A millionaire and a housecleaner are a match maid in heaven in this sparkling new romantic comedy by Lynn Painter, As a professional cleaner, Abi Mariano never thought her apartment would have any sort of infestation, but because of a building-wide outbreak, she now needs somewhere to stay for a week. As a part-time student with two jobs, she doesn’t have many options. Then the solution presents itself: the owner of the penthouse she cleans is out of town for the week. She normally wouldn’t consider it, but he’s literally never around (she’s never even met him). It goes great…until she comes out of the bedroom one morning to find two strangers in the kitchen. They’re the parents of the penthouse owner and they seem to think they’ve heard all about Abi--not as their son’s maid, but as his Declan Powell has always put his career first, working his way up to executive vice president at Hathaway Holdings, but he still has his eyes set on the next level. When his parents mention they met his girlfriend Abi, he all but chokes on his escargot. As great as it sounds that she was just <darling<, he doesn’t actually have a girlfriend--he made her up to get everyone off his back. When Dex finds out who Abi really is, he makes her a proposition: pretend to date him, and he’ll provide everything she needs during their little arrangement. What harm would it do? It’s purely business, no pleasure…right?

Autorentext

Lynn Painter

Klappentext

A millionaire and a house cleaner are a match maid in heaven in this sparkling new romantic comedy by Lynn Painter, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Happily Never After.

As a professional cleaner, Abi Mariano never thought her apartment would have any sort of infestation, but because of a building-wide outbreak, she now needs somewhere to stay for a week. As a part-time student with two jobs, she doesn’t have many options. Then the solution presents itself: the owner of the penthouse she cleans is out of town for the week. She normally wouldn’t consider it, but he’s literally never around (she hasn’t even met him). It goes great…until one morning she finds two strangers in the kitchen. They’re the parents of the penthouse owner and they seem to think they’ve heard all about Abi—not as their son’s maid, but as his girlfriend.

Declan Powell has always put his career first, working his way up to become an executive at his company, but he still has his sights set on the next level. When his parents mention that they met his girlfriend, “Abby,” he all but chokes on his escargot. As wonderful as it sounds that she was just darling, he doesn’t actually have a girlfriend—he made her up to get everyone off his back. When Dex finds out who Abi really is, he makes her a proposition: pretend to date him, and he’ll provide everything she needs during their little arrangement. What harm would it do? It’s purely business, no pleasure…right?

Leseprobe
1

waking up in the bed
of a millionaire

Abi

Is it wrong that a tiny part of me is happy to have an infestation at my apartment?

Of course it is, I thought as I sat up and stretched in the decadently soft king-size bed. But who could blame me? The luxuriousness of the million-thread-count sheets alone made it way less of a hardship, not to mention the frothy memory foam pillows. Honestly, I wasn't sure how the wealthy ever dragged themselves out of bed in the morning when it felt so good to just lie there, cocooned in expensive linens.

But I didn't have time to languish in the opulence. I needed to get the hell out of there and get to work before Benny fired me.

I carefully made the bed, ensuring it was impossible to tell I'd ever been there. I was going to wash the sheets after I came back later because I wasn't some kind of psychotic Goldilocks-coded monster who'd secretly sleep in someone else's bed without laundering away my DNA, but just in case someone happened to show up in the meantime, I wanted to remove all traces of the uninvited Abi Mariano.

I'd showered last night, just to ensure I had time to clean every square inch of the bathroom (a lot of square inches, for the record), so I quickly changed and pulled my hair into a ponytail. Five minutes later, everything I brought with me was jammed and zipped into my backpack as I reached for the doorknob and opened the bedroom door.

"Well, good morning!"

I gasped and my hands flew to my heart as I looked to my right.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

Standing there, in the enormous kitchen of the fancy penthouse, was a silver-haired man and a woman with a sleek black bob. They were smiling, but that didn't make me feel any better.

I was completely, totally, absolutely screwed.

The guy was wearing a flawless navy suit that was definitely not off-the-rack (hello, rich dude with the pocket square), and the woman was in one of those it's-just-an-oxford-and-white-jeans-but-they-cost-a-thousand-bucks ensembles. They looked like beautiful royals on retirement, perfectly put together, and they looked like they belonged in the upscale residence where I'd been squatting.

But they didn't look surprised to see me.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the man said, stepping forward to extend his hand while he smiled warmly. "I'm Charles, and this is Elaine."

"Abi," I mumbled in shock as King Charles wrapped his big hand around mine and shook it confidently, as if this was okay and I was supposed to be there.

Way to give them your real name, dipshit!

"Abi!" The woman-Elaine, apparently-beamed at me like she'd been breathlessly anticipating my arrival. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, um, same," I said, unsure of what she could possibly mean by finally.

Am I in an episode of some pranking show?

Are the cops on their way and the Chuck/Lainey duo before me is simply a distraction to keep me from getting away?

"I, um-"

"We helped ourselves to your muffins, by the way." Charles pointed toward the cooling rack on the center island, where the six face-size blueberry muffins I'd painstakingly made from scratch in that glorious gourmet kitchen the night before had now been reduced by two.

THEY. ATE. MY. MUFFINS.

I had bigger problems at the moment, but a tiny part of me wanted to rage because those muffins had been the most delicious things I'd ever tasted. They were supposed to be my amazing breakfast for the next week. I'd planned to devour one perfect little pastry every morning before embarking upon my far-from-perfect life.

Only now, two resided in the digestive tracts of these two beaming socialites.

RIP, decadent pastries, and a plague on the house of Charles and Elaine.

"They were so delicious," Elaine gushed, then added, "Declan never told us you were a pastry chef."

"Well," I said, my heart pounding out of my chest as I tried to play along, "you know Declan."

They laughed like that made sense-what in the ever-loving hell?-and I needed to go. I pulled my car keys out of my backpack and pasted on a huge smile. "Listen, it was so nice to meet you and I'd love to chat more but I have to get to work."

"Typical Abi," Charles said in a she's-so-adorable tone, giving me just the nicest grin. "Will you be at the Hathaway party tonight?"

Typical Abi?

"I'm, uh, I'm not sure," I stammered, doing a sideways walk in the direction of the front door, desperate to escape. Because the quicker I got out of there, the better my odds were of not being arrested for trespassing. "Probably . . . ?"

"We won't take 'probably' for an answer, Abi," Elaine said, running a manicured hand-holy shit that's a huge diamond-over her perfectly coiffed hair. "No going to work until yo…