The Anatomy of Jane Read Online Free Page B

arms around my shoulders.
    We just stood there for a moment, pressed up against each other, the hot water beating against our skin.
    “I don’t want her,” I whispered.
    “Okay, just you and me.”
    That was more than enough.
    Truly, even though parts of me didn’t mean it; I couldn’t get her big hazel brown eyes out of my mind.
    No more complications. Considering my family, I already had enough just being with him.

Chapter Two
     
    Maxwell Emerson .
    I wasn’t sure what I was doing Googling his name, but once I clicked ‘search’, I couldn’t stop reading. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do on Friday nights any more.
    “Wow.” You knew someone was famous when Google had a sidebar section for them. I thought it was because he was a news anchor. I was wrong.
    Maxwell Alexander Emerson III, born April 10 th , son of the hotel mogul and former governor, Alistair Crane Emerson, and now sitting senator Elspeth Yates, the head of YGM, the media company that not only controlled Maxwell III’s conservative news outlet, The Emerson Report, but also the Boston Rover and several other networks which weren’t listed. The family’s net worth was in the billions. That number was so out of the stratosphere for me that I couldn’t even comprehend it, so I ignored it.
    He was an only child, but his family was so cookie-cutter that the more I searched, the more depressed I felt.
    So logically, I Googled the other man, Wesley. Thinking he might be just a chef…wrong again.
    Wesley Uhler was the son of famed British novelist and poet, Brenda Uhler, who had traveled the world by the time she was thirty-four. She was now married to a woman, a former professor of astronomy at Cambridge. She’d also written a few books on that subject.
    I kept reading until I saw that Wesley had lost his little brother. After that, it felt too personal to read on, and I didn’t want to pry any more than I already had.
    Since I was nobody and they couldn’t Google me back, it felt very stalkerish. Closing my laptop, I laid back on my mattress, staring at the tear in my apartment’s ceiling. One by one, water droplets dripped from it into a bucket below. My phone rang.
    “Hello?” I answered while lying down. My whole body ached.
    “Hey Jane, it’s Mary.”
    “They fired me didn’t they?” Damn it. What was the point of talking to me if they were just going to change their mind?
    “What? Who?”
    Shit. I sat up. I wasn’t supposed to say anything. “Sorry Mary. What’s going on?”
    “Do you have time to fill in for a maid that’s called in sick? The client is throwing a party in three hours, and while I have two other maids there, I could use the third set of hands to finish cleaning in time. Can you help? I really don’t want to lose these clients.”
    “More work is more money, Mary. You don’t need to ask. What’s the address?” I asked, grabbing a pen and random notebook to write it down.
    “317 Beacon Street. It’s a brownstone. If you take a taxi, I’ll reimburse you for it.”
    “Music to my ears. I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I’m there,” I said, already pulling on my jeans and stepping into my Vans.
    Grabbing my bag, I rushed out. Three hours to clean a townhouse was barely cutting it. It was mid-August, and yet every time I stepped outside, it felt like the North Pole. I could already tell it was going to be a cold winter.
    I had to walk for a good ten minutes before I saw a taxi. They didn’t come down to my neighborhood for the same reason I had a taser on me at all times.
    “Taxi!” I ran onto the street corner and waved one down like a madwoman because I was freezing.
    “317 Beacon Street, please,” I said, buckling my seatbelt and rubbing my hands.
    “You want the heater?” he asked me.
    “Please,” I said, sitting on my hands.
    It was one of those nights where it felt like everyone was out or going into the city. My favorite thing to do was people watch. To me, everyone had a