Chapter II: My Boss's Son

"So, here's the plan," my best friend Britt Owens was telling me as we made our way home later that same day. "Now," she added, noticing my dubious expression, "it's not a fully formulated plan. It's just the beginning of one."

"I'm listening."

"So you know how I've been job hunting lately?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the other day I came upon an ad for a housekeeping/sitting job—and guess who posted it? Ashton's parents."

"Hold it," I interjected, stopping in my tracks to look her in the eye. "You aren't actually thinking about working for them, are you?"

"No, of course not!" the brown-eyed brunette explained. "But you could interview for the position and then turn it down if they offer."

"Yeah, okay, but I'm not really sure what the point of that is…"

"The point is when you're interviewing there, you could like sneak a little trip to the 'bathroom' or something but actually prowl around the place looking for blackmail material. So you get your blackmail, turn down the job, and then 'bam!' It's game on!"

I snorted. "Right. And who's to say I'd even get an interview?"

"Oh, don't give me that," Britt groaned in exasperation. "Come on—who wouldn't want to hire such a sweet innocent girl like you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Plenty of people. And besides, who hires a high schooler as a housekeeper?"

"I bet you Mrs. Savvonski would."

Shaking my head, I blurted, "This is ridiculous. There's no way I'm just traipsing into their house without doing the proper research."

"Well, of course not! That's what we've got the Internet for, silly." I gave her a look, which she chose to ignore. "So can you come to my place right now?" Britt wondered.

Glancing at my watch, I nodded. "Yeah, as long I get back before eight."

"Really? Sweet!" She shrieked before grabbing my arm and taking off in a skip. "I'll find every last detail about the job for you!���

Twenty minutes later we found ourselves in Britt's room, lying on our stomachs on her bed and scrolling through the housekeeper job description on her laptop.

"See, it doesn't say anything about age, and there are no education requirements." Britt was trying her hardest to sell her ridiculous idea to me. "And hey, look at this—it says that they're flexible with hours. You could work weekdays, weeknights, or weekends! Weekends would be perfect for you! You could—"

I held my hand up in growing annoyance. "Hold on a minute! Who said anything about actually accepting the position?"

That slowed her for a second. "Oh, yeah. Right. Well, either way—it would still be a convincing negotiation for you when you're interviewing. It would make sense for a high schooler to want to work weekends."

"Fair enough," I conceded.

"Okay, then let's do it!" Before I could stop her, she had slammed her cursor down on the "Apply" button.

Groaning, I buried my head in my hands. "This had better be worth it."

Fifteen minutes later, we were still lounging on Britt's bed, this time waiting to see if we would get any response from the Savvonskis.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Britt said suddenly. She promptly opened a new tab and clicked on the Facebook app. What now? I thought, bringing a hand to my forehead.

When I looked back up at her screen, I nearly jumped. Ashton Savvonski's profile picture was staring at us. Literally—at least, it felt that way. It was almost sinister, the way he was staring so intensely at the camera. And the way his eyes seemed to follow me…I felt a shiver go down my spine.

That wasn't the worst of it. "You're friends with him?" I burst out, noticing the checked 'friends' box.

Britt, on the other hand didn't seem to find it at all disturbing. With a careless shrug, she answered, "Yeah, so? He has a ton of friends on here that he doesn't really know. It's not weird."

"No, it's weird. It's weird because he's demented," I explained sullenly, to which Britt responded by laughing. Ignoring her, I asked, "So, why exactly are we stalking his Facebook page?"

"Because, silly, we're trying to figure out his deal. Just what makes Ashton Savvonski tick?"

"Nothing good."

She laughed again.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be on my side here?"

"I am!" she said, still laughing. "I just get so much amusement from you hating someone for once in your life."

I frowned, but then shrugged my shoulders in agreement. "Well, anything good on there?"

Britt began scrolling through his page, but we soon discovered that Ashton did not have a very juicy presence on Facebook. "He...likes motorcycles." We paused to stare at a picture of his BSA Lightning. I only knew what it was called because I'd heard some guys at school talking about it when Ashton rode it to school for the first time last year.

"Wow, shocker. It's not like he drives that thing to school every day."

Britt elbowed me. "Hey, I'm trying here! He's just not giving me much to go off."

I grinned as she continued to scroll. The smile fell from my lips in a minute though when Britt paused on another one of his posts.

"Well, well, well. Looks like you guys have something in common."

I stared in disbelief at the album art for Depeche Mode's Songs of Faith and Devotion. He couldn't possibly like good music. "That's…fake. It's got to be."

"How?" Britt laughed. "Look, he even said '90's mood.' Face it, Maine, he likes your favorite band."

"Stupid idiot."

"For what? Liking your band?"

"Yes."

She shook her head at me. "Suit yourself. Weirdo."

