A Bona Fide Gold Digger (8 page)

“I know where he keeps the key to the trunk,” Irma said with a trace of pride in her voice.

Milan’s eyes locked on Irma’s. Her nerve endings tingled with excitement.

“While Greer’s gone, you and me are gonna get all that money in the trunk.”

“How? Taking money from the trunk is stealing. And stealing is a crime. And believe me, I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“Sugar, there’s well over a million in that trunk. Probably a couple million. There’s more money in that trunk than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Milan’s heart started beating wildly.

“The only time I can get my hands on that key is when he wants you to do something special during your private time.”

Stunned by the mention of tons of money hidden in a trunk—money that she could possibly possess, Milan was rendered speechless. Then she began to worry at the thought of the seedy role Irma intended her to play. Milan swallowed nervously.

“It’s up to you to keep him interested.”

Milan peered at Irma uncomprehendingly.

“You have to keep it interesting,” Irma explained. “Whatever it is you’re doing, you have to do it better. It’s all just a game to him. Raise the stakes. He can afford it. He’ll just tell me to take out more money. The way I see it, instead of getting a bonus every now and then, you should be getting a bonus every time you’re in there with him. That’s the way Elise worked it and that’s why she’s sitting pretty right now.”

Milan appreciated the information and intended to make good use of it. Who would have thought that such a pleasant and sweet-looking woman could be so calculating? Still, there was no way Milan would allow herself to be pimped by a cleaning lady or anyone else for that matter. The thought was insulting and absolutely out of the question. She’d get that money in the trunk but she didn’t intend to share with either Irma or Greer.

A
few days later, Milan noticed Greer’s appearance had changed. With her eyebrows raised to the rafters, the nurse looked ridiculously startled. Judging by the red areas on her face, her complaint of a headache, and her unchanging expression of frightful surprise, Milan quickly assessed that Greer had not been taking tennis lessons at all, but had instead been spending her time pursuing the ever-elusive fountain of youth with Botox injections.

In Milan’s opinion, Greer would have done better with the tennis lesson. At least her body would have benefited from the exercise. It was hard to look at the nurse without bursting into laughter, so Milan was greatly relieved when Greer announced she’d be leaving early. She asked Milan if she’d be kind enough to give Mr. Brockington his medication.

“Sure, no problem,” Milan said indifferently.

“I forgot to mention it, but I’ll be off for two weeks,” Greer said, waiting for a reaction from Milan.

“Oh, really?” Milan assumed a look of worry that suggested she didn’t know what she’d do without Greer.

“Don’t worry. The agency will be sending a replacement,” Greer assured Milan.

“Oh, okay.” Milan allowed her speech to falter as if she weren’t quite sure whether the agency employed a nurse with qualities that matched Greer’s. “Good for you,” Milan said after appearing to have tossed the idea around and finally coming to reluctant acceptance. “Enjoy your vacation,” she exclaimed happily.
Now hurry up and get your scary-ass face out of here. I have serious business to handle.

Irma had left a half hour ago, so after walking Greer to the door while assuring her that she could handle things, and yes of course she’d make sure the agency nurse walked Mr. Brockington twice a day, Milan practically clicked her heels in celebration of her sweet freedom. She now had the house all to herself. She checked her watch. Two forty-five. An hour and fifteen minutes before she had to deal with Mr. Brockington.

Instead of relaxing in the Jacuzzi for an hour as she’d planned, Milan spent forty-five minutes hunting down the million-dollar trunk. She had no plan of action, no specific knowledge of what she’d do if she found it, but she considered knowing the whereabouts of the trunk as useful information.

But she’d wasted her time. The freakin’ trunk was nowhere to be found. Winded and perspiring badly from the fruitless treasure hunt, she dashed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. She intended to add some flair to her appearance with heavy makeup, provocative attire, and a brazen attitude. It was entirely possible that acting like a slut in addition to getting her employer tipsy might garner the key to the trunk. But Mr. Brockington demanded promptness and, with no time to apply makeup, style her hair, or make a trip to the wine cellar, Milan rushed into Mr. Brockington’s bedroom, breathless and five minutes late.

Clean-faced, with her hair pulled back into a boring ponytail and wearing a plain denim skirt, she felt drab and unattractive, but there was nothing she could do. She’d have to wing it.

