Today I'm thinking about baking some sugar-free biscuits. I learned the recipe from the food blog I follow. I begin preparing the batter, finding the required ingredients in the cabinets.
The sudden click-clack sound of heels disturbs my focus and then I hear a woman's voice.
"Who are you?"
I turn around and see Samara Elizabeth is standing at the kitchen's entrance door. I'm surprised, never expected to come face to face with a diva.
"I'm a cook here." I answer. Her strong flowery perfume pollutes the air around me.
She takes few steps forward in my direction, arching a brow at me. She looks at me closely.
Her smooth, clear facial skin is an indication that she uses numerous expensive skincare products and possibly spends hours in salons. She has dark brown, bouncy hairs, milky skin tone, full lips and grey eyes which flicker dominance and a glimpse of sense of superiority.
The beauty mark just beneath the corner of her lips is like a cherry on top to her overall flawless beauty. She has a face and body that would attract men's ogles. I wonder why Ashar Hobsons is not into her.
"Right. Means, a housemaid." She says, nodding.
I form a frown on my face in disbelief, "I said cook, a house cook." I repeat with emphasis.
She shrugs, "Same thing for me."
My frown deepens.
She ignores my reaction and walks past me. I get angry.
I'm not a housemaid, but a cook. These two terms are completely different from each other and I guess she is dumb to understand the difference between these two jobs.
I turn around and observe she grabs the fruit basket, placed on the counter. She looks at me once again, shaking her head, "What a mess you've created in the kitchen. Clean it properly before you leave."
"Excuse me?" My reaction is spontaneous. I realize it afterwards.
"Cleaning is not my job." I try to say in a calm tone.
She sighs aloud, "I don't know why Andrew always chooses ill-mannered staff for the domestic work. I'll talk to him. Please get aside."
I clench my jaws along with my fists. She is continuously insulting me for no reason.
The kitchen is looking fine only few jars and bottles are scattered on the counter because I'm using them for food preparation.
"You don't have to be rude, you know." I mutter.
"You call it rudeness." She laughs, "Don't push me to show you my real rudeness." She leaves the kitchen afterwards.
I guess she has some mental issues. I hate it when people look down on low-ranking workers. There is nothing wrong with my job. Besides, I'm not a Maid, you stupid, brainless beauty.
"Are you Sanaya, right? The new cook?" Some new voice speaks.
I move my gaze. I get frightened a little when I see some old woman and my guess say she is Katherine Hobsons
"Yes. Hello." I compose myself.
"I'm Katherine, wife of the owner of this mansion." She introduces herself, "Nice to meet you."
I'm feeling like I'm caught off-guard by her unexpected visit at my work area. It's the first time I'm seeing her in person. The billionaire's wife, who is a billionaire herself, standing in front of me.
Her eyes are bluish almost like......blueberries? I confusingly knit my brows. I thought that color is rare. They look similar to the man I met at the night club.
"I've heard you're young, how old are you?" Her voice brings me back to reality and I find myself staring into her eyes and thinking.
I rub my temple in uneasiness, trying to act normal, "I'm eighteen."
Her thick curls are gracefully settled on one side of her face. Since she is fairer than me, her brown freckles are prominent on her face. There are faded lines of wrinkles on her forehead, depicting her age.
Katherine Hobsons is a fashionista who has her own clothing line. I have read some of her articles in fashion mags. Her brand targets the elite class, so I can't go to her boutiques, but it's good to take her style recommendations.
"Darling, you're so young." She says, "Money problems?"
I nod with a smile, "Yes."
She continues, "Well, Sanaya, keep it up. I hope Andrew told you that we only prefer organic spices. My husband and I are very cautious about our diet."
"Yes. He told me about that. Don't worry, Ma'am. I only use those ingredients that are given to me by the staff here."
"That's good."
"I was thinking of meeting you personally, but I was quite busy. You must've known my younger son is getting married." She hisses lightly, "It's hectic."
I plaster a smile on my face, "I understand. I wish your son a happy married life."
She touches my shoulder, "I always appreciate hard workers. Nice meeting you, Sanaya. I hope you're coming to my son's wedding. It's next week. I'm looking forward to it."
I lift my brows in astonishment. Why would I be attending her son's wedding?
"Thank you, Mrs. Hobsons. I don't think I should be coming to the wedding."
She furrows her light brows, "First of all, you can call me Katherine. Secondly, why not? All of my domestic staff is invited. I would be happy if you come. It's in the Catholic Church."
Katherine's politeness is impressive.
"You should definitely come to help me on the wedding day because I don't want to be short-staffed. You should be part of the wedding preparations." She persists.
I think I can do that much. Maybe it's her way of saying that she would add a bonus to my monthly pay for my extra services. "I'll try to come and help you."
She puts her hand down from my shoulder and smiles in response, "That's what I wanted to hear. You're pretty, young lady but you're hiding yourself in those casual clothes. Please don't mind me. I just don't like it when beautiful women like you don't care about their skin and style. You're young, so enjoy your time by wearing pretty dresses."
A wave of surprise sweeps through me. She just called me PRETTY.
The fashion guru called me pretty. Is this God's way for compensating what I faced with Samara?
"Anyways, I should go now. You carry on with your work. I'm looking forward to see you at the wedding." She says and then walks out of the kitchen afterwards.