Page 12 of Married in Michigan

“Harry confirmed it, after I knocked his fucking veneers down his fake-tanned throat.”

“He was just trying to pass the buck, Paxton.”

“She’ll suck as many dicks as it takes to get her fifteen minutes of fame, Mom. She’d trade her soul for likes on Instagram. She’d send her entire family to a mass grave if it meant being more relevant than Kim Kardashian.”

“Paxton!” A whip of a command. “Enough. There may be bad blood between you, but that’s going too far.”

“Okay, fine—she’d sell herparents. Maybe not the entire family.”

“Paxton!”

“I’m not doing it, Mother! I’ll live under an underpass before I’ll go near her.” His voice is hard as steel, and as icy as his mother’s. “Trust me on this one: Iwillnotmarry Cecily—no matter the cost.”

“Then you’d better bring your own girl, Paxton, because this is nonnegotiable. Cecily, a Kardashian, a hooker from one of your parties, I don’t care. As long as she toes the line and plays the gameourway. Youwillget married, or youwillbe cut out of the will, the trust, everything. We won’t disown you, in the sense of never speaking to you again—you’re our son and we love you. But wewillcut you off. This is hardball, Paxton.”

“Goddammit.”

“Look, Son…just between you and me? I don’t really like her either. But she knows how to play the game, and well. You get married, you pose for photos, play husband and wife, have a couple of kids, make it look real for the press. In private, as long as you’re discreet, you can do what you want. You and Cecily can live your own lives, have your tawdry little affairs, and no one will know or care, if you’re smart and discreet about it.”

This makes me snort—I can’t help it. It just…erupts out of me. What a crock of bullshit!

Both Camilla and Paxton fix identical stares at me.

“Something to say, Miss Poe?” Camilla’s voice could put frost on a hot grill.

I fake a cough. “No, ma’am. Allergies, ma’am, my apologies.”

A tense silence. “The bed in the master suite needs turning over, Miss Poe,” she says. “Perhaps you could see to that?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

I head into the master bedroom, strip the bed, clean the bathroom, vacuum the rug under the bed and the hardwoods around it, dust, replace the bedding with fresh, clean sheets and a new comforter—unlike most hotels, we replace the blankets and comforter after every guest with freshly dry-cleaned linens.

Once the master bedroom is turned over, I finish the other bedrooms because Camilla is still arguing with Paxton about the marriage idea, and if I want to keep my job it’s best I stay away or my mouth will get the better of me—and I’ll get fired.

I’m nearly finished with the bedrooms when I hear Camilla’s voice, Rick’s voice, and then the sound of trash bags being removed from the foyer. All that’s left now is to put the finishing touches on the kitchen, figure out the imported rug situation, and then I’m done and I can go home.

Hopefully with a tidy little bonus, on top of time and a half.

Upon my emergence into the living area, I find Paxton at the table, picking at his egg-white omelet, looking morose.

Rick is still carting away the many, many bags of garbage, and Camilla is gone, so I’m free to finish the kitchen.

I hesitate, however. “Mr. deBraun? I need to finish the kitchen, sir. Will you need anything else in here?”

He waves a hand. “Just the coffee.”

The pot is empty again, and I realize he’s had two full pots already. “Should I make another pot?”

He glances at the coffee maker. “Oh. It’s gone again.” He sighs, poking at the omelet with his fork. “No, it’s fine.”

“Then I’ll just clean it out, sir.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

I clean out the coffee maker, which includes running a cycle with white vinegar.

“God, what the hell is that smell?” Paxton snaps. “Vinegar?”