Chapter 14 – Cain #2
“What are you talking about?” She heads towards the foyer and retrieves a feather duster before grabbing some sort of weird glass vase decoration that I’ve never noticed before.
It’s way too large, definitely not my style and suspiciously phallic shaped.
I have no idea when or how it got there but I didn’t buy it.
I gesture dramatically with my arms up and down her body at the outfit she’s wearing.
Her brows raise. “Is that supposed to be a joke? You think that I’m wearing this uniform for what?
To role play? With you?” she spits it out with a little more disgust than I would have preferred.
“Why the hell would I be in here doing actual work if this was role play?” She points to the cart in the middle of the room that has a vacuum, a mop, bucket and various other cleaning supplies on it then rolls her eyes.
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re committed to the scene?”
“If I wanted to role play with you, a maid is not what I’d choose. Who dresses up like their actual job for sex? Would you dress as a lawyer?”
I rub at my jaw, thinking that through. I like that she’s thinking about it too. Now I’m interested. And so is my dick that hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her in months.
So, she’s a sex therapist, a sometimes model in music videos, and a maid. I swear nothing about this woman makes sense.
“No. Probably not. But what would you choose?” I ask before I can tell myself to shut up.
Her eyes narrow as she continues to clean, leveling me with a heated stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Hell yeah, I would.
I start picturing Rhiannon in a sexy nurse’s outfit, or maybe, as a police officer. Hell, she could literally put on anything, and I’d like it as long as I’m the one taking it off and fucking her afterwards.
I don’t know what it is about this woman that’s taken up rent in my mind. Usually, once I’ve driven the car, I have no interest in renting the same one again, but Rhiannon makes me want to be a repeat offender… and now I can’t shut up with these idiotic puns.
“You know,” I step towards her but still leave enough space that she doesn’t feel cornered while she works, “you’ve been fucking with my career lately.”
She smirks but continues to dust. “Can’t blame me for that.”
I chuckle and move a little closer. “That’s where you’re wrong. Ever since your little court appearance, I’ve been off my game.”
“Hm…” she hums, her wrist twisting gently as it continues to work that feather duster delicately. I wonder if she’d like to experiment with it on her body. I wonder how hard it’d make her nipples to have those fragile, little feathers dancing around the pink of her chest.
“I take it you lost another one of your cases?”
I nod. “Yes, and not just any case. One that I should have won easily.”
“Shame.”
My eyes narrow at her. “Thanks for the sympathy.”
“I’m still waiting for an apology from you.”
That has my brows raising. “Why would I apologize to you?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t like the way you spoke about me in front of the judge. It was rude.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Honey, that’s just work.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me. I lost sleep over that whole case. My family was worried, too.”
For a second I feel bad but then I repeat the mantra I’ve been telling myself for years when the guilt creeps in about the people I’m suing. It’s part of my job not to catch feelings or get too invested in any one case.
“And now, you’re here fucking with my job,” she says.
“I’m not messing with your job. I’m just having a conversation with the maid who’s cleaning my house.”
She drops a hip and holds the duster up with a mock-serious expression.
“We prefer ’cleaning personnel,’ thank you very much. Now, unless you’re here to help me, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave and let me finish.”
“Oh… I’d definitely like to help you finish.” With my cock buried inside you. “And finishing doesn’t require any of those supplies you’ve brought, unless you’d like it to.”
She pauses her dusting, staring at the vase and then lifting it, turning it over in her hands as she inspects it closely.
I take a moment to appreciate how pretty she looks today.
Black skirt that’s way too short. Tan legs for miles.
Her white shirt is unbuttoned at the top more than I think the employees are allowed, and her hazel eyes are sparkling.
Her long, dark hair is pulled up into some sort of clip thing that I’ve seen my sister wear with just a few pieces framing her face.
I don’t know what it is about her, red suit in court, birthday suit in my hotel room, white tank top and denim shorts on a dusty, make-shift set, sweater dress on the lawn, maid uniform in my suite, she’s fucking gorgeous to me. But even more than that, she’s captivating.
“I’ve always hated cleaning this thing. It looks like a ball sack and has so many intricate grooves that I have the toughest time getting inside it,” she says.
“I’ve literally never noticed that vase in my life.”
Her brows drop as she studies it closer. “So, you’re saying that I’ve been sweating my ass off, dusting a vase for months that you don’t even care about?”
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not mine. I’m guessing the last owners left it behind.”
And the next thing I know, she’s spinning around so quickly she looks like a blur of brown hair and wild eyes.
“Think fast!” she shouts as she tosses the vase my way.
I don’t even have time to react to what’s happening.
One second, I’m standing there watching her, halfway to hard thinking about fucking her in the middle of my pent house and the way she just said ‘ball sack’ so casually, and the next moment the ornate vase I’ve never looked at twice is shattering across my hands and I’m standing there, in shock as tiny shards of glass cover the floor and my navy blue suit pants.
I look at the mess on the ground and then at the blood before I shout calmly, “What... the… fuck!” My hand drops little beads of red on the freshly mopped marble floor.
“Oh… shit!” Rhiannon’s eyes are wide with fear. “I thought you were going to catch it!”
“Why would you think that?! You threw a fucking glass vase at me and yelled think fast!”
