Chapter Text
You Have The Keys To Me
JJ paced the polished floorboards, hands rammed into his jean pockets. Clarissa Davenport had ordered him to wait in the hall for her, and half an hour later, he was still here. The housekeeper had passed him too many times to count, her suspicious glances soon reluctantly giving way to sympathy instead. No doubt the old bird had thought he was slacking off at first. He had been working for the Davenport family for a few weeks now and was hating every second of it it. For a bunch of Kooks, they showed little class, openly speaking to their staff like they were pieces of shit. He didn’t think highly of Kooks in general, but from experience, most of them put on the nicey-nicey act without letting the Pogue in question forget their lowly place.
But the Davenports didn’t even bother to keep up appearances. Ever since they had moved to Figure 8 six months ago, they hadn't troubled to restrain their extravagance or egos. Just last week, JJ had witnessed Clarissa hitting the nanny around the head in front of all her upper-crust friends at a big clambake, all because Clarissa’s youngest daughter had slopped slaw all down the front of her fancy smocked dress. Everyone had just averted their eyes, the nanny taking her leave in tears. So far, Clarissa hadn’t laid a hand on him – yet. But he was starting to suspect by the way she side-eyed him and left snacks in his toolbox, she wanted to lay hands on him for an altogether different reason, which was seriously giving him the skeevies.
His cousin, Ricky, had been delivering parcels to the Davenport property last week when he'd caught a glimpse of Clarissa sunbathing by the pool in her conservatively cut navy bikini and bottoms, the sight making him pronounce her a top-drawer MILF on the spot. But JJ wasn’t interested, and Ricky hadn’t been impressed, calling JJ an idiot. If JJ was interested in anyone, it was the eldest daughter, not her pervert of a mother. But he needed this job, and so he didn’t shoot his shot, not that he would have had the nerve to anyways. Blythe Davenport was… something else. Hot wasn’t the adjective he’d apply to her. Ethereally heartbreakingly beautiful probably. Completely out of his league definitely.
JJ had a whole list as long as his arm why it was insane to even think of going there. His job. The fact she didn’t even seem to acknowledge his existence. Not in the snotty way he was used to, but more like her mind was always elsewhere. Yet he would swear there was always that moment she seemed to just see him. Plus he was a Pogue and she was a Kook princess. And then there was the small matter of Rafe Cameron, the son of John B’s boss. Rafe was dating Blythe, much to the mutual satisfaction of their respective families, but none more so than Rafe’s, who bore Blythe around OBX with the air of a big game hunter landing a prize trophy.
At this thought, JJ nodded to himself, satisfied he was doing the right thing by keeping his distance. Anyways, it wouldn’t have been right to make a play for a broad so blatantly oblivious to his charms. Perving was more Ricky’s level than his. But if JJ was to be honest with himself, Blythe was still presenting a problem otherwise, disturbing JJ in a way no other honey had managed to, getting irritatingly under his skin and into his head. He couldn’t explain it or why. It wasn’t as if Blythe Davenport was anything new. He’d seen her around but always from afar, his admiration equally as distant. But since starting working for her family, admiration had swiftly evolved into something akin to obsession. There was nobody JJ could confide in about it either. Pope wouldn’t get it and Kie would just scoff. He suspected John B was in the same boat, judging by the way he would watch Sarah Cameron on the sly, but John B always kept shtum on the subject and so had JJ. Anyways, there was nothing to say. It all boiled down to the same thing – there was no future to be found with someone like Blythe Davenport.
The sound of clattering heels made JJ glance up, only to finally see Clarissa sashaying down the sweeping staircase, looking at him in consternation. He straightened up, hands still rammed in his pockets. God, she really did give him the creeps. It was something about the eyes that made him uneasy, her direct gaze seeming to see right into his soul. He ducked his head, trying to appear servile and insignificant, even as the thought made him secretly writhe.
“Why are you hanging about my hall, Maybank?” Clarissa snapped, flipping open her compact as she came down the last step.
“You wanted to speak to me, ma’am?” JJ said carefully, just as careful to keep his eyes cast down.
Clarissa checked her gleaming white teeth in the mirror, before snapping it shut. “Oh right, yes,” she then said dismissively, dropping the compact back into her designer handbag. “My husband said the pool needed cleaned. Apparently one of his golfing buddies pissed in it last night. I’ve got the girls coming over tomorrow so I need it sorted, pronto.”
“Yes, ma’am,” JJ acquiesced as Clarissa then swept past him and out the front door, JJ having to repress the urge to salute. When the door banged shut behind her, JJ finally let himself relax, exhaling sharply. But it was only a brief respite, JJ instantly stiffening at suddenly seeing Blythe standing on the staircase, looking equally trapped at being caught there. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he gasped, hand flying to his chest, shock making him forget himself. “You nearly made me cack my pants, man!”
Blythe just looked at him, eyebrows raised, making JJ realise too late what he’d just said.
“Never mind,” JJ said hastily, flapping his hands at her, “Sorry for inflicting that particular mental image on you.”
