Chapter 42: She's a Little Maid

Olive ran upstairs to her bedroom and watched Elvis and Rita walk across the lawn. They lowered their eyes, smiling at each other. A cool breeze gently stirred Rita's skirt, which brushed against Elvis's black trousers. Their intimacy was palpable.

He'd brought a woman home. What was she? Was this woman his lover?

Olive's slender fingers twisted her dress; she felt angry and uncomfortable, her breath catching in her throat. She sat on the bed. The bedroom door opened, and Elvis entered.

"Mr. Augustine," Olive said, raising her eyes, "you're back."

Elvis had seen her earlier but she'd fled upstairs. He explained, "I brought a guest, Rita, our company's public relations director."

"Oh, I saw her," Olive murmured.

"What do you think?" Elvis asked.

"She has a pretty face and a good figure," Olive replied, her tone carefully relaxed, though her fingers again fidgeted with her dress.

Elvis sighed, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not getting any younger. You've repeatedly distanced yourself. Maybe one day, after the contract is settled, you'll leave. A man can't live without a woman, can he?"

Olive snorted. Couldn't he? "Also," she added, "you said Grandma wants a great-grandchild. I need a woman to bear my son."

Olive couldn't refute his logic; a slight unhappiness clouded her features. Elvis moved closer, cupping her chin. "What's wrong?"

Olive ducked, avoiding his touch. "Don't touch me."

"What's wrong?" Elvis chuckled softly, his fingertips gently pinching her face despite her protest.

Olive tried to brush him away, but Rita appeared at the doorway. "Elvis..." Rita's smile faltered at the sight of Olive, sitting on the bed like a frustrated child, and Elvis, towering over her.

Rita was taken aback. The Elvis she knew was calm and powerful; she'd never seen this side of him.

Elvis withdrew his hand, his narrowed eyes fixing on Rita. "Are you looking for me?" His playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by his usual cold detachment.

Rita stammered, "Elvis, who is this?"

Olive stood, addressing Rita. "Director Rita, I'm the maid here."

"Maid?" Rita questioned skeptically.

"Take your time," Olive said, exiting the room. "I'll be going."

Elvis's gaze followed Olive. Noticing this, Rita suggested, "Elvis, the Red Villa is so large. Can you show me around?"

"If you need a tour, find someone else," Elvis replied, leaving the room.

Rita remained alone. She admitted to herself that she was drawn to Elvis—his wealth, fame, handsome appearance, maturity, and seemingly clean private life. However, his aloofness had always kept her at arm's length. She was still upset about Andrew dismissing her during their business trip, but Elvis's invitation to the Red Villa filled her with excitement. While ecstatic, she found his sudden invitation odd, given his usual coldness. Regardless, she intended to seize the opportunity.

Olive entered the kitchen and asked Henry, "Uncle Henry, do you need my help?"

Henry, unsure of his master's intentions, demurred. "Ma'am Olive, there's nothing to do here. You could check the living room; there might be something to clean."

"Okay," Olive replied, entering the living room.

Henry wiped his brow. He knew Derrick had brought a woman home only because Mrs. Samantha was absent; if she were present, she would have surely punished him.

Olive found the maid arranging flowers. As she knelt to place roses in a vase, Olive felt a blow to the head. She turned to see Elvis on the sofa, reading a newspaper.

Olive glared at him. He observed her casual creamy yellow sleeveless skirt and cardigan; she was slender and beautiful. Angrily, she picked up some spilled fructose from the carpet and threw it at his face.

Henry, watching from the kitchen, quickly hid.

Elvis didn't dodge; the fructose landed on his face. He pursed his lips and looked at Olive. "Why display such an attitude? How dare you strike your master?"