Page 32 of The Maid's Secret

“Molly the Millionaire Maid! Three m’s. Get it?” Speedy holds up a palm for a high five, which I limply deliver.

“Today’s the day you slay, Molly,” Speedy says. “The show’s going to air!”

“Today’s the day for extra care, Speedy,” Mr.Preston says from the driver’s seat. “No letting guests through the hotel doors unless they have a good reason to enter. And no directing guests to Molly. Understood?”

“Ouiandsí,Mr.P,” says Speedy.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr.Preston,” Juan says as we hop out of the car.

“Call if you need anything. And stay safe.”

Juan and I sail through the revolving doors and enter the hotel lobby. It’s bustling with activity—Bee-lievers checking out, porters carting luggage, grips and assistants ferrying yesterday’s camera equipment out the revolving doors. As I watch the commotion, Juan eyes me curiously.

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask.

“Molly, no one but me is paying you any attention. How does it feel?”

“Delightful,” I reply.

Juan and I take the stairs to the basement, then part ways. He heads to the kitchens and I go to the housekeeping quarters. In the change room, a few maids, including Lily and Sunshine, are surrounding someone, engaged in a heated discussion.

“It’s wrong!” Lily says.

“They’re not yours to sell,” Sunshine barks as the other maids chime in with a chorus of agreement.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice cutting sharply through the mayhem.

When the maids turn my way, I see who they’re circling—Cheryl. She’s holding photos in her hands.

“Finally,” Cheryl says. “I’ve been texting you since last night, Molly. You never got back to me.”

“Because I’m flooded with messages,” I say as I push my way into the middle of the huddle.

“Molly,” says Sunshine. “Cheryl’s at it again.”

“She’s been selling pictures of you online, and to Bee-lievers and hotel guests in the lobby,” Sunitha adds.

“She claims they’re autographed,” says another maid.

“Theyareautographed,” says Cheryl.

“Not by me!” I reply.

“A technicality,” Cheryl says with a shrug.

“Give me those.” I grab the photos from her hands, the same horrible shot she took yesterday of me holding my dustcloth like I’m waving goodbye to the navy. I rip the pictures in half and dump them in the trash bin. “Please tell me you removed my phone number from that terrible website,” I say.

“Mr.Snow made me, even after I offered him a cut of the proceeds.”

“You didn’t actually,” I say.

“I would have offered you a cut, too,” Cheryl says, “if only you’d texted me back. Fair and square, the maids all share, right?”

She’s quoting fromA Maid’s Guide & Handbook,a manual I wrote a few years ago to codify proper moral conduct amongst maids at the hotel. I see now that no matter how many regulations one puts to paper, there will always be those who find their way around them.

“You know what, Molly?” Cheryl says. “You wouldn’t recognize a business opportunity if it slapped you in the face.”

“Can I take that as my cue?” Sunshine asks as she raises a flat palm toward Cheryl’s cheek.