27. Mira
27
MIRA
I’m wielding a soapy dish sponge like a microphone and singing along way too loudly to Shania Twain when someone knocks on the door.
I drop the sponge immediately and it splashes into the sink. Water sloshes over the side and soaks the bottom few inches of my shirt.
“Shit!” I’m wringing my shirt over the sink when another flurry of knocks resounds through the condo.
Zane just left for a run ten minutes ago. There’s no way he’s back already. But the persistent knocker shows no sign of going away soon, so I turn down the music and hustle over to the door.
The second I open it, a woman with wavy red hair and a garment bag held over her head whisks inside. “ Finally . This suit is heavy.”
She hangs the bag from one of the ridiculously high kitchen cabinets and then turns to face me. Her eyes slip from the sloppy bun balanced precariously on top of my head to my wet shirt to my slippered feet. Her face puckers. “Where is Mr. Whitaker?”
“He went for a run.” I blink at the woman and then shake my head. “I’m sorry, who are?—”
“Hanna. We’ve corresponded.”
“Oh. Zane’s assistant.” I palm my forehead. “Obviously. Hi. It’s nice to meet?—”
“When will Zane be back?” She swipes her finger over the countertop like she’s checking for dust. I feel like I’m in the middle of a pop quiz.
“I’m not sure. His runs usually last an hour. Sometimes longer.”
Not that I ever stick around to see him come back. He usually runs early in the morning. I hear him coming back from my cozy spot in bed.
This morning, he got a later start than usual. We stayed up last night… talking .
I’m still not sure how to process Zane and I being in the same room for more than an hour without fighting, but it happened. If only there’d been someone else around to witness the historic moment.
Then again, if there’d been anyone else around, I’m not sure it would’ve happened. It feels oddly like Zane lowered some walls last night.
It also feels like I was way too desperate to scale those walls.
“What happened last night?” Hanna asks suddenly.
I wonder if Zane’s assistant has the ability to read minds until I see her pointing at the untouched pizza box still on the counter.
“He didn’t eat the pizza.” She frowns. “Is he sick?”
“Oh. Um. No. I made dinner, remember? I mentioned that on the phone.” Why is this so awkward? “We had chicken alfredo.”
Hanna slams the cardboard lid closed. “Wow. A nanny and a personal chef. Zane is getting a discount on you.”
“Thank… you.” I think? I’ve never been more offended by a compliment.
“Just for future reference, pizza is his usual cheat day meal. I order it from his favorite delivery place. I could send you the information, but I know what he likes. It’s probably just easier for me to do it.”
“Okaaay.” If Zane was a fire hydrant, Hanna would be lifting her leg to mark her territory. Does she think I’m trying to take over her job? Because I could never. Spreadsheets are my mortal enemy. “Yeah, that’s fine. Whenever he wants pizza, you’ve got dibs.”
Hanna spins around and unzips the garment bag. She smooths her hands down the true blue suit like she wishes Zane were already inside of it. I nearly ask if she needs a minute alone. This looks intimate.
“Zane has an event coming up and needed his suit dry cleaned. Do you want me to take it to his room?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously over her shoulder. “I don’t want you to wrinkle it.”
I fight back a grimace. “I think I can manage.”
“Are you sure? Formalwear requires a delicate touch and Zane is very particular.”
Oh, this is bitch speak. I’m fluent. What she’s actually saying is, You’re low-brow trash. Do they even have suits in whichever trailer park you crawled out of?
Zane’s assistant doesn’t like me. Looking back on all of the clipped, efficient emails, I now read her professionalism for what it really was: utter disdain.
“Zane hasn’t complained so far. I’ll handle it from here.”
Her top lip curls and I brace myself for what she’s going to say… when Aiden pads into the kitchen.
He’s still wearing his Hulk pajamas. The second he sees Hanna, he shoves his thumb in his mouth.
Hanna turns her attention to him. “You’re a little big to be sucking your thumb, aren’t you? I thought you were four. Are you four?”
Aiden doesn’t answer. He just shifts further behind the island, his eyes darting down to the floor.
“People will think you’re a baby if you keep doing that,” she sing-songs, delivering the insult like it’s praise.
“He only does it when he’s around someone he doesn’t know. Or when someone makes him uncomfortable,” I bite out.
I shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t help it. Aiden is just starting to open up to people and now, this pompous woman marches in here and makes fun of him?
Fuck.
That.
She smiles, but it’s more like a predator flashing their canines. “Zane is paying you to take care of his son, not stunt his development. If you keep treating him like a baby, he’ll act like one.”
