Chapter 2 - The Bruised Apple
|
The morning sun dragged itself across the horizon, painting the manicured lawns of the Hamilton estate in shades of frost and weak gold. Charlene was in the industrial kitchen by six o'clock, her swollen ankles already protesting the hard ceramic tiles. She was methodically slicing fresh fruit for the breakfast buffet, keeping her breathing steady to fight off a wave of morning nausea.
The swinging doors of the kitchen violently pushed open.
Bethany Garcia marched into the room, wearing a silk robe that cost more than Charlene had earned in her entire life. She held a crystal glass of iced water, looking thoroughly annoyed.
“The thermostat in the guest suite is entirely too low,” Bethany snapped, not addressing anyone in particular but expecting the room to leap into action. She spotted Charlene at the prep station. “You. Pregnant girl. Fetch the estate manager. I want the temperature raised immediately.”
“Yes, Miss Garcia,” Charlene said, setting her knife down.
As Charlene stepped away from the counter, Bethany deliberately shifted her weight, stepping directly into Charlene’s path.
The collision was unavoidable. Charlene stumbled backward, her heavy, awkward body throwing her entirely off balance. She cried out, twisting violently to ensure she didn't fall onto her stomach. Her hip slammed brutally into the sharp steel corner of the commercial refrigerator.
“Watch where you are waddling!” Bethany shrieked, deliberately spilling her ice water across Charlene’s shoes. “You clumsy, pathetic cow! You nearly ruined my robe!”
Charlene bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, gripping the edge of the counter to keep herself upright. The pain radiating from her hip was blinding, but she forced her head down.
“I apologize, Miss Garcia.”
Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open again. Vincent Moretti stepped into the room, his dark eyes instantly taking in the spilled water, the pale, trembling maid, and the arrogant Senator's daughter.
“Is there a problem here, Miss Garcia?” Vincent asked smoothly, his voice devoid of any warmth.
“Your staff is incompetent, Vincent,” Bethany huffed, crossing her arms. “I want her fired before the gala.”
“I will handle the staff discipline, Miss Garcia,” Vincent replied, stepping smoothly between Bethany and Charlene. He didn't look at Charlene, but his broad shoulders provided an impenetrable shield. “Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you in the breakfast nook. He specifically asked for your company.”
Bethany’s entire demeanor shifted at the mention of Dominic. She smoothed her hair, offered a victorious smirk at Charlene, and practically glided out of the kitchen.
When the doors swung shut, Vincent turned slightly.
“Are you injured, Charlene?” he asked quietly.
May you like
“I’m fine,” she whispered, rubbing her bruised hip.
“Do not lie to me,” Vincent stated, his eyes dropping to the way she leaned against the counter. “If the boss finds out she laid a hand on you, the treaty is dead. Go to your room. I will have Dr. Harmon sent through the service entrance.”
