Page 6 of Personal Foul
“Don’t worry, Victoria. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s not actually reassuring.”
Grinning, I shake my head. “I won’t try to hook up with any of your single friends, okay?”
She grumbles. “I guess that’ll have to do. Alright. Gotta go. Cameron’s taking me out for dinner, and I need to get ready. Don’t spend too much time holed up in your apartment. How will you find someone to bring to my party if you don’t go out?” Without letting me answer, she says goodbye and hangs up.
Shaking my head and grinning, I set my phone down.
Could Chastity come with me to Victoria’s engagement party?
Considering I’m making her clean my apartment in a French maid’s outfit, that seems highly unlikely. But maybe if she refuses to be blackmailed, and we find a way to become friendly …
Ha. Fat chance.
CHAPTER THREE
Charity
My hands shake as I ride the elevator up to the twelfth floor of Dylan’s building. I know he said he had a uniform—whatever the hell that means—but I made sure to wear an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt I don’t care about just to be on the safe side. Hopefully the “uniform” is just like a polo or something with his family crest embroidered on it.
Do people still have family crests?
Who knows? But if anyone does, it would be Dylan Thompson’s family. They’re practically Pacific Northwest royalty. His dad is some bigwig attorney who’s a state senator and, if the rumor mill at Skyline Academy was correct, has aspirations of becoming president someday. Or at least running for US congress.
Is Dylan planning on getting involved in politics?
Why do I even care?
Oh, right, because I’m distracting myself with useless trivia about the asshole who’s blackmailing me so I don’t hurl on his doorstep.
If he does run for office someday, maybe I can use this against him.
That thought brings a savage smile to my face, and with it bolstering me, I take a deep breath, raise my hand, and knock.
Dylan answers almost immediately, checking the time on his fancy watch before offering me a smug smirk. “Right on time, Chastity.”
“Charity,” I correct automatically.
He screws up his face in thought, “Mmm, pretty sure Chastity is correct.”
I sigh, but don’t bother arguing. What’s the point? He clearly knows my name and is choosing to call me the wrong one as some kind of power move. Or inside joke with himself. Besides, he’d probably say something about how blackmailing me gives him license to call me whatever he wants.
Stepping through the door he’s holding open, I wait until he closes it with my hands on my hips. “Do you have a list for me? Or a particular order you want me to do things in?”
“So eager. I like that in a cleaning lady. First, though, you need to change into your uniform.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to bite back a sigh. Or a whine. I’m not sure which would actually come out. “Is that really necessary?” I ask instead.
“Yes, Chastity. I’m afraid it is.” He makes a show of surveying me. “I wouldn’t want you to ruin your clothes, after all. They’re so … you.”
Ugh. What an asshole. Does he remember the “clothing drive” Mia organized for my dubious benefit? He must. Otherwise, why would he make that comment?
At least those clothes went somewhere positive. I made sure the school donated them to the domestic violence shelter. That way, they could either go to women who needed them, or they could sell them and use the money to benefit those women instead.
Tilting my chin up, I don’t let his dig get to me. I wore these clothes for cleaning. I know this isn’t reflective of my usual style, even if I don’t wear ridiculously expensive designer labels like he probably does.
Hell, this “uniform” is probably made by Chanel or something.