“And if you keep treating me like your employee, I’m going to expect a paycheck. So pay up or fuck off.”
Hanna’s face turns as red as her hair. Her eyes narrow and I know, as she leaves, I do not have a friend in her.
As soon as the door closes, I kneel down in front of Aiden. “You are not a baby, buddy. That lady was just a grouch.”
“I don’t like her,” he whispers, popping his thumb out of his mouth.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper back, kissing his chubby cheek. “I don’t like her, either.”
By the time I get Aiden into a bath overflowing with bubbles, he’s forgotten all about Hanna’s drop in.
But I haven’t.
Zane should know someone he pays is comfortable talking to his son like that. I know he wouldn’t stand for it.
I finish cleaning up the breakfast dishes and throwing out any evidence of the pizza Hanna sent last night. All future deliveries from her will be thoroughly examined for spit and/or love potions. It’s weirdly satisfying to slam the trash can lid closed.
I’m just coming out of the bathroom from checking on Aiden when the front door opens and Zane strides into the entryway.
At least, I think it’s Zane. It’s hard to tell because my eyes are incapable of moving any higher than his defined, glistening pectorals.
He had a shirt on when he left this morning, right?
Definitely. He must’ve. If he’d walked out with no shirt on and an armband cinched around the swell of his bicep, I would have noticed.
Actually, I would have more than noticed. I would have frozen on the spot—kind of like I am now—and gawked with total, shameless abandon.
It takes way too many seconds for me to realize that Zane’s rippling abs are getting closer. Which means his face is probably getting closer, too. Since it’s attached to his body and all.
“Everything alright?” he asks, slightly breathless.
Do I imagine him saying those words in my ear while his weight presses me into a mattress? I’ll never tell.
I blink away from his body and meet his eyes. He’s watching me like he can see the preview of the dirty little fantasy playing in my mind.
“Me? Yes. Sure.” I swallow audibly. “I’m just tired. It was a late night.”
He pulls an earbud out of his ear and wow , the company should sponsor him. Seeing him like this, I want to own those earbuds. I want to be those earbuds .
“Thanks again for that.”
“For what?”
For staying up late to talk with him? He doesn’t need to thank me for that. It was nice.
Which, on top of the lust burning under my skin, is a very scary admission.
“Thanks for taking Aiden to the game. It was a bit outside of your usual hours. Then you made dinner. It was a lot.”
I wave away his thanks, accidentally swiping the tips of my fingers against his wrist when he lifts a hand to swipe back his sweaty hair.
Then I jerk my hand back like he electrocuted me. “It was my pleasure.”
Don’t talk about pleasure when he’s standing here shirtless, you skank!
“Still.” He shrugs, muscles I didn’t even know existed shifting under his golden skin. “I appreciate it. All I have to do today is watch some game film. Aiden can play with me while I do that, so I want you to take the day off.”
“Oh.” I don’t want to sound as disappointed as I weirdly feel, so I add, “Thanks.”
Just like that, the day stretches in front of me, long and empty. Is it shameful that Aiden might be my best friend? I have the day off, but I still want to spend the day with him.
And his sweaty, shirtless dad, if I’m being honest.
“I actually thought you could invite Taylor over for a girl’s day… Whatever that means. I’ve never had one, but I thought you might enjoy it.”
When the hell did this pretty boy become charming? That was not part of the deal.
Alarm bells ring in my head, but they’re drowned out by the dulcet tones of Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On also blaring on my mental radio station.
“But you said no parties.”
He also said no sex, I remind myself. It feels pertinent to reiterate that point right about now. I knew it had been a long time since I’ve had sex, but this is outrageous. One late-night conversation and I forget all of his faults and turn to putty in his large, strong, very-capable-of-bending-me-in-half hands.
“I trust you and Taylor not to go too wild.” His eyes simmer and I feel like my skin is on fire. “Aiden and I will stay out of your hair, but this is your house, too. I want you to feel comfortable here.”
“Then you should put a shirt on,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Zane’s eyebrows rise and this conversation officially needs to end before I do something insane—like punch him in the dick or lick his collarbone.
“Anyway, that sounds super fun.” I back into the bathroom. “I’ll help Aiden finish his bath. Then you can shower—if you were going to shower, that is. If you want to shower. You don’t have to, but you can if?—”
“I would like to shower.” He reaches over his shoulder to massage his neck and there is no chance in the world he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to me. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Take your time,” I tell the chiseled marble of his back.
I’m going to need at least that long to get my breathing back to normal.