Maria, maid v. Hannah, preppy brat

Maria's perspective.

The actual owners I don't mind; they're nice. It's Hannah I have a problem with. I've been working with this family for three years and not once has Hannah shown me a moment of respect.

The perfect 5' 10" athletic girl with her perfect figure and perfect C cups in her perfect clothes.

Take today for example; they find a red scratch on their Bentley. Hannah's distinctly red car is parked next to it. I'm dusting in the living room when they ask her about it and I make unlucky eye contact. She points her manicured finger at me and says "Maria did it - she was moving the cars around and I saw her scratch it."

I don't even know if they believe her, but it doesn't matter. They wouldn't confront their precious daughter if she admitted to . They turn round and tell me off, and threaten to dock my wages or fire me. I'm not sure if I'm scared about that or just plain angry. Even if I get to keep my job, I have to live with her and tidy her messes. She has no idea what it's like. And the worst thing of all, we're in the same law class at college.

My phone buzzes.

"What do you want to do to her?"

What the hell? What kind of spam is this?! Obviously, I delete it.

Later that day, Hannah gets home from the internship at the law firm her parents inevitably nepotized her into. I don't know what she does there, but it pays well enough to get her those clothes, but apparently not well enough that she can't move out. She strikes me as the type to never move out.

"I didn't scratch that car."

"I know, but I don't want them thinking their daughter made such a silly mistake. Not while you're around."

I'm shocked at her lack of remorse. "You can't be.. you can't do this!"

"I can and I did."

"But I need this job, I doubt you'd even have to pay for the damage, and it's coming out of my limited pay!"

"You need the job, but the job doesn't need you. You're replaceable. Now be a good maid and tidy this up."

"Tidy wh--" I stopped, speechless, as she slowly tipped her caesar salad onto her bed and flumped off.

I sit down on the bed next to it, looking down at it. She's right. I have to put up with this brat.

On cue, my phone buzzes again.