I reached over her and scrolled down, so I wouldn't have to look at his stupid post anymore. "That's more like it!" I was referencing a photo that someone else had tagged Ashton in. In the picture, he was trashed out on a couch at some party, and his friend Josh was making bunny ears by his head. The caption read "laSt nite was fUnn."

"Idiots," Britt and I said in unison.

We scrolled for a few more minutes, but couldn't find much of anything. "Lame," Britt drawled. "I really thought we were going to get something good!"

I shrugged. "But realistically, we shouldn't be able to find anything online to use against him, because anyone can see what's on here."

"True. What we really need is for the Savvonskis to look at your application."

Dread filled my gut, but I nodded in agreement. As much as I loathed the kid, I was starting to wish we'd never started planning. Would I really be able to carry out a plan like this? Just as I was about to point this out to Britt and call it quits, my phone started ringing.

Three Days Later

"You're hired!" Pamela Savvonski exclaimed, enthusiastically shaking my hand. I tried not to gape in horror as I shook it back. What? I am? Okay, so maybe I had gotten a call from the Savvonskis the day I applied. And maybe Ashton's mom had been the easiest person in the world to hit it off with. And just maybe I'd been offered the job on the spot. But that did not excuse the fact that I was now stuck here, finding it impossible to say 'no.'

Now that I'd met Pam, how could I possibly turn her down? From the moment she'd greeted me at the door, I'd pretty much forgotten about making any attempts to collect blackmail material. Never mind Ashton...I genuinely wanted to work for his mom.

But how could I? I couldn't work here if Ashton was going to be around.

"Thank you so much!" I lied to Mrs. Savvonski, plastering as sincere a smile as I could muster upon my face. No, I can't do this! I shouldn't do this!

"Oh, it's our pleasure, honey! Jacob and I agreed that you're the perfect choice," Mrs. Savvonski interrupted my nervous thoughts with a kind smile. Apparently she thought I was the sweetest thing after sugar-coated candies—just as Britt had predicted. Weird. Perhaps Mrs. Savvonski simply had a soft spot for teenagers—but who in the world had a soft spot for teenagers?

"So when do I start working?" I questioned, in attempts to change the subject.

"If you could start tomorrow, that would be awesome!" she answered, still sporting that million dollar smile.

I tried my best to return it as I replied, "That sounds wonderful! So this Saturday and Sunday then?"

"Yes! Oh, I'm just so happy you're willing to work weekends! It works out great since Jacob and I have our business trips every weekend."

Yeah, perfect. Then there will be no one here to save me from your freak son. "And you'll be back late Sunday night?"

"Yes, our plane should be in around nine, so you can—"

At that moment, the loud 'pound, pound' of feet on the stairs interrupted us, accompanied by a deep masculine voice. "Hey, Mom, do have any idea where my—"

Kill me now. Please.

Ashton broke off mid-sentence, noticing who was standing in his living room right next to his mother. I cringed so hard I was almost certain it showed on the outside. Great. Just great. This whole plan of interviewing with Mrs. Savvonski was not supposed to involve Ashton actually catching me here. Now I looked like some stalker freak.

I glanced down at the floor, willing it to open and swallow me whole, but alas, it did not give way. My first instincts told me to look anywhere but at Ashton, but then the audacious punk in me rose up and I found myself staring straight at him instead.

I had the momentary pleasure of actually catching him off guard. He looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't quite sure what to do about my being here.

Not seeming to notice either of our slips, Mrs. Savvonski smoothly glanced at her son and said, "Maine, this is my son, Ashton. I think he goes to your school—do you two know each other?"

"No," I blurted.

"Yes," he said at the same time.

You have got to be kidding me. Why is this happening to me? Why? But I didn't have much time to dwell on the horrors of the situation, for Ashton's mom was shooting us questioning looks.

Jumping in to save my skin—or, whoever's skin I was saving—I hastily said, "Well, we vaguely know each other. I mean, we're in the same grade, but we definitely don't hang out or anything."

I felt bad for emphasizing the 'definitely' in front of Mrs. Savvonski, but I could not shake the image of Ashton on his desk in detention, rattling off my paper to the entire class.

"Oh," Pam said, before turning to Ashton and commenting in an almost scolding tone, "It would do you some good to hang out with a nice girl like Miss Eilerts, Ash."

I had to bite my lip to refrain from screaming out loud.

Ashton laughed a little sarcastically and said, "You know I don't hang out with nice girls, Mom."

"Fine, fine, I know," Mrs. Savvonski answered, disappointed.

"So anyway, what are you doing here?" Ashton questioned, now directing his penetrating stare to me.

To ruin your life, punk.

I was about to reply with some generic nonsense, but Mrs. Savvonski beat me to it. "She's here because she works here now."

