp, and got a pot of water ready to steam the veggies.

This was the first time I’d felt semi-comfortable while the Secretary had been home.

We both worked in silence. Soon the penthouse smelled like sizzling beef.

I’d learned years ago how to cook a medium steak because that’s how my dad liked his.

I pressed the center until it had the slightest give, then took it off to rest. When everything was finished, I had twenty minutes to make his bed.

Perfect timing. I wondered if I should bring the plate to him now and was about to ask if he was ready for dinner when I noticed he was no longer sitting there.

I listened carefully but heard nothing. Had he left?

I put the plate in the microwave so it wouldn’t get cold while I made his bed. Gathering the sheets and blanket, his bedroom door was wide open. I poked my head in and found it empty.

By that point, my heart was racing yet again. I rushed to his bed and dropped the linens just as I heard the shower turn on. My face spun toward the closed bathroom door, and I gaped, horrified. The Secretary was showering. A single door separated me from a naked Fitzhugh.

Shit!

I needed to get out of here. Jeremy could shower in two or three minutes. Maybe the Secretary would take longer since he had more body mass and hair, not to mention warm water. So that gave me how long? Five minutes, maybe?

I fumbled to find the edges of the fitted sheet and began racing around the bed, pulling it taut with my shaking arms. Next, I found the bottom of the flat sheet, telling myself over and over to focus and calm down.

I was fanning out the sheet when the water stopped and the blood drained from my extremities, making my hands tingle.

It seemed the faster I tried to go, the more I messed up.

I could hear him moving around in there as I finally got the top sheet smooth and grasped the plush blanket.

I decided then, fuck it. I wasn’t going to finish the bed yet. He could walk out at any second, and I couldn’t take that chance. I would come back in to finish once he was dressed and out of the bedroom, even if it meant going past five o’clock. I turned to flee when the bathroom door flung open.

I should have kept moving, but I froze.

I shouldn’t have looked, but I did.

It was one second. One long second, taking in an eyeful of Amos Fitzhugh, his bare, broad chest with a patch of dark hair in the middle, massively defined arms, and wet hair that hung down his forehead.

I’d never seen his hair not done. And around his waist was a white towel, tied tightly around his lower waist, and a bulge with a distinct outline—holy shit.

I looked away. That one second of gawking was way, way too intimate.

I started to move, rushing toward the door with an awkward, “So sorry, sir,” but he stepped out to block me. I looked to the side. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way, Liberty.”

“I…” Oh, no. I was tingling all over again, starting at the back of my neck and zinging down, then around, making my skin too sensitive. “I’ll come back.” It came out like a choked whisper.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

No. I didn’t want to. My eyes went to the floor on each side of his bare feet, then the wall, to the ceiling, bypassing his body, then down to his eyes. Damn him! Why did he keep looking at me like that?

“I make you nervous,” he observed.

I didn’t need to confirm.

“It’s not…proper, sir. To be in here with you.” But he knew that. He’d help make the rules.

Slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back, never breaking eye contact.

“I know you’re a good girl,” he said. The tingles razed my skin like wildfire, my breath catching. “And though I’ve tried to outrun my reputation from my younger years, it seems to have stuck.”

“I’m married,” I said, stupidly, because of course he knew that.

“So am I,” he reminded me. “And would you believe if I told you I’ve never been unfaithful?”

I studied his expression, which was dead serious. Could that be true? I looked to the side at the floor again. I would not, under any circumstances, look at that fucking towel.

A dry, unamused huff of laughter came up from his chest, sounding almost angry. “At some point, I have to wonder why I bother being good when everyone assumes the worst.”

How was I supposed to respond to such personal, inappropriate comments?

I was frozen. He had to realize these rules had been pounded into my brain the past six years, harped on every Sunday at church, and I’d watched countless women be marched to the stockades and left for days for something as simple as looking at a married man for too long.

“Liberty.” The sound of my full name in his voice, over and over, it was doing things to me.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I clamped my teeth together and forced my eyes to his bright blue ones again.

