~Becklan's POV~
I glared and hissed. "Foursome my foot!"
With an exaggerated flick of my short uniform dress, I marched off to answer Mr. President like the dramatic idiot they clearly believed I was.
Getting to Mr. President's door, my head was spinning. Between everything I had heard and the way those maids teased me. I couldn't think straight. All I could see were snakes, marble floors, and the horrifying image of the man who literally threw me down now expecting me to... what?
Driven by a mix of fury and pure, unadulterated panic, I reached the door and simply flung it open. I entered without knocking. I was halfway across the luxurious rug before my manners and my brain bothered to catch up.
I entered like a possessed goat.
Then his voice cut through the smoky air, sharp enough to stop my heartbeat.
"Beck," Mr. President said sharply, "you cannot be stupid and foolish at the same time."
I looked up at him and said, "Sir, what exactly is the difference?"
He stood up so fast I felt my soul leave my body.
His suit was already gone. He was half naked, smelling of expensive alcohol, and the whole room looked like a scandal waiting to go viral. One person was naked under the duvet, another was lying beside them, and he, Mr. President, stood between them like some kind of overworked god of sin.
Then he pulled the duvet down.
Only his boxer was left on him, but honestly, the boxer was not hiding anything. His manhood was standing like it was attending a parade and saluting me personally.
He walked toward me, and the only thing separating us was that long situation happening in his shorts.
He hissed each word, his voice low and dangerous, the name "Beck" cutting like a warning. "You cannot be stupid and foolish at the same time."
My whole body went into panic mode, not because of the threat itself, but because if I spoke a single word, I might accidentally have to acknowledge the corporate asset currently pressing against me.
I snapped out an apology so fast it probably broke the sound barrier. "I'm sorry, sir! I apologize! I totally get it now! I'll never be both again!"
Leon's steel-grey eyes narrowed. He didn't move an inch. Instead, he reached a hand out, not to touch me, but to open the door wider.
"Now," he ordered, voice deadly quiet. "You will go outside. You will knock like a person who possesses basic manners. And you will wait for me to tell you to come in before you set one perfectly pressed foot across my threshold."
My dignity, which was already nonexistent, instantly vaporized. "Okay, sir! Absolutely, sir! Yes, sir!"
I practically dove out of the room, shutting the door just short of slamming it. I stood in the hallway, pressed against the marble wall, doing the world's fastest breathing exercise.
Don't faint, Beck. Don't look at the cock. Knock. Be polite.
I raised my hand, took one final, purifying breath, and gave the door two sharp, firm knocks.
"Come in!" The voice from inside was laced with lethal patience.
I opened the door again and this time stepped inside properly. I executed the second entrance with the measured, dignified step of a royal butler a performance designed entirely for Leon's sadistic pleasure and the entertainment of his two very naked bedfriends.
"Mr. President," I stated, my tone perfectly deferential, my smile plastic. "You called for me?"
Leon, who hadn't bothered to reclothe his lower half, gave a lazy, chilling nod. "Yes, I did. I called to let you know that starting tonight, you are officially assigned as my personal maid."
I blinked. Personal maid? That sounded less like a job title and more like a sacrificial lamb designation.
"You will not only serve me here at home," he continued, watching my face for any hint of panic, "you will follow me to my office. You will follow me on trips. Everywhere I'm going, you will be there, right next to me."
My composure, which I had just painstakingly reassembled, began to crumble like cheap cake. My voice came out stiff.
"Mr. President, are you forgetting? I am a maid, not an errand boy or an assistant. I belong here, serving this mansion, not trailing after you everywhere like a lost puppy."
Leon didn't even move. His steel-grey eyes drilled into mine, cold and impatient. "Are you the one who will be paying yourself?"
"No, sir," I managed, the word sticking in my throat.
"From now on, don't ever question my orders," he commanded, then added with a casual smirk, "And don't worry, I'll pay you double."
Double? My revenge-driven brain tried to perform a sudden calculation: Is double the salary worth the degradation of being his travel accessory? The answer was probably yes, but my pride still hurt.
I hated it. I hated his control. I hated that I had to obey.
I swallowed my fury and dipped my head slightly. "Understood, sir."
He waved me off with a flick of his wrist. "Good. Step outside. I need some privacy."
I nodded politely, executing a flawless, professional pivot.
That lasted exactly until I stepped out of the room and closed the door with a gentle click.
Then, the explosion.
I didn't bolt down the hallway this time. I walked, fast and silently, until I reached the corner where no staff member could see me. I pressed my back against the wall, closed my eyes, and let the stream of colorful insults flow.
"That absolute fool! That corporate demon in white boxers! Personal maid? I'm practically a fashion icon! My figure is perfect, my cheekbones could cut glass, and he wants me to publicly be his maid and follow him around everywhere! What a waste of art!"
I slammed my fist softly against the wall. "He didn't offer me a model contract because I was two minutes late, but now he wants me to be his shadow? The sheer audacity! May his silk shirts shrink! May his private jet get delayed! May he sneeze on his crush face!"
My face was hot with shame and fury. Leon wasn't just controlling me; he was parading my failure, my descent from aspiring model to personal servant, in front of the world. And I had to accept because, God help me, double the pay paid the rent.
"I hate him," I whispered, opening my eyes and adjusting my ridiculous uniform. "I hate him so much. This isn't a job. This is a life sentence."
But as the adrenaline wore off, a slow, malicious grin spread across my face.
Leon Verdanis, I thought, straightening my back. You want me by your side twenty-four-seven? You just gave me unlimited access. The show has just been upgraded to a continuous series.
The next morning, Leon called to inform me we were leaving home by 9 AM. His two expensive bedmates had apparently vanished before sunrise, they truly are one-time-only assets, I noted dryly.
I dressed carefully in the maid uniform, which, thanks to my height and refusal to look drab, hugged my curves tightly and the skirt barely covered the essentials.
I looked damn good in the outfit and honestly, just good in general. I caught my reflection, flipped my hair, and gave my perfectly sculpted ass a playful pat. Mmm, naughty Becklan. Appreciating myself is self-care, I reminded.
Stepping out into the main hallway where the staff gathered was a scene straight out of a movie.
Lan and the other maids were lined up, and the moment they caught sight of me, their eyes widened, mouths parting in unison. Heads tilted slightly, breaths caught, some hands rose to cover shocked smiles. The hem of my skirt clung just right, the uniform hugged every curve, the sharp line of my waist accentuated as I tilted my hip ever so slightly. I let my fingers brush through my hair with a slow, deliberate flip, letting the strands catch the light. I walked past them, each step measured, letting the sway of my hips and the curve of my back do the talking. Their stunned silence was everything no words, just the unmistakable magnetism of a room that had stopped, if only for me.
And then Leon Verdanis had to ruin it.
He strode out of the drawing-room, already dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my education, and his steel-grey eyes snapped directly to me. He performed a slow, insulting visual appraisal, moving from my perfectly coiffed hair down to my dangerously short hemline.
"Beck," he said, cutting off the moment of my glory. "What the actual hell are you putting on?"
His face tightened with pure corporate disgust. "We are not going to a MILF shooting a low-budget adult film. How dare you dress like this? Why does your uniform keep getting shorter every time you put it on?"