26. Ethan
I’ve barely been gone an hour, so when I enter my kitchen and I’m hit with the decadent aroma of melting cheese and rich marinara sauce, I feel like I’ve stepped into a parallel universe.
I’m even more confused when I see Cassidy standing at the range, an apron tied over her sweatpants and hoody, her shiny brown hair pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head.
There’s a bottle of red wine on the kitchen island, uncorked and left to breathe.
“What’s all this?”
She jumps, but honestly, I couldn’t have been that quiet. Turning, she gives me a hesitant smile. “Lasagna usually lasts a few days. Imagine my surprise when I come to get a slice and there’s nothing left.”
“I had some for breakfast,” I tell her. “And lunch. Not my fault you’re such a good cook.”
Despite the enormous slice of lasagna I had for lunch, my stomach grumbles at the smell permeating the air.
She blushes at this, then pushes her lips out like the compliment makes her uncomfortable. “Can’t promise this baked chicken parm will be as good as the pie, but?—”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I’m celebrating.” She shrugs, propping her elbow against her hip as she licks the spoon she’s holding. “Your McMansion is done and dusted. Literally.”
I hang up the Mercedes’s keys on the near empty keyring holder by the wall phone and take off my leather jacket, tossing it onto the nearest counter. The oven has warmed up the kitchen just enough that I can walk around in my sweater.
“Excellent news.”
Cassidy smiles at me, and for once it doesn’t look forced. “Do you still need my help tomorrow?”
Why am I so off-balance? This is what I wanted, wasn’t it?
I guess I’m still reeling from my trip. I never realized it would be so difficult, parting with Becks’s things, even temporarily. But I couldn’t have them in the house anymore, not with Cassidy around. The thought that she’d open that box, that she’d wonder about everything inside, maybe even start asking questions…?
“Yes,” I grunt out. “I’d appreciate it.”
She shrugs again, giving the spoon another lick. “Of course, happy to help.”
I narrow my eyes. “Have you already had some wine?”
“No,” she says through a laugh. “I was waiting for you. Why?”
I walk over to pour us each a glass. “You’re very…cheerful.”
“Implying I’m usually not?” she says lightly, turning her back to me. I guess the dish is already in the oven, because she collects the empty saucepans and takes them over to the wash station.
“I suppose an adjustment period is normal in a situation like this,” I say. “I’ll be honest, you’re the first live in, uh, assistant I’ve had.”
“Assistant?” she giggles. “You can’t even say it, can you?”
I refuse to take her bait. “How long did you think this would last? You didn’t even bring a change of clothes, so I assume you weren’t planning to still be here.”
“Have I overstayed my welcome already?” Her back is still turned, and it’s almost as frustrating not being able to see her eyes as it is listening to her evasive answers.
I take her glass over to her, setting it down nearby as I loom over her.
She glances up at me, and then gives me a double take when she sees how close I am. Suddenly her movements are less precise, her fingers trembling just a little.
“I guess the real question is, how long do you want me to stay?” Despite her flippant tone, I sense hesitation in her.
She stiffens when I brush a loose curl of chestnut hair away from her neck.
“Let me,” I murmur, coming to stand beside her and gently shooing her out of the way so I can wash the dishes.
This drastic change in attitude can only mean one thing. I’ve been too soft on her. I suppose I’m out of practice. It’s been a while since I’ve had to break someone in.
“It’s okay, really,” she says, fighting to keep her spot.
“I’ve got this.”
She retreats reluctantly, taking her glass with her, but she doesn’t go far. I glance over at her as she rests her hip against the side of the counter, her jade eyes fixed on my hands as I scrub at the saucepans.
“So do you come from money, or are you in finance or something?”
The edges of my lips twitch. “Neither.”
“Mysterious much?” she mutters into her glass.
I rinse the saucepan and set it aside on the drying rack before starting on the next one. “I’m a gemologist.”
“A what now?”
When I glance over at her, she has the cutest wrinkle in her nose. “I appraise precious gems, and broker deals between interested parties.”
“So you’re like a jeweler or something?”
My mouth thins for a moment, but I’m sure the last thing Cassidy wants is a lesson in gemology, so I let it go. I scrub at a stubborn mark on the saucepan. “I deal primarily with private collectors and other high-end clientele. They hire me to make sure the pieces they’re buying are worthy of their investment.”
“Have you always liked getting your rocks off?”
I throw her a glare, and she drops her gaze to her wine, a small smile teasing her lips. “What about you? Been in this line of work very long?”
She shrugs. “First time, actually. I’m more comfortable waiting tables.” Then, as if she can’t wait to change the subject, she blurts out, “Couldn’t help but notice the phones aren’t working anymore.”
