7. Ethan
My heart pounds inside my chest. I’m all too aware of everything I still have to work on today… at least, I was. The woman in the corduroy coat behind me keeps dragging my attention away from all the shit I still have to get done.
She’s so fucking pretty.
Those striking, jade-colored eyes and gleaming, chestnut hair? With her looks, she could have made a fortune as a sex worker. What led her into an occupation like this? Maybe she runs cold in more ways than one.
When I’d called Janice from Shimmer and Shine yesterday to arrange a cleaner, I hadn’t bothered staying on the line long enough to find out who they’d send. The name Olivia sounds familiar, but this woman’s never been in my house before.
I’d have remembered someone as curvy and angry as her.
Janice warned me she was running out of employees willing to come to Glenmont, despite the generous wages I paid. I can’t help it if the people she sends are always disturbing me when I’m working.
I won’t apologize for being who I am…which is apparently a mean grump. But I don’t want to deal with the hassle of finding a new maid, either.
I’d better show her some civility, unless she runs for the hills.
“Seems we got off on the wrong foot, Olivia,” I say gruffly.
“I agree, Mr. Remington,” she says in a tight voice.
I stop at the threshold of the kitchen, and she walks on ahead for a few steps before turning back with a frown.
I don’t care for the sound of my name on her lips. It brought a vivid image of the way her mouth forms a perfect O at the end. Now my mind is overflowing with thoughts about all the things I could slide between those perfect lips.
Lips I now can’t seem to look away from, which pisses me off.
“Are you wearing lipstick?”
She presses the back of her hand to her mouth as if to rub it away, blurting out a flustered, “No.”
Looks like I have a little liar on my hands. And no time to chastise her appropriately. I give her a hard look. I call bullshit on the lipstick. Lips aren’t naturally so pink.
She glares at me like I bought her at a slave auction and she’s already planning her escape—after slitting my throat in my sleep.
Bad news, girl. I’m a light sleeper.
Fuck, she is just a girl, probably early twenties. Far too young to be of any interest to me.
Too young.
Too pretty.
Too angry.
And why the fuck does she keep scowling at me?
Seeming uncomfortable with my unblinking stare, she ducks her head so her chestnut bangs fall in her eyes. Not exactly contrite, but at least she isn’t glaring a hole in my head anymore.
“No names,” I snap.
Her throat moves. There’s a flash of spite in her eyes when she says, “Yes, Master.”
An ephemeral jolt shoots through my body, paralyzing me for a moment. There’s a low hum in my ears—the thrum of blood chasing through my veins.
It’s been a long, long time since someone called me that.
It takes everything I have to turn on my heel and charge away instead of pinning her to the nearest wall with a hand on her throat.
Fuck, how I wish I could send her away. But I need her. I’ve procrastinated on this too long, and left myself with few options. If I chase this girl out, I’ll have to spend all day on the phone, calling around and trying to get a new cleaner in here.
No, I won’t be sending Olivia away. She can’t possibly know how much she’s triggering me with just her presence alone. As soon as I’ve shown her the ropes, I’ll retreat upstairs and lock the fucking door.
Safer that way…especially for her.
We pass through the manor’s cavernous kitchen with its blinding white granite countertops and cast-iron gas stove, then through the scullery and into the laundry room. When I turn to open one of the storage closets with all the detergents and cleaning supplies, I catch Olivia’s wide-eyed glance at the piles of laundry in a nearby corner.
There used to be a laundry hamper. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s still there. It should be easy to find if you have a shovel.
“Are you judging me?”
“Me? No. Never.” Her voice is syrupy sweet. “But I saw movement back there. Some rats might have made a nest or something.”
Her impudence is so glaring, I’m in half a mind to congratulate her on her bravery instead of calling her out on it.
She gives me that strange smile of hers—the one that looks like it takes all of her effort to muster up. Olivia waves a limp hand in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. That’s why I’m here, right? To wash your clothes, and clean your house, and service you in whatever way your heart desires.”
An intense pressure builds inside me as the sing-song verses leave her mouth. By the time she’s done, I’m too wound up to speak.
She’d been gazing at the mountain of clothes with a far off look in her eyes, and gives me a double take when she finally glances in my direction again.
Her slim throat moves as she hastily swallows and mutters a quick “Sorry, Sir.”
Sir?
God, I need to come up with a better way for us to communicate.
Sign language?
Post-it notes?
Anything’s better than listening to her calling me Sir. Or, even worse, Master.
Maybe I should gag her.
Olivia’s plump little body barely reaches my shoulders. I could easily toss her into that mound of clothing. Plenty of things in there to subdue her with.
Neck ties for her ankles and wrists.
A pair of pants on that pile might still have a belt attached.
Oh…the things I could do to her with my belt.
“I should probably get to work, Sir.” She wouldn’t be blinking up so innocently at me if she had even an inkling of what was going through my mind right now.
Fuck, if she knew, she wouldn’t even be here anymore.
I have to clear my throat to get out my words. “Here’s everything you need,” I gesture roughly toward the cleaning supplies. “Start in the kitchen and work your way up. The basement and attic don’t need to be cleaned. Everything else must be spotless by Thursday afternoon.”
“Thursday? Afternoon?”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
She flutters her dark green eyes at me. “No, of course not,” she says grudgingly, giving me that same forced smile. “A few days to clean this big ass mansion is plenty of time. Sir.”
My cock twitches at her sarcastic little purr.
Christ, I need to get laid. And I need to get the hell out of here before I do something I regret. I have a stack of work waiting for me…and a nasty email to send Janice. I don’t know what she was thinking, sending me this spiteful little girl instead of a trained professional, but I’ll have none of it. There’s a lot that needs to be done before the open house. Which reminds me…
“I need you to get my dry cleaning done before Friday.”
“So… I should just throw everything in the back of your Aston and take it to the cleaners?”
Now I’m imagining her in the back seat of my car, her bare, creamy flesh contrasting with the dark brown leather of my DB11’s bitter-chocolate–colored interior as I pin her to the seats and rut her like a wild animal.
I hurriedly clear my throat, force the image from my mind, and point to the wall phone inside the kitchen.
“Call them,” I grate out. “They’re on speed dial. They’ll come collect it.”
“Too busy to make a phone call?” I swear I hear her murmur to herself, but when I turn to look at her, her face is that of an angel’s.
“The master suite is off limits. And Olivia…I’m not to be disturbed.”
“Understood, Sir.”
Olivia gives me another bright, blatantly fake smile as I back out of the room. She’s getting better at them.
Good for her.