Trick Me, Treat Me. Leslie Kelly

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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      This one’s dedicated to all the talented writers

       who’ve helped me so often along the weary writing road.

       To Marilyn, Mia and Laurie, who’ve been there since day one.

      To Camille and Jill, who are always willing to

       drop everything and give me a quick read.

      And to Julie, Janelle and Karen,

       who helped me shape this idea from the start.

      Long live the Plot Monkeys!

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      October, this year

      FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Rosario Sanchez was destined to be the worst maid in the world. She hated washing floors, loathed vacuuming and would rather stick a spike in her eye than clean other people’s toilets. She’d long dreamed of being a hairstylist. “I’d love to take some bleach to Angel Fuentes’s head, so she’ll look like the puta she is,” she muttered.

      But no. No classy hair salon job for Rosario. After high school, she would take her place in the family cleaning business, like a rich girl would take her place at a debutante ball. Rich she wasn’t.

      Generally, life sucked. Still, sometimes her after-school job had perks. Like now. She sat in a Chicago penthouse owned by a writer who’d spent the last year overseas researching horrible murders for his next bestseller. She peeked at his photo on the back of his latest book. “Mr. Winchester you are muy delicioso.”

      He was hot, even if he was old—at least thirty. He had dark hair, chocolaty eyes. Tall and mysterious, he was a man to sweep a maid off her feet, like in that Jennifer Lopez movie.

      She’d like to help him write a new kind of book. “Romance,” she said. Fantasizing, she reached into a giant bag of potato chips. Crumbling a handful of greasy chips on to the front of her sweater, she moaned, “Come and feast on me you big, sexy man.”

      Rosario eventually picked the crumbs off, popping each one into her mouth with her fingertip. They were Lay’s, after all.

      Grabbing the remote, she glanced around and cringed. The penthouse looked like it had been the scene of a huge party. Probably because it had. Last month. The night Manuel Diaz had dumped her for that bitch Angel. “Puta,” she said aloud this time.

      She’d have to clean the place eventually. But not for a while. Her mother trusted her enough never to check anymore to make sure Rosario was performing her after-school dusting, watering and mail sorting duties at the penthouse. It wasn’t like it needed real cleaning with it having been empty so long. The owner wasn’t due back until late January—three months. She had time.

      Grabbing the remote, she settled in for an hour of soap watching. Before she could even turn on her favorite show, however, she heard the door open. And nearly wet her pants.

      Mr. Winchester is home early!

      “Rosario?”

      Worse. “Mama?” She groaned, a long, low sound holding both terror and dismay. This was definitely worse than the owner coming home. He, at least, wouldn’t smack her in the head with a purse the size of a suitcase, like the one Mama carried.

      A long stream of invective—all in Spanish—spewed from her mother’s mouth. Rosario knew enough of the language to pick out several words, the kindest of which were lazy and useless.

      Then the door opened again and her grandmother walked in. From worse to catastrophic.

      “Mr. Winchester СКАЧАТЬ