Maid for the Rock Star (2 page)

Audra fought back her anger. Dennis and her parents worried about her, she knew that, but she'd been working part-time hospitality jobs for the last seven years, since she turned fourteen. And she knew how to deal with misogynistic male customers with entitlement issues, whether they were paying a thousand dollars a night for a beachside villa or three dollars for a cup of terrible coffee. Though hot coffee to the crotch was a better defence than trying to crush his foot with a lumbering cleaning trolley full of towels. More satisfying, too.

Unless Dennis knew something he wasn't telling her...

Suspicion drove her to say, "Do you know something about the VIPs here now that you're not telling me? Is it some irresistible porn star or something?"

Dennis laughed. "Nah, no idea who the guests are. Call it a hunch, so I'm telling you to take care."

Audra took a deep breath. "Thanks, Dennis, but we both know no rich guy's going to look at me twice, unless his eyesight's failing. A welfare family girl who grew up in overcrowded public housing? I wouldn't be good enough for him. You've got nothing to worry about."

THREE

"So what do you think?" Jason asked, glancing at Jo.

She scuffed her shoes on the path. "I love the property and the location. Infrastructure looks sound, quality and environmental standards are top-notch and everything's built to withstand cyclones. That cyclone shelter looks like it could survive the bloody apocalypse. As far as real estate goes, it's beautiful and brilliant. But as a business...I'm not sure. I mean, it's a remote, luxury resort and it's peak season, yet the place is half empty. I'd buy the property as a long-term investment and let some hotel chain manage the place, but none of them seem interested. That's one hell of a warning sign. Add that to the asking price, which is much too high, and...no. I don't want to buy the place."

"But I want to live here. I'm going to stay here for the whole month, just like we planned."

His sister stared at him as if he'd spoken Chinese and not English. "Why? I mean, I get it's nice for a holiday but the isolation would kill you. You're miserable when you're not surrounded by fans. How long would you like living out here alone?"

Jason laughed. "I wouldn't be alone. There's a hotel full of people here. Well, half-full, maybe. Different girls every night, all looking for a good time. It's like rock star heaven."

"And that's what you want, a new girl every night? That's all you want out of life?"

Jason couldn't stand seeing the pity and disgust in her eyes, so he surveyed the lagoon instead. "Until I find the right one, yeah." She'd come. She had to. And when she did, he'd be waiting on a romantic beach with open arms.

"You'll never find her that way, Jason. Instead, you're going to be very lonely."

"I'm never lonely. I can have any girl I want, remember?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "Yeah, except me and anyone who really matters. And I'm not staying at a resort in the middle of nowhere that I don't want to buy. I'll be gone tonight, so you can have your little orgies from dusk 'til dawn without me complaining that your bed partners make too much noise." She sighed. "You're still hung up on her, aren't you?"

"No!" Even Jason heard the defensiveness in his tone.

"So why are you hiding out on this island for a month?" Jo persisted.

"Checking the place out before I buy it. Working out if I want to retire here and go from rock star to hotel owner. I always figured I'd go down in history as rock star royalty like the Stones, not bail out of the music industry before I hit thirty. It feels too soon, you know?" Jason tried to sound virtuous. "I'm going to spend a month working out what I want to do next in my life. What path I want to take."

Jo snorted. "Want me to find you a career guidance counsellor? I bet the local high school or unemployment office has one. I'll see if she's willing to fly over here for a day as a consultant to counsel you on your career choices."

Thinking of the young, female teacher who'd been his guidance counsellor at high school, Jason perked up. "Is she as hot as Miss – "

"How the hell should I know? Probably not. Might even be a man."

"Fuck no. I don't need some bloke telling me what to do. Trevor's bad enough." Jason couldn't suppress a shudder. He'd never admit it aloud, but he was terrified of the band's security consultant. The man was an ex-US Marine who'd served in Afghanistan, for fuck's sake. He could kill a man with his bare hands, Jason was sure of it. Hey, maybe that was one good thing about the band breaking up. No more wondering if today he'd finally push Trevor over the edge and the man's angry face would be the last sight he'd ever see.

"I don't remember you complaining when Trevor scared off that scary stalker chick who swore she was carrying your baby. What was her name again?" Jo retorted.

He didn't remember and he didn't want to. The baby wasn't his – condoms made sure of that. And he didn't want to talk or even think about crazy girls who didn't understand the meaning of the word
no
. He waved his wristband at the scanner below the ornate sign that read VILLA MAXIMA and suppressed a sigh of relief when the door opened. It may as well have said HOME SWEET HOME for all he cared. This was the place. For the next month, it would be rock star heaven. He was certain of it. But first, he wanted to be that little bit more comfortable.

"I need to take a piss." He strode into his villa, fumbling with his zipper as he headed for the bathroom.

FOUR

Audra tucked her dusting cloth into the hamper for dirty linen as the door clicked closed behind her, muffling the robotic vacuum cleaner's whirring as it scooted around the floors of Villa Pinctada. She had one last villa left – Maxima, the inhabited one. Deciding to leave her trolley at the bottom of the steps beside Pinctada, Audra trotted up to the grand front entrance of the hotel's most expensive accommodation.

