Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
This bitch was evil.
I forced myself to continue my cooperative tone. “Just think about it. I’ll be in touch.”
As soon as I watched Deacon step out of the elevator with his satchel over his shoulder and get into the back seat of his private car, I grabbed his dry cleaning and met our housekeeper outside his door.
There was no reason for the cleaners to have access to our clients the way we did, not when I was downstairs and could let them in myself. I got the door unlocked and stepped inside, the hook of the hangers on my fingertips.
She carried in the pile of fresh sheets and set them on the couch.
I moved to the hallway where I could place his clean clothes in his closet.
But then I stilled, seeing the blonde sitting at the table on her phone, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. She was in a wrinkled dress with her heels on the table, which was obnoxious to me. Her makeup was gone like she’d washed her face sometime in the middle of the night.
She stared at me as if I had no right to be there.
It took me a few seconds to process that she was real, that Deacon had had company the night before. So far, I’d never seen him with anyone, so I never really thought about it. But he was a single man who’d just gotten out of a bad marriage. He was one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen, and he was fit as an ox. I shouldn’t be surprised he did what all single men did. But for some reason, I was. He wasn’t much of a talker, so I didn’t know how he connected with people. But then again, he was hot, rich, and ripped. He really didn’t need to say much to get a beautiful woman to stay over. It took me an eternity to find the words to say. “I’m sorry. I’m just here to drop off Mr. Hamilton’s dry cleaning.”
“Okay.” She turned back to her phone and scrolled through a social media app.
“Is it okay if housekeeping cleans up, or would you rather she come back?”
Without looking at me, she shrugged.
It was similar behavior to Deacon’s, but it annoyed me a lot more, because this woman wasn’t some brilliant doctor who was gifted with such intellect that she didn’t know how to socialize.
She was just a bitch.
I rang the doorbell as I stood outside his residence.
His deep voice sounded from inside. “It’s open.”
I’d texted him from the lobby—that way, he knew I was coming—and he must have unlocked the door so he wouldn’t have to do it later.
I let myself inside.
He sat at the dining table with his dirty dish beside him, a glass of white wine in front of him. His laptop was open, his paperwork scattered around him.
I approached him, seeing him sitting exactly where the blonde had been days ago. “Your suit is ready for tomorrow.”
He warmed up to me a bit, actually acknowledging me with at least a look. He examined the suit that hung from my fingertips then looked at me. But that was the most I got from him.
It was more than most people received, so I considered myself lucky. “I’ll hang it in your closet.” I carried it down the hallway to his bedroom, seeing the sheets a mess on his bed. I made room in his closet so nothing would crinkle the pressed fabric before I returned to him. “Can I ask you something?”
He turned to me again, staring at me with his chocolate-colored eyes, the five-o’clock shadow on his face matching the darkness of his eyes, of the deep-colored strands on his head. He was a beautiful man, his jaw chiseled and masculine, his fair skin contrasting against his dark hair. He chose to communicate in his own way, not verbally, like words weren’t a suitable form of conversation. He was in a black shirt with sweatpants, his arms like tree trunks, the cords of his muscles the roots. When he stared, it could be intimidating at times, but also sexy.
“Why don’t you ever work in your office? I notice you’re always at the table.” He had a nice office with a fancy desk, all his supplies in the room, a great view of the city. His bookshelves were in there, along with the textbooks he’d kept from his education.
He considered the question a long time, looking at me without blinking. It was ironic that he didn’t like to exchange words often, but he had no problem sharing a level of intimacy that lovers had, with intense eye contact and an unblinking stare.
I imagined it was easy for him to pick up women when he looked like that.
He turned back to his computer. “No reason.”