“Well clearly you tried to catch it. It touched your hand. You just couldn’t hold on!”
I gape at her. “Are you seriously blaming me for this?”
“Here, shit, here let me see how bad it is.” She rushes towards me, but I yank my hand away aggressively, giving her my back.
“I don’t think so, she-devil.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine. Just suffer then.”
She grabs the broom from her cleaning cart and starts sweeping up the mess while I stand rooted in place trying to figure out what the fuck to do now.
I don’t have anything in here to properly clean this and cover it, plus I’m supposed to be across town, meeting with clients in less than an hour. Fuck my life. This is exactly what I didn’t need after my dad’s email. Another distraction.
When the mess is cleaned up, she places one hand on her hip, the other pointing directly at me. For how much my hand hurts, it’s a distracting position that pushes her chest up.
“I’m sorry. Now are you going to let me take a look at that or is your ego too big for help?”
I glance down at the gash—it looks deep, but there’s no sign of glass in it. Still, I’d feel better having a professional take care of it. And truth be told, I’d rather not have Rhiannon touching me unless it involves her sucking my cock in an apology.
“Oh… that looks pretty bad.” She steps closer. “Look, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking and thought you were going to catch it. Let me drive you to the hospital.”
“I can manage.”
She sighs and her shoulders slump. For a second, I feel bad. For a second. Because this woman did just crack a vase over my hand and then find a way to blame me for it.
“Please don’t be stubborn about this. I messed up and I want to make it right.”
I’m going to regret this. Every instinct in me says it’s a mistake and I should just call a driver to get as far away as possible from her. But I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Last time I saw you, you made me lose my first case in years. And now you’ve assaulted me. What do you think the universe is trying to tell me?”
She fights back a laugh. “That I’m a danger to your career and prone to cause you bodily harm?”
Maybe she’s right. Somehow, agreeing to this feels like the cure to whatever spell Rhiannon’s put me under that’s controlling my mind. Maybe I just need to be around her for a few minutes and have her slice me open to realize she’s not as great as I was remembering.
A quick trip to the hospital, and I’ll finally get her out of my head and system. I’ll see all the ways she’s a walking disaster, convince myself that the spark I thought we had from our two hook-ups was nothing more than surface-level lust, and then proudly walk away never to think of her again.
Maybe that’s why the universe keeps throwing us together. So that I can finally see, up close, that we’re completely incompatible and that her personality is terrible.
Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.
Except I already know that it’s not. She feels like a danger that’ll cause me a hell of a lot more than a simple cut.
That she might be a risk to my carefully curated, painfully predictable world.
To the focus and drive that I’ve always possessed and has paid off so well.
To the plan I’ve had since I was a kid: take over my father’s company someday and die an old, single, very wealthy, extremely grumpy man.
I want to tell her she’s a walking red flag. Because if she were anyone else, I’d sue her and whatever company she works for without a second thought for assault. And this time, I’d win.
I mean, she did just throw a piece of my furniture at me, break it, and draw blood.
But it’s Rhiannon.
The woman I barely know anything about yet can’t stop wanting to. Desperately, stupidly, irrationally.
Just one more hour around her and then I’ll be cured.
“Alright, let’s go,” I finally concede. It might need stitches, and I can’t have this slow me down with work. And I’m not agreeing to this because I want to find another excuse to spend time with her. It’s definitely not that.
I let her lead the way out of the hotel to the parking garage where she parked her car. We ride the elevator in silence, just the hum of machinery and the soft hotel music playing while I press a thin bit of gauze to the wound that she’d had on her cleaning cart.
When the doors slide open to the garage and she moves towards a vehicle that looks like was just driven off a pound lot, I start to rethink every life choice that brought me to this moment.
“Is that your car?” I eye the beat-up mid-size SUV that’s parked in front of me.
It’s probably from the early 2000s—old enough to qualify for antique plates at this point.
The hood is covered in rust, and when she hits the unlock button, I notice that one of the taillights don’t light up.
It’s definitely seen better days. I’m doubtful it would even pass inspection.
And when I notice the tags on the front window, my suspicion is confirmed.
Hasn’t been inspected in six years.
Damn. A mechanic hasn’t touched this thing since before the pandemic.
“You don’t have to be rude.” She laughs as she walks to the driver’s side door. At least she’s in the teasing mood and doesn’t seem like she’s still angry about the whole suing her thing.
“I usually take the train into the city for work, but I missed it, so I had to drive.”
I walk to the passenger side and try to open it, but it’s still locked despite her already being in the drivers’ seat. Rhiannon reaches across the center console to manually lift the unlock button for me.
“Key fob doesn’t unlock all of the doors?” I ask smugly as I slide inside.
“Zip it.”
She kicks the car into reverse, and the brakes scream in protest. Normally, that alone would be enough to confirm that Rhiannon and I are too opposite to ever be anything more than strangers who’ve hooked up a few times.
I prefer driving vehicles that I don’t think are going to leave me abandoned on the side of NYC’s busy streets or launch me into a storefront.
But somehow, it does the exact opposite. Because she doesn’t care what I or anyone else think about her car. She knows what I do for a living, she knows where I live, and she still didn’t suggest we take a taxi to hide the state of her ride.
It’s hers. She’s proud of it.
And that only makes me like her more.