“My dear,” Mr. Brockington greeted her cheerfully. “You look like a schoolgirl. A very tardy schoolgirl,” he added, noting the time.

He was sitting up, propped against his mountain of pillows. Surprisingly, despite her lateness, Noah Brockington smiled at Milan delightedly. “How ingenious,” he said. “I must say, the schoolgirl look becomes you. You’ve made an old man’s failing heart flutter.” With a glint in his eyes, he readjusted himself against the pillows and straightened his shoulders. “What a shock. I didn’t think that I was still capable, but the heart doesn’t lie…I believe I’m quite smitten.”

Oh, cut the crap
, she wanted to shout. But she humored the old goat by bashfully lowering her eyes. She covered her mouth and pretended to try to stifle a giggle, and then she blushed in the manner of an innocent young girl.

“Little girl,” Mr. Brockington exclaimed and patted the side of the bed. “Come, sit next to me and tell me all about your day at school.”

The shame of being so callously fired from Pure Paradise and the humiliation of being hunted down like a dog for making use of the company credit card, something she felt entitled to…well, the entire tragic affair had broken Milan’s spirit and caused her to stray from her true nature of skillful survivor until now. Sick and tired of playing the role of cowering victim, her well-honed survivor skills suddenly kicked in.

The ability to change like a chameleon in order to make a favorable impression on those in power was one of her many talents. Making money was another. Hmm. Maybe she was just like her father. Oh well, she’d think about their shared characteristics at another time. Meanwhile, if this multi-millionaire sleazebag wanted her to prance about and pretend to be a nubile preteen…so be it.

Feeling as victorious as she would if the key to the steel trunk was already in her hand, she climbed upon the sick man’s bed with the sense that there’d been a shift in power. “I don’t want to wear this stupid uniform to school anymore,” Milan said in a pouty, childlike voice.

“Why not? You’re required to wear the mandatory attire while you’re at school,” Noah Brockington stated sternly.

Milan folded her arms stubbornly. “I’m in the seventh grade now and I don’t want to wear this silly skirt anymore.”

“What do you want to wear?”

“Pants,” she said, poking out her lip.

“Pants! That’s outlandish and out of the question. You have to wear a skirt to school.”

“Then, I’m not going back. Not ever!” Milan folded her arms defiantly.

“Did something bad happen at school today?”

“Yes,” she whispered and dropped her head. “During math class, I caught Tommy Alston trying to peek under my skirt. He’s such a bad boy; he has to sit next to the teacher’s desk. I was working hard on the class assignment and I forgot to keep my legs closed.” Milan’s voice was tiny and filled with remorse. “The counselor says when little girls are seated, we should make certain that our legs are tightly closed, both knees should be touching.”

“And how were you sitting, my dear?” Mr. Brockington said excitedly. “Go sit over there.” There was a chair nearer to the bed but he pointed to a high-backed chair across the room. “Reenact the scene, my dear. Show me exactly what transpired in the classroom.”

Milan felt awkward as she walked over to the chair. At five feet, eight inches, pretending to be a little girl didn’t feel quite as comfortable while standing as it had while she sat on Mr. Brockington’s bed.

As daintily as she could manage, she eased herself into the chair. Getting into character, she sat primly with her hands placed on her lap, her back straight and her knees pressed together. After a few moments, Milan began to slowly part her legs. To keep the scene interesting, she improvised and began to stroke her inner thigh.

“Oh, you naughty, naughty little girl,” Mr. Brockington said with delighted mischief dancing in his eyes. “Were you actually touching yourself like that? Right there in the classroom?”

Milan concurred with a regretful nod. “But I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize I was touching myself.”

“Do you always touch yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Just your thigh?”

She shook her head.

“What else do you touch, Milan? Remember, you can tell me anything.” Mr. Brockington’s voice quivered as he spoke.

“Sometimes I rub my secret place.”

“Show me your secret place, Milan.”

“I can’t—boys aren’t supposed to see it. And I really didn’t mean to touch myself in school. I only do it in bed at night…” She paused and bit her lower lip nervously. “It helps me fall asleep.”

Stimulated, Mr. Brockington’s breathing became labored and erratic. “Come and sit with me, Milan.”