When I did, he took a slow step toward me.

I instinctively took a step back, like a dance.

Three more steps and my lower back hit his bed’s footboard.

I leaned back as he leaned in, placing both hands on either side of me, grasping the footboard by my hips and getting his face within three inches of mine.

My breathing was ragged and shallow, my hands at my sides in loose fists.

The Secretary leaned down beside my face and pressed his cheek to mine, aligning his lips with my ear.

“Do you want me?” he whispered.

Wetness pooled in my panties, and I wanted to whimper with shame.

“I’ve…never cheated,” I whispered back. “I don’t want to do that.”

He pulled back to look me in the eye again. “That wasn’t my question.” He paused. When I didn’t respond, he said, “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t sense that you felt the same.”

Oh, God.

Fight or flight. My wings twitched.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, sir.” I tore my gaze abruptly to the side. “Your steak is in the microwave. May I go?”

He removed his hands, uncaging me, and I slipped away.

I rushed from his room, grabbing everything from the kitchen, then snatching up my shoes and stockings before running from the penthouse.

In the elevator, I furiously yanked on my stockings as fast as I could before I remembered I hadn’t finished making his bed. But I couldn’t go back now.

I chanted calming things to myself as I left the building and hurried straight to the maid’s office, tearing off my apron. My boss was alone.

“Kathy!”

She jerked up from behind the counter when she heard me, and I watched her expression change from worried to stern.

“What is it?” she asked.

I was sweating now, from practically every pore, and felt the beginnings of a stupid fucking panic attack. “I c-can’t do this. You have to switch me.” My whole body physically shook as I leaned against the counter with both hands.

Her jaw set hard, lips pursed. “You can and you will, Libby.”

“No…” Oh, dear God, I was about to cry.

Kathy grabbed my wrists and leaned across the counter. “Would you have one of the younger girls in there again? Hm?”

A new sensation came over me when she said that.

Was I to believe he didn’t sleep with his other maids and was behaving badly just for me?

That was laughable, though he seemed so sincere.

But if he was a really good liar, and I made Kathy put one of the younger girls in there again…

ugh . Fear for me switched to fear for them. Someone had to do this.

“Isn’t there anyone…older?”

She shook her head. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you are the oldest. Three other maids older than you developed feet and leg issues in the past year and had to be moved to culinary.”

I closed my eyes as the reality crashed over me.

“Pull yourself together, Libby,” she hissed under her breath.

I nodded as I took three deep, calming breaths. I was a grown woman. So many of these maids were barely more than children. They should have been in college or working fun jobs of their choice. I couldn’t put this on one of them.

Something was happening between Amos Fitzhugh and me that was deeply unsettling, and I didn’t think it would go away on its own.

Not until he got what he wanted. This wasn’t like the old days when people could quit a job and sue their boss.

I had to face this. No escape and nobody to save me. I had to handle it.

“Okay,” I finally said, trying to be strong.

“Okay?” she asked. “All better?”

I gave her a tight smile and a nod. “Yes. I’m okay.”

Her grip on my wrists loosened, and her eyes softened. “Go on home now, honey.”

My mom always called me honey. For the briefest of seconds, I felt comforted.

I held it together as I left the office and walked the crowded sidewalk to the bus stop until it was my turn to climb on. All around me the people were quiet, smelling of stale sweat, and I wondered if any of them were also holding back sobs.

At home, I walked in like a zombie and found Jeremy sitting at the table, waiting.

He took one look at me, and his whole demeanor stiffened into fight mode, his shoulders rounding and chest flexing.

He came over, taking me into his arms, holding me a little too tight.

He whispered into my ear so low I could scarcely make out the words.

“Did he touch you?”

The question felt like my heart was scraped across gravel. I shook my head against his chest and whispered, “No…”

But when I slowly pulled back and our eyes met, a horrified realization seemed to pass between us as we shared the silent words that both of us were powerless against.

Not yet.