Maid for the billionaire's heart

BRENDA POV "Although you are a very, very brilliant and smart lady, but the thing is, you're too wretched for this job. The company you are about to work with is an elite company, and they will not like someone who is just smart but not popular enough to plan a wedding." The words echoed in my mind as I trudged up the five flights of stairs to our apartment. Each step felt like climbing a mountain, my body weighed down not by physical exhaustion but by the crushing disappointment of another rejection. Rain dripped from my soaked clothes, leaving a trail of water behind me. The umbrella I'd brought had turned inside out at the first gust of wind, rendering it useless against New York's merciless downpour. I'm Brenda Mitchell, 24 years old, event planner extraordinaire at least in my dreams. In reality, I'm just trying to keep my head above water and take care of my little brother Maxwell. I paused outside our apartment door, taking a deep breath. I needed to compose myself before facing Max. At thirteen, he was already carrying burdens no child should bear, and I refused to add my problems to his shoulders. I forced a smile onto my face, ignoring the way my worn out clothes hung uncomfortably to my skin, and turned the key in the lock. "Max, I'm home!" I called out, trying to inject some cheerfulness into my voice. The sound of sniffling greeted me instead of Max's usual enthusiastic welcome. My heart sank as I spotted him curled up on our threadbare couch, his thin shoulders shaking with sobs. I rushed to his side, dropping my purse on the floor. "Max, what happened? Are you hurt?" He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, tears streaming down his face. "B-Brenda, he came again." I didn't need to ask who "he" was. Mr. Thornton, our landlord, had been making weekly visits to remind us of our mounting debt. "What did he say?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "He s-said if we don't pay by tomorrow, we're out," Max stammered, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "He was really angry this time, Brenda. He said he's been too patient with us already." I sat down beside him and pulled him into a hug, not caring that my wet clothes would dampen his too. "Hey, hey, it's going to be okay. I've got some prospects lined up." It was a lie, and from the look in Max's eyes, he knew it too. But we both needed to pretend, at least for a moment. "Did you eat dinner?" I asked, changing the subject. Max shook his head. "There's nothing left. I was going to make some ramen, but we ran out yesterday." I felt a sharp pang of guilt. I'd forgotten to stop at the grocery store, too preoccupied with the disastrous interview. "I'll figure something out," I promised, standing up with determination I didn't feel. I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, hoping for a miracle. Inside was a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a withered apple, and a carton of milk that had expired three days ago. I closed it quickly before the emptiness could taunt me further. "Brenda?" Max's voice sounded small behind me. "Are we going to be okay?" I turned to face him, and my heart broke at the sight of his too-thin frame and the dark circles under his eyes. When did my bright, bubbly brother start looking so haunted? "Of course we are," I said firmly. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Remember when Mom first got sick, and we thought the hospital bills would drown us? We made it through that." What I didn't say was that we'd had Mom then, fighting alongside us. Now it was just the two of us against the world. "I've got twenty dollars," I admitted, pulling the crumpled bill from my pocket. It was supposed to be for the subway this week, but we needed food more than I needed transportation. "Let's go get some pizza." Max's eyes lit up slightly. "Really? But what about the rent?" "Tonight, we eat," I declared. "Tomorrow, I'll figure out the rent." As we walked to the pizza place, three blocks away, Max's hand warm in mine, I tried to push away the mounting anxiety. We were already two months behind on rent. Mr. Thornton had been surprisingly patient, probably because he knew about Mom's death six months ago, but his patience had clearly run out. "Tell me about school," I said, squeezing Max's hand. "They're having a field trip to the Science Museum next week," he replied, his voice gaining a hint of excitement. "It costs thirty dollars." "That's great!" I exclaimed, mentally calculating if I could somehow scrounge up the money. "You love the Science Museum." "I already told Ms. Peterson I can't go," Max said quietly. "It's okay, Brenda. I know we can't afford it." I stopped walking and knelt down in front of him, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. "Listen to me, Maxwell Mitchell. You are going on that field trip if I have to sell my own organs to make it happen, understand?" That earned me a small laugh, which I counted as a victory. At the pizza place, we savored each bite as if it might be our last meal which, given our circumstances, wasn't far from the truth. I let Max have the last slice, claiming I wasn't hungry anymore. "You're a terrible liar," he said, but took the slice anyway. Back at the apartment, I tucked Max into bed, promising that tomorrow would be better. Once I was sure he was asleep, I pulled out my phone and began calling everyone I knew who might be able to loan us money. By 2 AM, I had exactly zero dollars to show for my efforts and a throbbing headache. Everyone was either broke themselves or had already lent us money they never got back. I couldn't blame them. I fell into a restless sleep, dreams filled with eviction notices and Max's tearful face. A loud banging on the door jolted me awake. Sunlight streamed through the window, I'd overslept. The banging continued, accompanied by a gruff voice. "Mitchell! Open up! Time's up!" Mr. Thornton. I scrambled out of bed, throwing on yesterday's clothes. "Just a minute!" I called out, rushing to wake Max. "What's happening?" he asked groggily. "Get dressed quickly," I whispered urgently. "Mr. Thornton is here." The banging grew more insistent. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Mr. Thornton stood in the hallway, his face red with anger. Behind him were two burly men I'd never seen before. "You've had plenty of warnings," he said without preamble. "I've got new tenants moving in this afternoon who can actually pay their rent." "Please," I begged, hating the desperation in my voice. "Just give us one more week. I've got an interview tomorrow that looks promising." Another lie. My last prospect was yesterday's disaster. "That's what you said last month," he replied coldly. "These gentlemen will help you move your things out. You have one hour." One hour. Sixty minutes to pack up what remained of our lives. Max appeared beside me, his eyes wide with fear. "Are we being evicted?" he whispered. I couldn't lie to him again. "Yes, but it's going to be okay. I promise." We packed frantically, stuffing clothes into garbage bags because we didn't own suitcases. Our few valuables, Mom's wedding ring, her photo album, and the watch Dad had left behind when he walked out on us went into my purse. "Time's up," Mr. Thornton announced from the doorway. "We're not finished," I protested. "Not my problem," he replied with a shrug. "Whatever's left goes in the dumpster." The burly men began gathering our remaining belongings, tossing them unceremoniously into large black garbage bags. I watched helplessly as they manhandled the small TV Mom had saved for months to buy us for Christmas two years ago. An hour later, Max and I stood on the sidewalk surrounded by garbage bags containing everything we owned. The spring rain had returned, a light drizzle that threatened to soak our belongings. "What now?" Max asked, his voice small and terrified. I had no answer. My phone was at 5% battery, and I had exactly $3.50 left in my pocket after buying breakfast, a shared bagel from the corner deli. "We'll find a shelter for tonight," I said, trying to sound confident. "And tomorrow I'll figure something out." We spent the day wandering from shelter to shelter, only to be told they were all full. By evening, exhaustion had set in, and Max was dragging his feet. "I'm tired, Brenda," he complained. "I know, buddy. Just a little further." We ended up in a small park, huddled under a gazebo to escape the rain. I spread my jacket on the bench and made Max lie down, his head in my lap. As he drifted off to sleep, I allowed myself to cry silently, tears mixing with the raindrops on my face. Morning came with no mercy. We were stiff, hungry, and still homeless. I used the last of my phone battery to call an old friend who reluctantly agreed to store our bags in her apartment's basement. "Just for a few days," she warned. "My roommate will freak if she finds out." After dropping off our belongings, we wandered aimlessly through the streets. My stomach growled loudly, and I knew Max must be even hungrier. "Let's try to find a food bank," I suggested. We were crossing the street when I heard Max shout, "Brenda, look! A five-dollar bill!" Before I could react, he darted into the street, chasing after the wind-blown money. The blaring horn came a split second before I screamed. Everything slowed down. Max turned toward the sound, his eyes widening in horror as the delivery truck bore down on him. The driver slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the wet pavement. But it was too late. I heard myself screaming as Max's body flew through the air like a rag doll, landing with a sickening thud on the asphalt twenty feet away. Blood pooled around his motionless form. I ran to him, dropping to my knees beside his broken body. "Max! MAX! Please, oh God, please!" His eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain. "B-Brenda? I don't... feel good." Blood bubbled from his lips with each word. Someone in the gathering crowd was calling 911. "Help is coming," I promised, cradling his head carefully. "Just stay with me, Max. Please stay with me." His breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle. "I'm cold," he whispered. I stripped off my sweater and laid it over him, my hands trembling. "You're going to be fine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We'll get through this, just like we get through everything." A faint smile touched his bloody lips. "You're... a terrible... liar," he managed to say, echoing his words from the pizza place. Then his eyes rolled back, and he went limp in my arms. "No! Max, wake up!" I screamed, shaking him gently. "Please wake up!" Sirens wailed in the distance as I held my little brother's broken body in the middle of a New York street, rain washing his blood into the gutters. And I knew, even before the paramedics arrived with their grim faces and gentle hands, that nothing would ever be the same again.