Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
The answer had landed in my lap during a deep dive into her life, but I figured I should establish some sort of discourse between us before I broached the subject of fucking her.
Farrow’s throat rolled with a swallow, her eyes trained on my injured hand as she worked. “The house is paid for, and the deed is under my and my stepmother’s name, but I do pay rent in the form of property taxes and half of the utilities. Regardless, I’d gotten myself into a… situation. I have to pay a large fee. I’m still working on it.”
“What did you do?”
But I already knew.
What I really wanted to ask was—why did you do it?
She didn’t seem like the type.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“You’re in my house. Your character is my concern.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you hired someone who tried to steal from you. Allegedly.”
The knots up and down my back began to loosen, even though she still touched me through the film. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I didn’t actually care.
It didn’t factor in my decision-making, though it might become a headache to use another man’s woman.
She squinted. “I’ll repeat myself—it’s none of your concern.”
“Can we make one thing clear?” I rested a hip against the vanity. “Everything you do, everyone you communicate with, and every single fucking breath you take is my business. I made you my business the day I hired you, and I am a very good businessman. Now that that’s out of the way, you can either volunteer the information, or I can extract it in other ways. The choice is yours.”
“What choice? You’re leaving me no leeway.” She stepped back and picked up the phone she’d discarded on the tiles when she’d busted into the bathroom, pocketing it. “You’ll get the information either way.”
I shrugged. “Might as well fess up.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Her nostrils flared. “And I’m not interested in one, either.”
“The male population of the world is surely devastated,” I drawled.
But she seemed completely unbothered by my quip.
Maybe even relieved.
“That’s a pity.” She flashed a grin. “You know how the saying goes… If you can’t handle me at my worst, then I’ve got news for you. My personality will only deteriorate from here on out.”
“That is not the correct saying.”
“It’s the correct saying for my personality.” She dusted off her hands on the apron of her uniform. “Anyway, do you like her?”
Why?
Do you care?
I played dumb. “Who?”
“Audrey Huffborn.”
“It’s Hepburn,” I corrected.
“Not your bride. She is put together and elegant like the real thing, but she’s obviously miserable.” Farrow slanted her head. “So? You into her?”
“Yes,” I lied.
I had to.
She kept staring through me, deep into a soul I didn’t think existed, searching my face for something she’d never find.
Emotions.
“She’s very pretty.” Farrow’s frown smoothed out. “Glossy hair, red lips, almond eyes—”
“You’re better than that,” I interjected, wondering internally if she truly was.
“Better than what?”
“Describing minorities through food.”
She seemed surprised, but not defensive. “I never thought of it that way.”
I arched a brow. “How would you feel if I said you have pancake eyes?”
She tipped her head back, snorting. “Duly noted. Although…”
“Yes?”
“For the record, I love almonds. And pancakes.” She groaned. “God, I love pancakes. Ooey, gooey chocolate-chip pancakes topped with extra almonds.”
She was ridiculous. Completely unhinged.
Yet, my lips twitched, fighting a smile.
“You may leave now.”
She squinted. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“For what?”
“Your hand!”
“Thank you for my hand?” I blinked, deliberately not getting it. “You didn’t stitch it back together, Octi. You merely wrapped it in film.”
“Wow, you’re a jerk.”
She pivoted, stalking out of the bathroom.
And you’re mine.
I’d make sure of it.
“Don’t forget to clean the breakfast conservatory,” I called after her. “My date left some crumbs.”
The Sun manor sparkled by the time I finished my first day.
Sure, I’d commandeered Zach’s obnoxious war vehicle for a joy ride and flipped the stone penis on the Roman statue in the garden maze upside down. (Not like I was the one who broke it in the first place.)
But overall, I’d left the place in better shape than I’d found it, granted it’d already come in tip-top condition. Nothing out of place. Not even a toothpick.
When I yanked the heavy double doors open and slugged toward my ancient Prius, my lock screen read half past seven. Way too late to trek down a quarter-mile driveway in the pitch dark in any other town but Potomac.
All the other homes on Dark Prince Road lit up with lights. Not Zach’s. Nope. He preferred to broadcast what a hellish existence he lived.
I trudged down the driveway, cursing my new boss.
This morning, when I’d pulled up to the iron gates, a security guard had instructed me to park outside the property.
He’d shrugged. “Boss’ order.”
I didn’t doubt it.
It sounded right up Satan’s alley to torture me, just for the fun of it. Cheap entertainment to see me running all the way to his mansion in the rain.