Gold Digger

Ollie

“I have a crush on my cleaner.”

“You… what?” Felix’s voice rose, and Mike choked on his coffee.

“My cleaner. I have a crush on her.”

“ Mrs Higgins ?”

I stared at Felix. “Yes, dufus.” Wow, I was really picking up her little non-swears now. “I have a crush on a sixty-five-year-old grandma who hates my guts.”

“Totally tracks,” Mike said without missing a beat. “You rich, aristocratic dudes are weird. Nanny fixations and all that. Who knows who you want to fuck? Probably gone through all the posh birds in London within your age bracket.”

“Why don’t you sod off back to Little Buckingham to your little woodwork projects, yeah?”

“You’re just jealous I can actually make something with my hands like a real man . None of this namby pamby land-owner, finance bullshit.” Mike’s custom-made furniture was actually pretty cool, but there was no way I would ever admit that to the smug bastard.

“I can do plenty with my hands, thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike smirked. “Lucky Mrs Higgins.”

“I’m not fucking Mrs Higgins!”

“Who are you fucking then?” Felix asked, and I sighed.

“I’m not fucking anyone.” Two sets of raised eyebrows greeted that statement, and I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, I’m not that much of a whore.”

“Bucks, mate, you’re a total whore,” Felix said, and I gritted my teeth.

“Not anymore. I told you : I’ve got a crush.”

“Okay,” Mike put in. “Let me get this straight. You, Oliver Harding, the Duke of Fuckingham –”

I growled. This stupid nickname had plagued me for years. Ever since that bloody article ran in the Daily Mail with the headline ‘Inside the Duke of Fuckingham’s Sex Party’ , courtesy of my ex-girlfriend Cordelia, who (when she started doubting whether she was in line to be the next duchess) had decided to sell a hugely embellished version of that night’s events to the paper, complete with grainy photos. In reality, the party, while lively, was certainly not a sex party . It was held at Buckingham Manor, my country estate which had a pool – hence the bare-chested pictures of me – but it hadn’t been the massive orgy the paper implied. Granted, since then I hadn’t made much effort to improve my reputation. I maybe could have shagged fewer birds in my twenties, but my God, I hadn’t slept with anyone now for over six months – six months . So, it was totally unwarranted now for Mike to use that nickname. Try telling these twats that, though.

“– you have a crush on an actual woman,” Mike went on, “and you’re not fucking her?”

“What, like some bullshit unrequited love situation?” spluttered out Felix. “Are you serious?”

“What’s so surprising about that?” I asked.

“Ollie, when it comes to you, there’s no pining, no crush, no unrequited anything. You fancy a bird, you fuck her – repeatedly if you should choose – then you move on.”

I shifted on my chair. “I’m not a total bastard,” I mumbled. It wasn’t like I went around London sleeping with any woman I wanted with no consequences. I dated like anyone else. It was true my relationships usually didn’t last longer than a few weeks, but I wasn’t just bowling up to ladies’ bedrooms, doing the deed and then buggering off. I was a gentleman. Plus, after the whole Cordelia debacle, trust had been a real issue for me.

“We’re not saying you are,” said Felix. “It’s just… Ollie, there’s no reason for you to have a crush.”

“Why?”C0pyright © 2024 Nôv)(elDrama.Org.

“Because any woman would jump into bed with you, no effort required,” said Mike. “Number one, you’re pretty as fuck – even I can see that, and no, I do not want to fuck you; number two, you’re the smoothest motherfucker I know – there’s chat, and then there’s Duke of Fuckingham chat, it’s on another level, man; number three, you’re an actual bloody duke . Any straight woman or gay man in this country would fuck you at the drop of a hat.”

“I knew you thought I was pretty,” I said through a smirk, and it was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. All three of us were tall and built, but Felix and I were definitely in the well-groomed, pretty category compared to Mike. Our muscular physique was a product of hours in the gym, Mike’s huge frame was the result of manual labour. And whilst Felix and I had thick, sharply groomed, designer stubble, Mike had a full-on beard, which he shaved off every couple of weeks, but it grew back within hours. Felix and I matched the other patrons of the restaurant we were in with our perfectly tailored suits, whilst Mike’s bulky flannel-over-thermal top paired with ripped (and not in a designer way) paint-stained jeans stuck out like a sore thumb. To be fair to Mike, he’d wanted to go to the café round the corner, which served god-awful coffee you could stand your spoon up in, along with sausages and bacon swimming in grease, but we’d made him meet us here instead. He’d actually asked the waitress for black pudding and beans when she’d taken our order – she’d just given him a blank stare until he’d grunted bacon at her. The artisan crispy pieces of bacon over poached eggs and sourdough that arrived at our table were certainly not the greased-covered, heart-attack-inducing thick slabs Mike wanted. He’d scowled at us and muttered fancy London dickheads under his breath before he ate the whole thing in two bites.

“The point is,” Felix said. “It doesn’t really track that you would have a crush on someone. It’s not really your vibe.”

“Yeah, well, it’s more complicated than that. She works for me.”

“I still don’t understand who you mean. I was at your place last week when Mrs Higgins was cleaning your study. You asked her if she’d mind very much cleaning a different room, and she told you to sod off.”

“Mrs H wanted to retire to spend more time with those horrendous grandkids of hers.”

“Right, so what?”

“So, I replaced her.”

“Er… if you replaced her, then why was she at your house?”

