Chapter 2: Unread Rules On Muted Floors
The morning sunlight cutting through the tall parlor windows suddenly felt far too bright, exposing every speck of dust dancing in the air between us. Julian didn't move away. He remained close enough that I could catch the faint, clean scent of cedar and expensive soap, his dark wavy hair catching the golden light at his temples while his light stubble cast tiny shadows along his jawline. His tailored black suit looked entirely out of place against my burgundy maid uniform, white apron, and cap, yet he wore it with an easy authority that made the grand room shrink around us.
"Was there an audience I wasn't informed about?" he asked again, his low voice carrying a smooth, controlled cadence that didn't sound angry, just intensely analytical.
My fingers tightened around the neck of the green glass spray bottle tucked behind my back, the cold condensation pressing against my palm. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I forced my breathing to stay even. I had survived worse than an intimidating homeowner with a morning glare. I needed this job to clear three months of back rent and keep my car from getting repossessed, and I wasn't going to let a pair of sharp brown eyes scare me off without a fight.
"This is the way I signed..." I began, my voice dropping an octave as I let go of the feather duster, watching it dangle awkwardly behind my waist before I brought both hands around to grip the edge of my cleaning cart.
"Signed what?" Julian interrupted, tilting his head slightly. His eyes flicked down to the cart, scanning the array of microfiber cloths, half-empty spray bottles, and finally resting on the small Bluetooth speaker that had been piping upbeat pop music into the room just moments before. The little gadget sat quietly now, its blue LED indicator blinking a steady, mocking rhythm.
"The contract," I said, lifting my chin just a fraction to meet his gaze directly. "The agency didn't mention anything about absolute silence or solo performances when the rooms are empty. They just said deep-clean the formal parlor on Tuesdays, keep the marble and the grand piano spotless, and don't break anything. I finished dusting the pedestal table, and the music helps me keep a steady pace."
Julian reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against the polished wooden edge of the cleaning cart. He didn't touch the speaker, but he looked at it as if it were a foreign artifact. "The agency handles the booking," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "They clearly failed to mention your repertoire."
"I'm efficient," I countered quickly, feeling a hot flush creep up my neck despite my best efforts to remain professional. "The piano is dusted, the floor is swept, and the chandelier crystals are clear. If my singing offends your ears, I can leave the speaker in the utility closet from now on."
Julian let out a short, dry breath that might have been a laugh if it carried any warmth. He stepped back at last, giving me room to breathe, though his intense gaze never left my face. He walked slowly around the grand piano, his hand trailing lightly over the dark mahogany finish before he stopped near the marble statue of the weeping figure near the corner window.
"It doesn't offend my ears," he said, turning back to face me with that unreadable expression firmly back in place. "It's simply unexpected. This house hasn't had much noise in it lately, let alone someone treating the parlor like a stage."
"Well, houses change," I muttered under my breath, instantly regretting the impulsive jab.
Julian heard it anyway. A corner of his mouth twitched upward in the barest hint of a smirk. "Indeed they do. But if you're going to work here, we need to establish a few parameters. The parlor is off-limits to outside sound when I'm working in the study across the hall. Tuesdays are yours, but keep the music low enough that I don't hear it through the oak doors." He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an undeniable weight. "And no more impromptu concerts while holding the dusting equipment. It's a liability."
"Understood," I said stiffly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
May you like
"Good." Julian straightened his jacket, giving the room one final sweeping look before turning toward the arched double doors. He paused on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. "Finish your work. And try not to wake the neighbors next time."
With that, he stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps fading against the marble floor until the silence of the sunlit parlor settled back over me like a heavy blanket. I let out a long, shuddering breath, my shoulders dropping as the adrenaline finally began to recede. I looked down at the green spray bottle in my hand, then over at the silent Bluetooth speaker. I hadn't lost the job. I was still here. But as I reached for my microfiber cloth to resume wiping down the grand piano, I knew the rest of my shift wouldn't feel quite so casual.
