Annalise
.
.
It’s been a week and maintaining the house hasn’t been an issue, nor was cooking. Mr. Raphael—My boss’s name—is barely at home. Most times he leaves for work without breakfast and when he returns at night, he’d opt for something light like snacks.
Sometimes I felt like I was being paid for doing nothing. I should have felt good about it, it was much better than selling myself at the club.
But, today was a Saturday and Mr. Raphael was up in his study. The citric scent lingered in the air as I turned the orange juice into a glass cup.
My hands curling at both edges of the tray, I picked up the tray and headed towards the study room.
The door was ajar, so I pushed with my foot and headed in.
“Here’s the juice you requested,” I said, dropping the tray on his desk.
“Than
