Page 45 of King of Omen

‘Hello?’ I called out as usual to double-check I was alone.

I got no response from the hum of an air conditioner and a fridge in the unseen kitchen.

I ventured further. My rubber-soled shoes were silent over the heated travertine tiles flowing seamlessly throughout the open-plan space.

The property was designed with impeccable finishes, exuding luxury at every turn.

The living room I found was stunning, filled with beach-toned furniture and fittings, the perfect environment for a seaside retreat.

The home’s culinary centre was a masterpiece of sleek contemporary design and premium textures. It featured a sizeable island serving area connected to the alfresco dining room.

It was positioned to capture the poolside ambience, sunlit lawns beyond, and a gate that opened to a private pathway to the seashore below.

I spotted an in-ground pool with hardwood decking and baby blue stone coping stones.

To the kitchen’s right, a door led past a generous internal laundry with extensive built-in storage to an oversized remote garage.

In my cleaning career, I’d seen many houses, but this one stood out for its simplicity and mastery of design.

The high-end kitchen was packed with state-of-the-art machines, and the fridge was empty.

However, the entire place was a tad musty, and every surface was covered in a light layer of dust from lack of use.

It meant more than four hours of tidying to get it all done.

So, I braced myself and typed out the work order on my iPad, detailing the number of rooms and the effort required for invoicing.

‘All right, Mia,’ I whispered, adjusting my gloves. ‘Time to unleash your magic.’

I set about the task at hand with cleaning cloths and spray bottles.

I aired the windows, wiped the gleaming surfaces and shook out the plush rugs. My wipes glided over the smooth marble finishes and chrome faucets until my reflection shone.

My meticulous attention to detail had earned Queen Clean a reputation for excellence. As its proud owner, I took immense pride in upholding my high standards.

I worked through each room – dusting the furnishings, vacuuming the carpets, and polishing the expansive wood floors.

Moving through the house, I couldn’t help but take note of its impersonal vibe.

The job description stated the house had recently been sold, thus its soullessness.

For a moment, I imagined it with a personal touch of beautiful art, pictures and drawings. Perhaps surfboards on the walls, a well-worn leather armchair where one might spend countless nights reading, and a sketchpad and pencils left on the coffee table, revealing a creative side.

A girl could dream, I sighed, pushing aside my thoughts and set to my task.

A few hours later, the place was gleaming.

My back was breaking, but I got it done, from top to bottom.

I heaved a sigh of relief, checked the time and gasped.

I had a finance class in half an hour.

Gathering my stuff in a haphazard fashion, I rushed to the mansion’s massive front door.

I punched in the secure alarm code, arming the door. I was in my van in minutes, dashing through the expressway and across the Sydney Harbour Bridge to my university lecture theatre.

It wasn’t until later, as I was mulling the intricacies of economics for business decision-making, that I had a sudden thought.

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