Blythe just shot him a now pained look, still standing there, looking like a vision to JJ in her pink cropped Capri trousers and white Peter Pan collared blouse. The sunlight haloed her long red-golden hair, only serving to enhance the angelic effect. She then descended the stairs in silence, before disappearing out of sight through the swinging doors that led into the fancy kitchens. JJ all but collapsed against the wall, wondering if he was losing his mind. He stood there for a minute or so to recollect himself, only to realise to get to the pool he would have to cut through the kitchens.
“Shit,” JJ breathed, before forcing himself to get a grip. He rubbed his palms together, nodding to himself again, trying to rev himself up to just run through the damned kitchens and out back before Blythe even realised he was there.
Gritting his teeth, JJ counted to three, before propelling himself through the swinging doors at top speed, making Blythe fall against the fridge in fright, a wild cry of shock escaping her lips. Then she was suddenly inexplicably gone from his sight. JJ did a double-take before rushing over to the kitchen counter, knocking aside the snacks and beverages she had arrayed upon it, JJ not even noticing them in his panic. He gripped the edge of the counter for support, leaning over it, only to see Blythe on the tiles behind it, having fallen down, looking stunned.
“Wait, don’t move!” JJ ordered, rushing around the side of the counter as he spoke. Before Blythe could blink, he had lifted her up like a child, sliding his hands under her armpits and depositing her atop the counter. Then he was checking her head and face, Blythe too startled to stop him. “OK, how many fingers am I holding up?” he demanded, ramming his hand into Blythe’s face.
“Three for chrissake!” Blythe snapped, outrage returning her to life as she batted his hand aside.
JJ checked to make sure, even as he was the one doing the holding up of fingers. “OK, you’re all good,” he said, running his hand down the side of his face. “No concussion, no cuts – wait, what’s that on your neck!?” he said suddenly, grabbing her chin, tilting it back. The high collar had concealed it from his sight out in the hall, but up close, he could see it right there, an angry red welt where the elastic of her collar had dug in.
“It’s nothing,” Blythe snapped, jerking her head out of his hold. There was no way in hell she was going to confess to the hired help her mother had grabbed her by the throat not less than five minutes before. She made to slide off the counter, but again, before she could react, JJ had caught her by the hips, carefully lifting her down.
As soon as her feet were safely on the ground, JJ instantly backed away, hands held up high. “No sense in taking another spill,” he explained in a wild rush. “And I’m sorry for the first time. The next time – no, there won’t be a next time, but you know what I mean.”
“That you’ll be more circumspect upon entering the kitchens?” Blythe suggested, folding her arms across her chest.
“Ye-ah, something like that,” JJ agreed without understanding, pointing at her with both fingers, trying to appear in the loop, even as to his ears it sounded like she was speaking Sanskrit.
“Good,” Blythe snapped, rolling her eyes. She then resumed sorting out the food and beverages she’d pulled out, JJ watching her, confused. There was two of everything, two of a very familiar everything, JJ recognizing the snacks as the exact same he found in his toolbox every day.
“Wait, is all that you!?” he said in disbelief, wildly gesturing at the stash of snacks, spinning his hands in circles.
Blythe stared at him, wondering if her father had made a serious mistake in hiring this guy, because he was coming off as completely unhinged. She'd seen him before around Figure 8, usually balancing high up on a ladder or pushing a wheelbarrow, never quite fading into the background. Nothing had changed when he'd started working for her family, Blythe peculiarly aware of his presence in a way she didn't understand. But this was the first time she’d ever actually directly interacted with him. “What is me?” she then said slowly, angling herself away from him.
“The snacks! The snacks in my toolbox!” JJ exclaimed, looking at her as if she were the one who was mad.
Blythe glanced down, suddenly enlightened. “Oh, right, yeah,” she then said, sliding a can of Cheerwine over to him. “That’s me.”
“Why?” JJ said incredulously, now staring at Blythe as if she had suddenly sprung seven heads. It had been made pretty clear to him from the get-go he wasn’t to expect anything more than the shitty pay he would be breaking his back for. So when he’d started to find snacks in his tools, well, who could blame him for getting antsy? You never got anything for nothing; there was always a price to be paid. At this thought, his blue gaze briefly flickered over Blythe, his world temporarily turned upside down by the notion she was maybe secretly into him after all. If so, maybe he wouldn’t mind paying such a price. It would be worth it, right?
“My grandmother always said to be gracious to those to do a good job for you,” Blythe said coolly, splitting the rest of the snacks in half, mercifully unaware of the shameless montage playing in JJ’s mind’s eye right at that moment.
JJ shook his head to clear it. “Of course,” he said, nodding vigorously. “That’s very… gracious of you.” His gaze unconsciously drifted to her neck again, the memory of the red mark there making his brow crease.
“Here,” Blythe snapped, shoving an extra bag of chips at him. Then she was gone, barging past him, leaving JJ staring after her, mouth hanging open.
I like the way I can’t keep my focus
I watch you talk, you didn’t notice…