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    Mr. Clean
    Copyright 2011 by Penelope Rivers
    ISBN: 978-1-61829-010-6
     
    License Notes
     
    This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
     
    Author’s Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
     
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.
     
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
     
    Published by New Line Press
    Cover by Fantasia Frog Designs
     
     
     
    Mr. Clean
    By Penelope Rivers
     
     
     
     
     
     
    When Mike Tavern had told his father that he wanted to be a maid, the look on his parent’s face would have been comical had the situation not been so serious. “You want to be a maid and not go to college?” his father had barked. “You’re mad — look at your sister and mother!” Despite the fact that his sister was a lawyer and his mother was an oral surgeon, he knew that cleaning was all that he wanted to do.
                 
    In high school, it had been a quirk of his, something that his mother had joked about to all of her friends. She had always said, “My son loves to clean things. You should see our house. It positively shimmers, and I never have to lift a finger.”
                 
    After the day that he had announced his career choice, though, she stopped laughing, as had his father and only sibling. He didn’t care if his family scoffed at him. There was an itch inside of him, something so insane that it was neurotic, that he loved. His hair was always parted precisely down the middle, he washed his face five times a day, and heaven help him if he didn’t clean his hands once every half an hour.
                 
    Which was why he was now standing in front of his new employer’s house. It was large, glistening, and pristine even from the outside, the front lawn decked out with a whole bunch of nude statues of women and men. There was a large upheaval of shrubbery on the right side. Though the company that had sent him here to be a live-in servant had not said what his client did, Mike would have thought him to be a movie star or a famous talk show host. The only way that somebody could afford a house this big was through showbiz.
                 
    As if summoned by his thoughts, the most gorgeous man that Mike had ever seen came striding out onto the lawn. He was medium height with black, messy hair and a sharp look in his eye. He was wearing a good looking suit with a blue tie. The hair, though, had to be fixed without a doubt. What was such a man doing, walking outside like that? Even as an eighteen-year-old, Mike could see that this guy needed to at least introduce himself to a comb.
                 
    The man approached him, and Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, desperate to not go beyond his duties of cleaning the house into something monkey-like and obscene. No client wanted their hair picked through, no matter what the reason. He did his best to grin when approached. It was very, very hard.
                 
    “Hello,” said Mike weakly, looking at his new, gorgeous employer. “The cleaning