After crossing the room again, she climbed back on the bed.

“You’re a bad girl; you provoked little Tommy What’s-his-name. It’s no wonder he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Are you going to punish me…
Daddy
?” she asked, testing to see how her employer reacted to his new title.

“I’d never punish you; you’re my darling little girl. Now, close your eyes, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she squealed. Grinning, Milan squeezed her eyes tight as she waited for her surprise.

Noah Brockington took her hand in his and placed it on his private part. Milan jerked her hand away. “What is that? It’s so big and hard. Can I open my eyes?”

“Yes, go ahead and open your eyes, my dear.”

When Milan opened her eyes, Noah Brockington flung off the bed cover. Sticking through the slit in his pajama bottom was a very rigid, russet-colored penis.

Shocked, Milan covered her mouth, her eyes genuinely wide in amazement. She thought an erection like this was unheard of for someone terminally ill.

“I can scarcely believe this myself. It’s a miracle,” he said. “You’ve raised the dead.” He smiled as he reached for her hand. “Now, don’t keep me waiting. Touch it, dear girl, let’s see if it still works!”

Twenty minutes later, after being informed that she’d officially stolen his heart, she washed the sticky white fluid from her hands while Brockington emitted satisfied snores. Before pleasantly drifting off to sleep, he’d promised her nirvana and more.

“D
id you make out your shopping list?” Irma asked Milan the next morning as she prepared Mr. Brockington’s poached eggs and buttered pumpernickel bread.

“No, I didn’t,” Milan said snippily. She was comfortably garbed in a long bathrobe and soft terrycloth slippers.

Taken aback, Irma regarded her with an indignant sidelong glance. “Sounds like somebody got out of the bed on the wrong side this morning,” she retorted as she brushed past Milan. Carrying Mr. Brockington’s breakfast tray, Irma muttered discontentedly about having to carry the heavy tray and climb the long flight of stairs.

Briefly contemplative, Milan watched the overweight woman huff and puff as she ascended the stairs. Narrowing her eyes, Milan tilted her head and cradled her chin between her thumb and index fingers.

When Irma returned to the kitchen, Milan sat perched atop a stool in front of the island in the middle of the room. Hunched over the granite countertop, Milan wrote furiously on a piece of Brockington monogrammed stationary. Her hand moved rapidly across the page. Despite the thickness of the expensive stationery, the thuds of the pen hitting the paper in quick succession sounded like an explosion of small caliber bullets fired by a trigger-happy gunman.

Milan finished writing and sat up straight. “Here,” she said holding out the paper. “This is my list for today.”

“You must have lost your mind. Listen up, Milan. I don’t take my orders from Greer and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you start bossing me around,” Irma yelled, worked up to the point of erratic breathing. “You can forget about that little arrangement I was willing to share with you,” she said, waving an admonishing finger as she spoke.

“Are you finished?” Milan asked calmly.

Irma rolled her eyes, took a deep breath to collect herself, and began puttering around the kitchen. She ignored Milan’s presence as she tidied up the kitchen.

“You attempted to take advantage of me yesterday. In fact, it seemed like you were trying to pimp me.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Irma protested. “How could you even attach a nasty word like that to a high-moral woman like me? You better take a look in the mirror before you start calling names; you’re the one doing unnatural things with that sickly man upstairs.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear your unkind remarks because Noah—”

“Noah!” Irma repeated, astonished that Milan had the audacity to refer to their employer by his given name.

“Yes, you heard me correctly,” Milan said, smirking. “I call
your
boss Noah. He enjoys those awful-looking poached eggs you make, so I guess I’ll have to suffer keeping you around. Now, get yourself together and go out and get my breakfast.” Milan held the paper at arm’s length and shook it tauntingly.

“The hell if I’m going to take orders from you,” Irma said, stubbornly.

Milan walked over to the kitchen intercom and pushed a button.

“Yes,” said Noah Brockington. The single word was spoken with a happy lilt.

“Noah,” said Milan, in a whining girlish voice. “I want you to speak to Irma. She’s being mean to me.”

“Send her up, my dear,” Mr. Brockington said. His voice was warm with affection.

Milan twisted toward Irma, folding her arms in front of her chest. Her eyes gleamed victoriously.