"Really?" Ashton pronounced slyly, eyeing me up and down as if he were reconsidering some things about me—and simultaneously plotting my death.

"Umm, yes?" I confirmed hesitantly.

Mrs. Savvonski must have sensed my discomfort, for she abruptly changed the subject. "So, do you have a ride home?" she asked me pleasantly.

"Umm." It took me a moment to process her question, since my brain was still reeling from the fact that I had completely blown my plan by both getting hired and letting Ashton see me. Ride home? Home? Ride? Britt had dropped me off after school, so no, I didn't really have a means of getting home. "Yeah, I'll call my mom," I answered instead.

"Oh, you don't need to, dear," Mrs. Savvonski insisted. "Ash will take you."

I nearly choked on air.

"I will?" Ashton questioned incredulously.

"Yes, you will," she affirmed.

Hastily, I interjected, "No, honestly, it's fine; my mom won't mind at all." I hoped they wouldn't hear the desperation in my voice—or see the panic in my eyes, for that matter.

When Ashton's expression turned from skeptical to downright wicked, I knew that he had noticed it. "Why yes, mother, I would love to drive her home."

My lips parted in dismay; but before I could voice my complaints, Ashton had already grabbed my arm and dragged me out the front door. "See you tomorrow morning at six!" his mom called after me cheerfully.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

"So…" Ashton started in a frighteningly casual way the instant the door was closed behind us, "you work for me now."

I ripped my arm from his grip. "No, I work for your parents."

He laughed as we neared the garage. ��Same difference."

I shot him a side glance. "Look, I just needed a job, and this one paid well. I didn't even know you lived here," I lied carefully. Sadly, he wasn't easily fooled.

"Right, because there are so many Savvonskis living in Meadowfield."

"I—do you really think I would have applied here if I'd known I'd have to see you?"

Ashton smirked momentarily before he opened the garage side door for me. "Maybe I do think that."

I came to a full stop, not wanting to walk through the door he was holding open. But then he proceeded to look at me like I was dumb until I gave in and stepped skittishly through.

Seconds later, a light bulb flickered on, revealing the nearly empty garage—empty, except for the flashy red and black BSA Lightning resting in the middle of the room.

"You're kidding, right?" I blurted.

"What?" he said innocently. Now he was just toying with me.

"There's no way we're riding that. Your mom could not have possibly meant that."

In response, Ashton pressed a switch on the wall, and the garage door began opening. "You bet she meant that."

When I gawked at him, Ashton grabbed a baby blue helmet off a hook on the wall and shoved it into my hands. "See? You even get to wear her helmet." He grabbed a black helmet for himself and walked over to his bike. "Get on," he ordered, swinging his leg over the seat and revving the engine to life.

"I think I'll just walk!" I shouted over the roar of the Lightning.

He gave me a look. "Has anyone ever told you you're painfully predictable?"

Whether it was the words themselves or the way he said them—it worked. It'll all be worth it, I promised myself. The sweet revenge will be worth the humiliation. Swallowing my fears, I gingerly pulled Pam's helmet over my head and approached the monster.

Unsure how this was even supposed to work, I awkwardly lifted my leg over the back of the seat and did a little hop to get the rest of my weight on the bike. I could have sworn Ashton was laughing the whole time.

Resisting the urge to shove him, I reached down and gripped the sides of the seat in possibly the most uncomfortable position I could manage. Ashton's shoulders rose and fell in an exaggerated sigh. "Now that's even more predictable."

"Fine." Gritting my teeth, I released my death grip on the seat and delicately extended my arms around Ashton's waist as he was implying I should if I didn't want to be "predictable."

Apparently that wasn't adequate, for he let go of the handles to reach down and pull my arms tighter around him. "Hold on tight—unless you want to fall off."

I was tempted to punch him in the gut, but I didn't have a chance to before he kicked the bike into gear and zipped out of the garage. And just like that, any annoyance I had turned into terror as we shot down the driveway.

I almost fell off.

Literally.

I wanted to scream and wail at him to slow down, but all I could do was cling on for dear life. He shouldn't have fussed about me holding on properly—now I was probably gripping him tightly enough to break him in half.

For the first minute of the ride, I resorted to squeezing my eyes shut and blocking out everything—everything except the demand to maintain my death grip on Ashton. This was infuriating. My revenge plans had never included placing my life in the hands of the very person I was supposed to be exacting my revenge on.

After a minute of gritted teeth and clenched orbicularis oculi muscles, I was forced to open my eyes when we went over a bump so great I nearly lost my hold. An involuntary squeak left my lips, only adding to my infuriation. I was disgusted by myself. I was supposed to be taking vengeance, not demonstrating so perfectly to Ashton that I was a pathetic, scared, weak little nerd.

Somehow this revelation caused me to buck up a little, and I forced my eyes open for the rest of the journey home. I kept my jaw clenched firmly to stop any more exclamations from leaving my lips. I could not afford any more embarrassments today.

