Curvy Girls Can't Date Billionaires (The Curvy Girl Club #2) - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,3

his now-deleted number for the millionth time, even though he’d moved on.

I hated myself for wanting to get back together with him, even if he’d found another girl so quickly after breaking up with me. The scary thought crept into my mind that he’d already found her before ending things, and I beat it back. I so couldn’t go there.

“Look at the time,” Mom said. “You better get changed.”

I glanced at the clock over the stove, still not trusting myself with my phone. I had about half an hour to get into my uniform and make myself look like I hadn’t just finished a housekeeping shift.

I had better hurry. “I’ll head out to the car.”

She shook her head and grabbed my drawstring bag from the cart. “You can use one of the bathrooms.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

She gave me a soft smile and whispered, “They have fifteen. I’m sure one’s open.”

Was she exaggerating? I definitely couldn’t tell from the size of this house.

Mr. Wallace, the cook, pointed his spatula over his shoulder, “The one down the hall is for our use. Go ahead.”

Our use. The help’s use. I didn’t know how my distaste could grow even more, but it did. Mr. Rush kept us in servants’ quarters and had us watched by his butler. He was making sure we knew where we belonged: on our knees, scrubbing, below the king he thought he was.

F-U-know-what that.

I walked down the hall like I was going to the designated bathroom, but then went up a set of stairs. This floor seemed less imposing than the ground level, even though it had the same abstract art pieces lining the walls. I carefully opened a couple of doors until I found a bathroom that looked like it was for guests.

My first thought was that the last cleaning service hadn’t done a great job. The toilet paper wasn’t creased into corners like my mom always did, and the towels were lazily folded. Pride swelled in my chest. My mom and I may have been poor, but we did honest work for honest pay. And we did it well.

I took off my JJ Cleaning polo and khaki pants, then pulled on my pleated uniform skirt. Even with the back unzipped, I had to tug it over my wide hips before I could zip it up and have it fit around my narrower waist. Curvy girl problems.

I sat on the closed toilet lid and bunched up my pantyhose before pulling them over my feet. That was the nice thing about expensive hose—I’d worn these the entire school year, and so far, no runs. I kept my fingers crossed that they would last through my senior year.

I switched out of my sports bra that was comfortable to work in and into a push-up bra before going to my makeup bag. Mom always said half the battle is showing up as the person you want to be. I wanted to be polished, presentable—the professional doctor I hoped to be someday.

A little mascara and matte lipstick worked wonders with the clear complexion Mom had passed on to me, but this curly hair was a challenge. I was busy creating a half French braid to hold it away from my face when the door opened.

Standing in front of me was none other than Kai Rush, an amused smirk growing on his face.

My hands flew to my chest as my braid unraveled, and I stepped back, stammering, “I—I—”

I what? I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” he said.

He might have seemed amused, but the power of his presence caught me off guard. I’d never seen Kai this close before, but now he had me pierced under his casual intensity. And he was tall, taller than I’d thought him to be simply passing him in the hallways or sitting across the cafeteria.

He raised dark, arched eyebrows, and I realized he was waiting for a response.

Still covering my more-than ample chest as best I could, I nodded toward my JJ Cleaning polo with the logo facing up. “My mom and I are your new cleaning crew.”

His dark, angled eyes scanned my half-naked body, making me feel fully exposed, before turning to the mirror and examining himself. “Welcome aboard.”

He feathered his fingers through his smooth hair and then plucked at an invisible piece of lint on his uniform. His attire had clearly been custom-tailored, the way the suit jacket framed his trim shoulders. Not the way