Looking stricken, Irma left the kitchen to climb the exhausting flight of stairs once again. After a few minutes, she huffed back down to the kitchen. Sighing, she ripped off a paper towel and wiped perspiration from her forehead. “Do you want me to pick up your groceries from Genuardi’s?” Irma’s lips stretched into an embarrassed grin.

“No, I prefer Whole Foods,” Milan said in a taunting sing-song manner, her tone very much like that of a petulant child. “Now, please hurry.” To speed the woman along, Milan clapped her hands twice. Looking shell-shocked, Irma grabbed her pocketbook and bustled off to do Milan’s bidding.

During Irma’s absence, the new nurse arrived with a clipboard and other medical documentation that concerned Noah Brockington. “Good morning, I’m Ruth Henry,” the woman said cordially.

“Milan,” she offered, deliberately leaving out her surname. Ruth Henry had dark hair mixed with gray. With her slightly stooped posture and what appeared to be the beginning of a very unattractive hump just below her neck, the woman had early signs of osteoporosis, Milan determined with lips pursed in condemnation. Aging was so unattractive and Milan believed it was a woman’s social responsibility to keep the process at bay. The beauty industry went to great lengths to keep women looking their best, and this woman, a nurse no less, hadn’t even bothered to take calcium supplements. Milan had no respect for Nurse Henry, she decided. “I’m in charge here, so please direct all inquiries to me,” Milan said, keeping her tone impassive.

She escorted the nurse to Mr. Brockington’s master suite. “Noah, this is Ruth Henry, your temporary nurse.”

“My dear, will you sit with me awhile? New nurses tend to be a bit rough.”

Ruth Henry’s cheerful expression instantly distorted. “I would never—”

Milan interrupted the nurse’s objection. “Noah, your nurse is here to help you, not hurt you. I want you to be cooperative,” Milan coaxed. “I’ll be in to see you in a few hours. Now, behave yourself.” With Noah’s sad yet adoring eyes trying to hold her captive, Milan turned and whisked out of the room.

The winds of fate had shifted in her favor. Though she was swathed in a fashionable, clearly adult robe, she had sense enough to put her hair in a ponytail, replete with a big girlish bow. She had a few more innovative ideas that were sure to have Noah eating out of the palm of her hand, and turning all his money and possessions over to her. Milan laughed wickedly at the thought of Greer’s reaction when she discovered she’d been disinherited.

But she had to work fast; Greer would be back in two weeks. A short time to accomplish a life-altering goal.

While the nurse tended to her charge and Irma puttered about doing much of nothing, Milan decided to go shopping for costumes. Greer had always used Mr. Brockington’s personal vehicle for running errands, and now Milan had the key to the old man’s vintage car as well as the key to his heart. But she thought the antique BMW was as old and ugly as Noah Brockington and she wouldn’t be caught dead inside the car. So she chose to drive her own year-old Nissan Altima to the nearby Suburban Square Shopping Center.

Undoubtedly, she would be replacing her moderately priced car very soon for something that screamed money. Her taste had suddenly shifted from the sleek European cars she once coveted and now veered toward the Hummer. It was a big, bad, and bodacious piece of machinery and absolutely appropriate for a gutsy woman such as she.

She arrived at ritzy Suburban Square armed with Mr. Brockington’s credit card. Milan yearned to explore and invade all the posh shops, especially Coach. The scent of leather shoes and handbags called her name. But she was forced to exercise restraint. There’d be plenty of time for pleasure shopping once she’d secured her position; her mission today was to pick up an assortment of girly items and accessories to add authenticity to her role of pubescent schoolgirl. She intended to throw herself fully into the character of Noah Brockington’s darling little girl.

The salesperson at a high-end little girls’ specialty shop greeted Milan with a sunny smile and offered her a trendy little shopping carrier. Milan immediately began to gather and toss heaps of satin hair bows, barrettes, and headbands adorned with silk rosettes into the carrier. A table filled with oodles of colorful panties with ruffles and frilly edges caught her attention. When she spotted a pair of white cotton panties with three rows of eyelet lace in the back and
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
embroidered in pink, Milan felt reassured that in a very short while, she’d be the sole beneficiary of all Noah Brockington’s worldly goods.