By Kismet

Hale Daugherty: Have you ever heard the saying, "If you want something done right, you do it yourself?" Well I believe it should read: "If you want something done right, do it yourself EXCEPT if you're Hale Daugherty."

Over the past day and a half of being in isolation with no one but myself, I realized I didn't know how to do many things--okay, I didn't know how to do anything. I was completely, positively hopeless. If you're thinking, "How about your money?" and "Aren't you rich?" Well, guys, do you want a newsflash?



"Mr. River?" inquired the lady behind the big oak desk. She had a pair of glasses resting atop her fire-truck hair that could be mistaken for a bird's nest on fire. She was typing furiously on her keyboard, every so often looking up when the bell situated right above the door chimed, signaling someone entering or departing.

"Uh, yeah." the man that was lost in his clothing answered.

"Last name?"

"Daug--Donnell. River Donnell." He had said it twice and three more times in his head like he wasn't only trying to convince the receptionist but con himself as well.

"Well Mr. Donnell, you can wait right over there." she instructed like English was a second language for him. He decided he didn't really like this woman, with her cynical glare behind those big round glasses and the hidden smirk that made him feel like she knew something he didn't.

"I'll get right back to you in...fifteen minutes." She put up a full hand and an index finger to illustrate the time she had stated and Hale gritted his teeth as he sat down on the many chairs lined one next to each other like they were holding arms. When he had called the day before, Valencia, the receptionist, informed him that only royals or famous celebrities were allowed to "order" - as she funnily put it - the maids to their household. Anyone else had to come down to the agency and go through file work first.

Hale, not knowing how anything worked, reluctantly told her he'd be there first thing in the morning, since he couldn't so much as admit to his title without ruining the whole purpose of him being incognito. For the whole of yesterday he thought about a good enough disguise in case Valencia or the people on the street recognized his face. It was a slim chance but a chance nonetheless.

He had settled with a fake but realistic beard and a conspicuous amount of clothes that included two scarves and those hats that bank robbers had a liking for. It was right smack in the middle of winter so it wouldn't seem odd at all.

"Mr. River?" Val called him over, her ear pressed tightly against the ear piece. Hale stood up and took his time walking over to her. He feared the glint in her eyes and he thought something was definitely up from the way her eyebrows narrowed slightly.

"What type of maid would I require?" he said before she spoke.

Her eyes clouded over. "What?"

"Right here." he pointed at the paper in his hand. "I don't know what type I would require. Aren't they all the same?" He knew that some maids did a specific job, like clean the clothes and tidy up the house. But he didn't know what to call them or how many he needed because once again, he was hopeless. Also, he didn't think he really wanted to hear what she had to say.

Val sighed and rubbed her head. "No. They're not the same. But that's not going to be an issue anymore."

He cocked a curious eyebrow. "Oh? And...why not?"

"I'm sorry." she said in a voice that said she wasn't apologetic at all. "But every maid apart from Christine is booked."

He rubbed his forehead much the same way she had done earlier. "So? Give me her. Can't see do every--"

"I'm sorry but she's on leave." Val interrupted and he noticed the phone was still pressed to her ear.

"Are you on the phone?" he asked out of the blue, narrowing his dark eyes towards said object.

She paled the slightest and her lips twitched nervously. "N-No. But that's not the--"

"So you're talking to someone while you're talking to me?" he pressed, getting angry for some reason.

"That's really none of your business, sir." she remarked and from the way she said it, Hale's suspicions were confirmed. I guess I should have disguised my voice too. he thought before dropping the subject at hand.

"So what then? No maid?"

Val breathed in audibly and her face relaxed when the topic steered back to the one they were having first. She looked down at the book in front of her and pretended to be deeply engrossed in what was written. "If you come back in February maybe there--"

"I need one now, carrot top." he said in a really threatening voice.

"I'm sorry." she repeated, not taking her eyes off the book.

The way she was brushing him off and lying through her teeth made a nerve in Hale's body snap. He always knew when someone was lying to him. It was a talent he picked up in his childhood years when he was forced to attend international balls and meetings. Hale was a quiet, reserved little boy but as statistics showed quite well, those types - the introverted - were the most dangerous of people. No one knew what went through their heads; no one knew what they were capable of.

"You couldn't tell me this over the phone?" he mocked, sneering when he said the last word. "You made me come all the way down here and for what? To send me back empty handed?"

Valencia's eyes read fear but her voice didn't crack. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Oh I'll show you how sorry--" he started to say but was cut off again by the bold receptionist.

"I think you should leave now Mr." Her eyes darted to the security guard whose attention was now on them. Not wanting to get arrested and in turn confess to his identity, Hale turned on his heel and slowly backed away. He gave Val a meaningful look telling her that this was not the last time they would see each other before walking out the door, the sonorous sound of the bell ringing in his ear. He had a permanent scowl on his face all the way home and a pocket loaded with cash.



Sometimes money can't buy.