Free The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield by Ninya Tippett

risk was sinking in.
    "Well, I'm glad you're here to help me then," I chirped with forced cheerfulness, smiling at Felicity. "Brandon said you came highly recommended. You must know the ropes like no other."
    The woman, heaven bless her, perked up and nodded energetically. "I certainly do. My father was former Governor Mark Brightside and my mother was Ms. Tennessee. The Brightsides are a very high-profile family especially with my older brother running for governor in the next election and my sister starring in her own reality show about her fashion career as a model, muse and now designer of her own shoe line. I, on the other hand, being the baby of the family, have recently graduated from Brown with a B.A. in Modern Culture and Media, with honors and at the top of my class."
    My jaw dropped in incredulity. "Then what the hell are you doing here with me?"
    Felicity smiled as if my question was something she heard all the time. "To gain insight about the whole experience while standing by the sidelines instead of being the center of attention. And I'm writing my M.A. thesis paper on the cultural influcence of the real world's real housewives—the power and opportunity of a political wife to powerful men. And before you say I'm sexist in assuming the woman's role as an ally instead of the main figure of power, don't, because my goal is to point out just how much more influential the wife can be than the all-important-husband. You're a great case because you're from a completely unexpected background—much younger and from humble beginnings."
    I think I had brief metaphorical nose-bleed there from Felicity's thesis pitch but I appreciated her candidness. For someone who obviously came from wealth and a high social class, Felicity was sweet and terribly endearing because of it, with no airs or attitude about herself.
    "So am I a school project then?" I teased her. "Specimen A: Charlotte Samuels."
    She grinned and shook her head. "Maxfield. Specimen A: Charlotte Maxfield."
    Charlotte Maxfield—holy crap. 
    I felt the urge to flee and never look back but I forced myself another dose of fortitude. 
    I may be poor and down on my luck but I was never a coward.
    "Yes, Charlotte Maxfield," I repeated, nodding slowly as if trying to get myself used to the sound of it by saying it out loud. "But please call me Charlotte. It helps to keep me grounded. I'll confess that Brandon's world intimidates me a little. I'm not used to it and it's not used to me. I'll need all the help I can get."
    The twinkle in Felicity Brightside's eyes should've warned me.
    "And I'll give you all the help you'll need, Charlotte," she promised. "We start today. Your brand new wardrobe is arriving in fifteen minutes."
     
    ******
    It was well past eight at night when Rainbow Tornado finally left me in peace.
    I was so exhausted I wouldn't have made it to my Saturday evening shift at Marlow's if I'd tried.
    I practically sobbed when Bobby called to tell me that Marissa, another waitress, needed to pick up an extra shift this week and that if I didn't mind, she could cover for me. It sounded fishy considering Bobby never once called anyone up to try to guilt-trip them into giving away their shift but I was so relieved I told him I loved him and that I would have his babies once I was divorced. He just laughed and told me to enjoy my evening. 
    If only I could.
    I was short on sleep but Felicity insisted that I didn't take a nap so that I'd be sleepy enough to hit the bed at a decent hour tonight.
    Felicity Brightside was a force of nature. While we waited for the clothes, she called Gilles in for introductions in which he participated with a brief nod and a short grunt of a greeting. Then she provided me with a brand new cellphone and laptop, all synced up with hers for contacts and scheduling. In ten minutes, she managed to initiate me into a work-out routine schedule, a healthy diet plan, a finance system along with a couple of credit cards and a bank card,