My torture lasted about five more minutes—I'd never realized how close Ashton's house was to mine—before the bike rolled to a stop in front of my house and Ashton cut the engine. Slowly lifting my head from where it had been pressed against Ashton's leather jacket, I became instantly aware of the dull ache in my neck. Lovely.

"You survive?" Ashton's mocking voice pierced the silence a second later.

I knew he didn't expect an answer, so I gave him one defiantly. "Yes, thank you. I'm doing wonderfully. The ride was…exhilarating." That wasn't exactly lying.

I heard the grin in his voice as he answered, "Really? So the only reason you've still got your arms around me is that you just don't want to let me go?"

Recoiling as if I'd been stung, I didn't dither to practically fall off his bike in attempts to get off. And of course I tripped in the process, so my retreat was more like a spill. Ashton snorted.

It took my last ounce of will power to keep my face composed as I regained my footing.

Still I refused to meet Ashton's gaze as I ripped the baby blue helmet off and practically shoved it in his hands. But I couldn't miss his remarks. "Just as expected."

That worked. My fiery eyes latched onto his, and I snapped, "And what's that supposed to mean? You don't know me."

With a roll of his eyes, he reminded me, "Yeah, but you are incredibly predictable."

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Stereotype me all you like. But I'll disappoint your assumptions eventually."

"Not likely. See, now you want to slap me, right?"

I couldn't stop myself from throwing my head back in frustration. "You idiot!"

"Wow. That stung, Maine," he said, feigning injury.

"Good!" I exclaimed, even though I knew he wasn't serious. When all he did was grin maddeningly, I went on. "I don't care if you think I'm predictable or pathetic or whatever. You still don't know me!"

Staring at me for a moment, Ashton revved his motorcycle back to life and, completely ignoring my closing statement, simply said, "Goodnight, Maine."

"Bad night," I retorted lamely.

He flashed another grin that made me want to reach out and throttle him. Before I could, he was gone, leaving me in a cloud of motorcycle exhaust.

I tried not to let my fury show when I stepped through my front door. I was supposed to look happy. Happy that I'd just gotten a job. Happy that all was well in the universe because Pamela Savvonski had hired me. I hadn't had time to prepare for this scenario though, for I had been planning all along to come home and pretend to be disappointed that I hadn't been offered the position.

I hardly had the chance to test out my fake smile before my mom rushed out into the hallway and bombarded me with questions. "Did you get the job? How did it go? Did you remember everything I told you to say?"

Sheesh, mom. Now I wished I had said what she'd told me—maybe I wouldn't have been hired then. I hesitated for a millisecond before forcing a smile to my face. "I did it! I got the job!"

My mom shrieked with joy and wrapped me in a suffocating embrace which I returned with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I was glad she couldn't see my face, for my blood was still boiling from Ashton's comments.

But then I heard my dad's voice coming from the kitchen, and I knew I had to pull on another smile. "Is that our Charmaine?" A second later, he appeared around the corner and, seeing our embrace, picked up right away on mom's excitement. "You got hired!"

I just grinned in answer.

My dad then flung his arms around the both of us and we did a little hop-dance sort of jig all around the entry-way.

Meet the Eilerts family.

As an only child, I was quite treasured in my household—especially given that my parents had been married twelve years before they had me. My mom was nearly forty years old when she gave birth to me, and my dad was even older. They had wanted children long before that, but it had not worked out until they were both at an "advanced age" as my mom's OB/GYN doctor had referred to their ages.

If they were at an advanced age then, I wondered how old he would describe them as now. Forty hardly seem advanced to me, but with parents nearly in their sixties, I was hardly a good judge of normal. After all, Britt's mom was only in her forties right now.

What came along with being an only child—and a long-awaited only child, at that—was a certain degree of intimacy and another degree of protectiveness. I could for the most part turn a blind eye to my parents' somewhat overprotective tendencies, for I was generally fine with staying at home and being best friends with my parents. However, I had enough awareness of it to know that there were certain things I should not disclose to them.

And today I had something to hide. I had a whole person and a whole vendetta to keep to myself. Somehow I did not think my straight and narrow parents would approve of my vengeful plans. Nor would they approve of my having anything at all to do with Ashton Savvonski.

They liked his parents well enough—they had actually sought legal advice from Jacob Savvonski's firm when I was a child—but as far as I knew, they did not know about Ashton. For good reason too. My strong dislike of delinquents had been passed straight to me from my parents.

And it had been enough to admit to them on Tuesday night that I had actually been in detention. Thankfully they had trusted me well enough to commiserate with me and believe me when I explained why it had happened. I, their perfect little girl, could not possibly have gotten into trouble by my own doing.

But I was about to break my perfect record.