Her Job His Rules

She Slips

I should’ve known it was going to be a long day when I heard the knock on my door at 6 a.m.

"Ava," a voice called—Rosa, one of the senior maids. "You’re on floor duty this morning. Blessing's down with a fever."

I blinked at the door like it had personally offended me. Floor duty? Was that part of my job description? I was pretty sure my only roles were serving dinner and laundry—strictly those. But apparently, when one girl falls sick, the one with the least work suddenly becomes a multipurpose helper.

Great. First no underwear, now free labor.

Still, I couldn’t argue. Not unless I wanted to get in trouble for being ‘uncooperative’ on just my second day. I forced my body out of bed, greeted once again by that familiar morning draft reminding me that yep—I was bare down there. My one pair of panties was still not dry.

Fantastic.

I grabbed the stupid uniform—again. This time, I didn’t even bother trying to adjust it. No matter what I did, the damn thing clung to me like it had a personal grudge. Every tug made it ride higher somewhere else. It was like the outfit was designed by a man who thought fabric was optional.

Jacket tied around my waist? Check. Fake sense of modesty? Double check.

Let’s get this over with.

The mop was heavier than I expected. I hadn’t held one in years—not since back when mom used to run a mini cleaning business and I tagged along as free labor. My arms already ached just five minutes in. I pushed the mop around the hallway, cursing the floor silently. Why was it so big? Who even needed this much space?

And then, of course, it happened.

The floor betrayed me.

I didn’t even see the slick patch. One second I was moving backward like a pro, the next—I slipped. Not a full fall, but a stumble. Legs parting awkwardly, arms flailing, mop clattering to the side like it had abandoned me too.

I gasped and froze mid-motion, catching myself on the wall. My thigh had fully exposed itself through the side slit of the uniform. Maybe not just the thigh. The draft I felt definitely kissed more than skin.

I heard footsteps before I could even fix myself.

Shit.

I didn’t need to look up. I knew who it was. That quiet, confident stride didn’t belong to any maid. No clicking heels. Just smooth leather soles with the weight of a man who never had to rush for anything.

Alexander Felix.

Of course.

Of all the people in this mansion to see me like this, it just had to be him.

I yanked the uniform down quickly and stood upright, trying to act like nothing happened. My cheeks burned. My heart pounded like I just ran a marathon. Please tell me he didn’t see anything. Please tell me he’s blind in one eye. Or maybe both.

“Be careful next time,” he said. Calm. Casual. Like we were talking about the weather.

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, not daring to meet his eyes.

But I felt it. That silence that followed his words? That wasn’t just silence. That was awareness. He saw something. Maybe not everything—but enough. And he wasn’t going to talk about it.

Worse... he was going to think about it.

I glanced up briefly—just a second. Long enough to catch the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before he walked off.

Oh God.

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. Right there. No burial. No coffin. Just drop me into the void and erase the memory from existence.

I retrieved the mop and leaned against the wall, letting out a heavy sigh. This place was going to kill me. Slowly. One humiliating moment at a time.

I managed to finish the rest of the hallway without further embarrassment—thankfully. My body ached, my back was sweaty, and my dignity was now on life support.

By the time it was time to prepare dinner trays, I was already counting down to bedtime like it was a holiday. But nope—duty calls. I was assigned to serve Alex again. Of course. Because the universe clearly wanted to ruin me.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the uniform, fixed my face into some semblance of “professional,” and carried the tray up to his study.

Knock. Breathe. Focus.

“Come in.”

The voice was so familiar now—calm, collected, always in control. Why did he have to sound so good even when he was being cold?

I entered slowly, my eyes fixed on the tray. I refused to look at him. Not today. Not after what happened earlier.

“Your dinner, sir.”

He looked up, I could feel it. I didn’t even need to see him to know. His eyes were on me—maybe tracing the same line that got exposed earlier. Maybe remembering the way my legs—

Stop it, Ava. Don’t go there. Just drop the damn tray and go.

“Thank you,” he said, tone unreadable.

I turned to leave when I heard it again.

“Wait.”

My heart froze mid-beat.

I stopped mid-step. “Sir?”

“There’s something else,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice now. Not full, but present. Teasing. “That book—on the shelf. Can you get it?”

I followed the direction of his finger. Top shelf.

Of course it’s the top shelf.

He knows I’ll have to stretch.

He knows what stretching does in this goddamn uniform.

I turned to face him, trying to act clueless. “Which one exactly?”

“The red spine. Top right.”

He didn’t even blink.

I walked to the shelf, slowly, my mind racing. Do I reach? Do I risk it? Do I stand here like an i***t and refuse?

I looked over my shoulder.

He was still watching.

Of course he was.

I reached—just enough. Not a full stretch. Just a calculated half-attempt.

“I can’t reach it,” I said.

Silence.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push.

“Leave it,” he said finally. “You may go.”

I didn’t wait a second longer. I walked out with my heart in my throat, my legs shaking slightly—not from weakness, but from the weight of unspoken tension.

This wasn’t just a job anymore. It was a game. A slow, dangerous one.

And I had a feeling I was already losing.