It had come down to this. Why was Percy surprised? Everyone back in Oregon said she was a loser. Percy thought she’d escaped that curse four years ago when she left Garnetsville. She took off right after graduation. Horrible Garnetsville, Oregon—how she hated the people there…and how they hated her, at least the ones that knew her family. She left in the summer of 1968. Now, here it was, 1973, and another day on this job just confirmed what a failure she was. 

Stepping out of the white van with her bucket in hand and her apron over her arm, Percy was dropped at the side entrance of this lush California mansion. She trudged up the driveway feeling foolish and exhausted before even beginning her day of housecleaning. She knew better than to go to the front door. Cleaning people used the back. The kitchen staff would let her in. That’s how it worked in a house like this. 

She glanced down at the contract. Garrett Byrne. Whoever he was, he was apparently giving a party tonight, so she needed to make sure the place was spotless. The company should have sent two workers, this place was huge, but Hello Sparkle was managed by penny pinchers. She noted that all cleaning supplies could be found in the closet to the left of the north pantry. She snorted. Did Mr. Byrne also have a south pantry?

Once she was let inside, Percy started her walk-through. There was no way she was going to get out of here in her allotted seven hours. There were too many rooms to clean. It helped that the place was already pretty immaculate—sparkling white, as if nobody actually lived there. This guy was no slob, but he had all sorts of framed portraits, delicate sculptures, trophies, awards, and scads of things that could easily break. Percy could never replace stuff like that. She’d better not get clumsy. She’d have to work slowly and carefully. Shaking her head, she sighed and then turned with a start. A man was standing, framed in the living room door, eying her silently. He could be none other than Garrett Byrne, an exotic black cigarette dangling lazily from his left hand, and his right hand resting in his pants pocket. 

Garrett raised his eyebrows as he sized her up, then he spoke. “You are, I take it, the cleaning woman?” He had a rather melodic voice with a slight accent. Percy thought he might be British, but the accent was warmer.

She nodded but remained quiet.

“Good. I’m glad you’re here early. I’m having a party tonight.” He stepped into the foyer where she stood. Well over six feet tall, head held high, and impeccably dressed, Garrett’s presence was overwhelming. His slacks had a crease that could have cut butter, and his shirt framed his body perfectly. Percy caught the scent of expensive aftershave as he drew near. “There will be quite a few important guests, so I want the place to be gleaming. Got that?” He looked down at her.

He was too dazzling. She couldn’t even meet his glance. She kept her gaze on the floor as she murmured, “Yes.” After a moment, he reached out and took her chin, gently lifting her face. He turned her head from side to side, just slightly, and peered at her. “Hmmm,” he commented as if he was measuring up a filet. She blushed. “Very pretty. Gray eyes. That’s unique with your skin. West Indies?” 

She nodded. “My mother was from Anguilla, sir.”

“Nice.” Seeming to lose interest, he let go of her and turned away. “You have a lot to do, so I will leave you.” He departed as quietly and swiftly as he had entered. 

Percy’s knees shook so hard that she would have collapsed onto the settee, but she was afraid Garrett might walk back in. He was quite a man. She’d better do a first-rate job today. It would be terrible to have a guy like that mad at you. She was sure he would not hesitate to call the boss and viciously complain if he was displeased. As the day progressed, Percy polished everything until her arms hurt. She even skipped lunch. It was too terrifying to imagine missing anything in this big house. Finally, she worked her way upstairs. Heading into the first bedroom, she pushed the door open with her hip and stepped in. Wielding her feather duster in one hand and a can of Pledge in the other, she turned, then stopped short. Byrne was lying on the bed, back propped up against fluffy pillows, legs crossed at the ankles, smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I’ll come back to this room later.”

“No, no.” He waved her in. “You can clean here now.”

She took a timid step forward.

“Come on. Don’t be shy.”

Percy juggled the duster and spray can, then pulled a rag from her apron and began to wipe the non-existent dust from the edges of a mirrored dressing table. 

“What’s your name?”

“Percy, sir.” She didn’t look at him.

“Percy? Isn’t that a boy’s name?” 

“It’s short for Persephone.”

“Ahh, Persephone. Interesting.”

Percy moved to the dresser. She flipped her feather duster over a photo hanging on the wall. 

“Turn around, Percy.”

Percy turned, feathers trembling.

“Let’s see what’s under that apron.”

“Sir?” Her eyes widened.

“Take the apron off. Let’s get a look at you.”

She blushed and shifted from one foot to another.

“Well, come on. Don’t just stand there.”

Setting down the cleaning supplies, her hands were free. She untied the back of the apron, which made crinkling noises as it slid off. 

“Set it to the side.”

She did as he asked, and although she was wearing a baggy black sweatshirt and equally baggy black pants, she felt quite naked.