Her wristband triggered the door as she approached, but still she hesitated. "Hello, Housekeeping," she called, crossing her fingers in the hope of receiving no reply. She repeated the call twice, before cheering inwardly that the residents weren't home. Her first day of dealing with VIPs was a success – because she hadn't seen a single one.

The dirty glasses lined up on the sink marked this villa as occupied. Audra loaded them into the dishwasher and a few swipes of the cleaning cloth later, she crossed the kitchen off her list of rooms to clean. A peep into the bedrooms revealed untouched beds and a single suitcase in the master bedroom – only one VIP, then, or a couple who packed light. Better than spoilt, snobby children who liked to smear food into the furniture. The laundry hamper was empty, as was the dry-cleaning one. That left only the bathroom.

For the second time, she crossed her fingers as she entered the sparkling white porcelain cave that was bigger than her bedroom in the staff accommodation. Toiletries, tiles...even the toilet paper was untouched, still folded into its arrow point from the last time Jackie had cleaned the villa. The only splash of colour in the room was a tiny green frog statue on the edge of the spa. It was a perfect replica of the ones that plagued the staff toilets. Good thing it wasn't real or she'd have to –

The statue hopped onto the soap dish. Of all the villas for a frog to pick, it had to choose the inhabited one. Audra spread out her dusting cloth and threw it, covering the frog and its perch. She hastily bundled the whole thing up, hoping to carry the frog outside, but it squirmed out and dropped into the tub. Where it had three fat friends. Audra swore.

She knew the hotel rules. All the wildlife on the island reserve was protected. She'd be fined if she deliberately hurt a frog. So she could either take them outside or shoo them down the drain they'd climbed up in the first place. The grating on the spa drain sat beside the hole it was supposed to be guarding, gaping a welcome to her amphibian antagonists.

Game on. Audra climbed over the edge and slid to the bottom of the two-person tub. She grabbed the stack of fresh towels she'd brought with her and rolled a couple into a temporary fence around the frogs. She unfolded a third and spread it over the top of the enclosure. All she had to do was nudge them into the drain. Slowly, carefully...a muffled plop sounded from under the towel. One down, three to go.

Steadily, Audra tightened the enclosure, hearing another satisfying plop. She continued pushing the towels together until there wasn't space for a frog between them. Cautiously, she lifted them up. No more frogs, to her delight. That left only the escape hatch to secure. The drain grille was easily replaced, but there was nothing holding it in place to prevent the frogs from jumping right back up again. Pulling her multi-tool out, Audra unfolded the pliers and went to work on the metal, bending the edges so it wedged tightly into the top of the drain hole. Satisfied, she sat up and tucked the multi-tool back into her pocket.

The sound of running water made her freeze. The spa tap wasn't turned on and neither was the shower. The flow was too strong for the basin tap, so Audra stared in horror at the man relieving himself into the toilet bowl. Expensive designer jeans clung to what she had to admit was a very peachy bum – so shapely that it took her a moment to register that the guy was wearing jeans in a tropical climate. Her VIP was a foreign tourist, definitely. A foreigner with a fire hose.

In a tiny house like her parents', privacy was a precious commodity and soundproofing was non-existent. So with three brothers and her dad using the toilet beside the bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Samantha, the two girls had categorised the noises they heard as they lay giggling in their bunk beds at night.

There were the tinklers – usually little boys and old men who tinkled in a tiny trickle for eternity like a leaky tap. Then there were the sprayers – who didn't aim for the bottom of the toilet bowl but liked the sound of liquid falling on porcelain, or so it seemed. And the gushers – those who'd built up a whole head of pressure and were going at it like a fire hose. As both she and her brothers had grown up, she'd added a fourth category to the list – the beaters. These took advantage of the privacy of the toilet to jack off, and their tell-tale moans and groans had always made her laugh.

Mr VIP Peach-Bum – or should that be Plum-Bum, given his dark jeans? – most certainly wasn't a beater: he was the sort of high-pressure gusher you got from a three-hour drive down unsealed roads from town, then a rough boat trip through changing tides to the island. Or a bender involving a carton or two of cheap beer, a bottle of bourbon and a football match on TV so riveting they couldn't leave it until the final whistle blew. No, foreign tourists didn't understand Aussie rules football.

She considered climbing out of the bath and sneaking out while his back was turned, but it made more sense to stay where she was. At least then she had the excuse of dealing with the frogs – she could say she hadn't seen or heard a thing. And she hadn't – until the man shook himself and turned slightly to reach for the toilet paper. Then she saw what she had to admit was quite a sizeable piece of equipment before he tucked his fire hose back into his pants and zipped everything safely inside. Maybe he was a porn star.

Well. There was some excitement for a morning. A free show. Audra felt a touch of dampness on her thigh. Oh, bloody hell. Was the frog grinning at her? Little bastard. She grabbed a towel and used it to push it off her leg and closer to the plughole. Shit. She'd sealed it. Audra threw the towel over the top of the cheeky beast and bundled it up, hoping this time she had the frog inside. Now Plum-Bum just had to get the hell out so she could make a dash for the French doors to the veranda.