There’s only a handful of cutlery and utensils left now. I glance at her as I wash them. “Had them disconnected. I’m going back to the city tomorrow. This house is too big for one person. I always preferred my apartment, anyway.”
“So why the hell did you buy this place, then?”
I slowly put the last spoon on the drying rack and let out the dishwater, keeping my eyes turned away from her. She shifts from foot to foot, takes a quick sip of wine, drops her head. “That was rude. Sorry.”
Sighing, I go to pick up my wineglass and take a sip. Cassidy glances over at me nervously. She’s probably wondering if I’m going to force her to her knees again to serve penance.
I’m fucking tempted.
We were having a normal, half-decent conversation before she ruined it. She can’t seem to get over the fact that we’re from such different worlds.
A timer goes off, and she jerks in surprise before rushing over to take the chicken parm out of the oven.
“Do you have a charger I could use?” she says as she sets the dish down. “I woke up and my phone was dead.”
She takes off her oven mitts and slips her phone out of her sweatpants. The moment I see it, all I can think about is that truncated message I saw this morning…right after I’d defiled her in her sleep.
My cock twitches at the memory, and I slide a hand in my pocket to keep it restrained against my thigh. “Let me see.”
She hesitates until she realizes why I want to see her phone and then hands it over. I glance at the socket at the bottom, and then shake my head. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
I’m being petty, but I don’t fucking care. While she’s under my roof, I’m the only man in her life.
“Oh.” Her disappointment puts a bitter taste in my mouth. “Okay, thanks anyway.”
“You didn’t think to bring a charger? Exactly what did Myles tell you when he sent you here?”
There’s something unreadable on her face when she blinks up at me. I sigh, shaking my head. “I know you don’t work for Shimmer and Shine.”
She looks away. “I suppose he wanted me to play it by ear.”
I chuckle dryly. “Shocker. That’s just like him, sending a fucking lamb into the wolf’s den and telling her to ‘play it by ear.’”
“Lamb?” she says through a snort.
“That’s the part that worries you?” I shake my head and take another sip of wine as I study her. She maintains eye contact for all of three seconds before going to the cabinet and taking down plates for us. I fetch cutlery and napkins from the drawer, setting them on the kitchen island.
As we sit down with a serving of baked chicken parm oozing deliciousness onto our plates, I finally relent and hand her my cellphone.
She stares at it like it’s a snake.
“If you need to call someone,” I say, waving my hand over the mobile.
“Oh. Um…thanks. But I’m good.” She pushes the phone back to me with the tip of her finger, gives me a brief, tight smile, and starts digging into the lasagna.
“This is fantastic,” I say when I pause to take a sip of wine.
“I know.” She gives me another small smile. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
The wine isn’t as sweet anymore. I take a deep breath, trying to will myself to answer the question I’d evaded earlier. “You asked me how long I want you to stay,” I say quietly, scraping together a small heap of lasagna with my fork.
She’s silent for a moment. “And?”
I’m about to ask her to come with me to the city when my phone rings.
Angelo
He’s been trying me several times a day, and each time I just decline the call. I stare at his name on the screen, wondering if I should pick it up and tell him to stop calling.
“You gonna get that?” Cassidy asks, leaning back as she sips at her wine.
“No.” I decline the call.
Why the hell can’t he take no for an answer? He’s resourceful—he can easily find another job. But he seems intent on making this my problem. Is it my fault he burned through all his commission in a matter of months? He always preferred spending his money on frivolous things like cars and clothes, expensive vacations, expensive women. I told him to invest in stocks, even put him in touch with my portfolio manager, but he refused to listen to reason.
Appetite gone, I push away my plate. “That was delicious, thank you.”
“You don’t want more?” she asks, eyeing me warily.
I look up at her, and I don’t know what she sees on my face, but it makes her flinch.
Of course I want more.
But she was meant to be a distraction. A bittersweet reminder of a past I’ve been trying to forget about.
Myles’s a selfish bastard. He had to have known what she’d do to me. How she’d make me feel.
None of this is her fault, though. I can act as possessive and petty as I want, but she’s not mine. She belongs to Myles.
“Did you have anything else lined up after this?”
“Um…no. I don’t think so.” She’s feeling her way carefully again, and I don’t blame her. “Why?”
“Were you going back to Balmont after this?”
She says nothing, simply watching me with wide, green eyes over the brim of her wineglass.
“Come with me to the city tomorrow. Myles can collect you from my apartment.”
She looks mildly panicked. “I have to return the car.”
That’s right. I saw a car parked in the drive a few yards behind my Aston Martin when I went to fetch the G-Wagon from the garage earlier today. Strange. I thought Myles said he’d sent Cassidy with a driver. Guess it made more sense for her to drive herself.
“That’s Myles’s problem, not yours.”