I shifted on my seat again. “The new girl, Lottie. She’s not a great cleaner. I mean, she tries, but she’s really clumsy. And… and she looks tired. I have all manner of dickheads, plus my family coming over, and the place often needs loads of work. Mrs H is indestructible whilst this girl…” I trailed off. It was difficult to explain, and I wasn’t sure the guys would understand. But Lottie just seemed worn out, like life was chipping away at her. “Plus, I really don’t want her cleaning up my pants and scrubbing my toilet.” I shuddered at the thought.

“Because you have a crush on her?”

I shrugged. “I found her asleep on my sofa once. I’d slammed the door and everything, not knowing she was there. She was completely out. Nothing would have woken her up. And she looked…” I trailed off as a vision of Lottie filled my mind – curled in a small ball with her hands tucked under her cheek like a child, dark circles under her eyes, and naturally thick lashes casting shadows. Lying like that, she looked too small, too thin, which surprised me with the rate she got through custard creams. “So, I asked Mrs H to come back and do the actual cleaning. By the time Lottie gets to my house, there’s literally nothing for her to do. No washing up, bathrooms are spotless. And she doesn’t eat enough, so I might have started leaving food for her.” I have a chef who I now pay to make double the amount of food. I told Lottie I would leave any dishes that needed eating up out on the counter for her to dispose of; made out that I just couldn’t be bothered. Lasagnes, pies, pasta bakes. It did get a bit ridiculous last week when my chef was off, and I had to order in. I ordered from a restaurant for some friends, then boxed up Lottie’s meal for her to take the next day – three courses of the finest Michelin food, which I passed off to her as leftovers.

Mike blinked at me. “Let me get this straight; you have a cleaner for your cleaner, just in case your actual cleaner might have to deal with your shit stain on the toilet or something?”

“It’s not quite that, I?—”

“And you’re feeding this girl? So you’re basically paying her to come to your house, sleep, and eat your food?”

“She studies as well.”

“What?”

“She’s doing an Open University course. Psychology. So, she studies as well.”

Felix burst out laughing. “You’ve got it bad.”

I scowled at him. “I know, dickhead. That’s why I’ve made the mistake of talking to you twats about it. Clearly, I should have kept it to myself.”

Both of them were in hysterics. Felix was almost crying he was laughing so hard.

“Well, just start fucking her then. What’s the problem?”

“She works for me,” I said through gritted teeth. “I can’t just fuck her – that’s harassment. And she still calls me sir and Your Grace .”

“What the fuck?” Felix spluttered as they both started laughing again. “Nobody calls you that! Does she know that we’re not in the eighteen hundreds anymore? Who told this chick to call you Your Grace.”

“I’m calling you Your Grace from now on,” Mike said through a wide smile. “That’s gold right there.”

“I’ve asked her to call me Ollie multiple times, but she completely refuses. I’m stuck. I can’t ask her out. It’s clear she really needs this job, so I can’t fire her. I’m not sure if she’s in debt or something, but she really needs money. She’s got a second job waitressing at one of my bloody clubs of all the places.”

“Oh fuck. She’s the reason you pinned Giles Bartholew-Smithe to the table last month. Not saying the bastard didn’t deserve it, but it did seem a bit of overkill.”

“That fucker deserved way worse,” I muttered darkly. “All those dickheads did, and that includes your mate, Will, Felix.” Will worked at Felix’s company and had been one of the losers sitting at that table along with my own drunk brother-in-law. Blake and I had had words – the poor guy had been off his face and not really aware of the situation. I’d let him off, seeing as he was celebrating landing a big deal with a supplier that day. Honestly, Blake was a bit of a fuck-up sometimes, but I knew he was harmless, and he’d never deliberately behave like a shitbag. Will, on the other hand, seemed anything but harmless.

“I’m not mates with Will,” Felix said with a frown. “He’s an employee. There’s a difference. Anyway, what did he do?”

“It’s what he didn’t do,” I said. “Lottie brought them all a massive tray of drinks, and those smug fuckers just sat there, not clearing any space for her to put it down. Then Giles grabbed her under her skirt.”

“God, Smithe is such a slimy weasel. He’s not going to be able to show his face in public soon if he keeps this up. I heard Verity Markham eviscerated him the other day at the opening of the LSE building for being a dodgy piece of shit.”

“Christ, if you don’t crush this guy, Harry York will be next in line. What an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, I had to fire the manager and change the waitresses’ uniform rules. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea for waitresses to carry heavy trays of drinks for hours on end in high heels? I’m not surprised a fair amount of women just plain hate men – who would blame them? We’re clearly the lowest form of inconsiderate twat. Anyway, I also had to deal out some lifetime bans to some of the members, including Smithe and his whole table – that includes your mate, Felix.”

“He’s not my?—”

“But the bottom line is, I don’t want Lottie working there.” I closed my eyes, and a vision of Lottie in that club filled my mind. That caramel hair swept up in a high ponytail, her fresh face clean of make-up, taller than her normal pipsqueak stature with the high heels elongating her legs, a lethal combination of sinful and innocent making it impossible for her to just blend into the environment. There was no ignoring Lottie. I watched as men I knew to be relatively normal most of the time lost their train of thought when she refilled their glasses and broke off important conversations to stare at her arse as she walked away. It was maddening. Because Lottie wasn’t just some bright, shiny thing to be ogled. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also funny, kind, amazing at chess, self-deprecating, quick-witted… fucking perfect .

“So, offer her money,” Felix suggested, and Mike punched him in the arm. “Hey! What was that for?”

“How do you think that’s gonna go, dickhead?” Mike asked. “The duke says to his cleaner , who, by the way, he wants to fuck something bad, ‘Yo, cleaning-lady-I-want-to-fuck, how about I give you a shitload of money so you don’t have to work? And guess what? You can fuck me instead!’”

Felix winced. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’m stuck.”