Biker Babe in Black by Debra Kayn Read Free Book Online

room.” He motioned for her to follow him.
    The house boasted six bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, and both a living room and family room. Each room was decorated with colors of black, gray, and white. A man’s house to the core.
    “You’ll have to make a list of all the chores you want me to do and a list of foods you like to eat.” Margie ran her hands through her hair and yawned.
    “I’ll work on the lists tomorrow, and we can discuss it over dinner tomorrow night. How does Chinese food sound?”
    “It sounds like something I have no idea how to cook.” She chuckled.
    “I’ll pick it up on my way home. I usually eat out a few times each week. I don’t expect you to cook every night.”
    “Okay, just for tomorrow night, though.” Margie yawned again. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
    “No problem. If you need anything, remember the intercom.” He waited for her to slip into her room.
    She turned back to Remy at the bedroom door, her hand on the handle. “Thanks for hiring me, Remy.”
    “You’re welcome. Sweet dreams.”
    The room Remy gave her stood mere feet across the hall from his bedroom. Exactly four paces, and she could step into his room. Oh, Lord, give me strength.
    Margie closed the door behind her and took in the huge bed, the walk-in closet, and her own bathroom. She clamped her mouth shut, screamed a silent yell, and threw her arm in the air. Yes! The victory celebration didn’t end there. She jumped up on the bed and did her best imitation of a head banger at a Metallica concert. Wait until Reefer hears about my good news. He’s going to shit bricks.
    It was late and Margie knew she should be asleep by now, but she found herself wound up tighter than the coil on a manual starter. A grand a week, a posh bedroom in the main part of the house, and a new outlook on life… Four thousand dollars a month would give her nerves of steel against the man of the house as well as a new home. Heck, for the amount of cash Remy paid, she might turn into Superwoman too.
    Margie carried her toiletries into the bathroom fit for a queen. She bounced in front of the shower. Multiple showerheads lined the walls, and everything was contained in a transparent glass cage the size of her old apartment. No way would she skip her ritual of bathing tonight.
    She returned to the bedroom, removed a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, and decided to arrange her clothes in the dresser provided for her use. Even with every article of clothing separated, she only filled two drawers. She always kept clothes to a bare minimum because of the space required on the motorcycle.
    She carried her nightwear into the bathroom, stood outside the enclosure, and scrunched up her face. How in the world do I turn on the water? She needed an instruction manual or a certified permit to operate this contraption.
    Margie ran her fingers over all the control buttons outside the stall. Which one should she push? She shrugged, pushed random buttons, and squealed. The water shot out of all ten spouts at the same time.
    Her clothes hit the floor in one swift move, and she entered the shower. She whimpered. She moaned. She laughed. She hooted and shrieked. This was the best experience of her life.
    Every single spout in the shower sprayed water in different directions. This part of the bathroom might just compare to the local car wash. The one where people drove their car through and arms with brushes scrubbed the car clean. She giggled. The idea that she might also receive a wash and wax delighted and amused her.
    With her hair saturated with water, she groped for the shampoo bottle. She pried one eye open long enough to read the front of the bottle and squirted a big blob of soap into her hand to cover her hair.
    The scent of strawberries mingled with the steam from the water. Margie worked her hands through the top of her hair on down. She became excited over the prospect of not having to wear a hairnet for this job. She hated to deal with the