SEVEN
Noah
On Tuesday, I made sure to finish all my meetings early, so it gave me time to put some of my shit away. Really, it gave me time to clean—which was fucking ridiculous.
Charlotte would be here soon to clean my house.
Or, at least, she’d come over to discuss that, and I thought we were both hoping our one meeting would be enough to appease her father.
I wasn’t happy with the way my boss had foisted this upon me, but I was majorly pissed she was Ardy’s daughter. I should have been glad for it because it was yet another reason to steer clear of her. My first year at HBHC, when I was young and dumb, I had fucked around with a coworker, and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Sex and business needed to stay separate.
So why the hell was I looking forward to seeing her again? It’d only been three days. And why did I like that her number was now saved in my phone?
I wiped a paper towel over my bathroom counter, cleaning up the loose whiskers left from my morning shave. That was when I noticed there was a glob of toothpaste in the sink and water spots splattered on the mirror.
No way was I going to have time to clean everything before she got here. In fact, I’d been doing triage for the last half hour, focusing on the worst, most embarrassing spots, and I doubted anyone would be able to tell.
Shit, why did I have to be such a slob?
When the doorbell rang, I angrily gazed at my watch. Was she early? I was supposed to have more time—
Nope. We’d said five, and it was exactly that. Fuck .
I tossed the paper towel in the garbage can, checked my reflection in the mirror, and headed toward the entryway. I pulled open the door, and as I took in the sight of her, my grip tightened instinctively on the doorframe.
The last time I’d seen her, she hadn’t been prepared. She’d had on minimal makeup, her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she’d been wearing shorts and an old t-shirt. Today, she came ready, like she’d made an effort to look as tempting as possible.
Charlotte wore a pair of tight leggings, a purple sports bra, and a gauzy white shirt over it. The fabric was paper thin, so I could see her sexy bare stomach beneath it. Plus, the shirt was so loose fitting, it hung off one shoulder and exposed the intricate crisscrossing straps of her bra. Her hair was up in a smooth, sleek knot, and her makeup, while muted, was sultry.
The desire to peel her out of her clothes was so strong, so instantaneous, I went dizzy for a moment.
Internally, I wanted to scowl. Yes, she was hot, but she was too young for me, not to mention she was the boss’s daughter. His only kid. Which meant she was probably spoiled as hell.
Her gaze worked its way up my body, and when her eyes focused on mine, her shoulders lifted with a heavy, preparing breath. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I said, backing away from the door to allow her space. “Come on in.”
She stepped into my entryway, toed off her shoes without me asking, and peered around like she half-expected an ambush was waiting for her. When she didn’t find one, her attention went to the living room.
“You made some progress,” she said quietly.
I massaged the back of my neck. “Yeah. My parents came over and helped me out. Well, it was mostly my mom—my dad has a bad back and he just sat on the couch.”
Um, why are you telling her this?
I gestured toward the space that was no longer a labyrinth of boxes. “You want to have a seat?”
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
Her body language screamed she was uncomfortable and just wanted to get this thing over with, and I understood. I didn’t like seeing her like this, feeling so awkward and unconfident.
I jammed my hands in the pockets of my jeans and did my best to act casual. “You don’t have to do anything,” I said. “You can tell him I changed my mind. Throw me under the bus if you want to.”
“It’s fine.” Her words were clipped. “I need the money, and you need the help, right?”
I was trying to be a nice guy here. “Sure.”
“Okay, what were you thinking? I mean, obviously, the kitchen. What else?”
Now I was irritated. “Uh... the bathrooms too, I guess.”
“I don’t do laundry.” It came from her so abruptly, it was like she’d just thought of it. “I mean, I don’t want to do yours . Bedding and towels are okay, but not clothes.”
“Fine by me.” I could certainly handle doing my own laundry. Plus, the idea of her doing it felt wrong.
“And I don’t do windows. Too time consuming.”
I nodded.
Then, she ticked her chin up, trying to look strong, but her uneven voice gave her away. “Bedrooms?”
There wasn’t a point in cleaning the guest or spare rooms, but my bedroom was where I spent the majority of my time. “Just mine.”
I hadn’t put any heat into my words, but it didn’t matter. Now we were both picturing the last time we’d been in there, and the air between us snapped tight.
Her effect on me was unreal and frustrating. Desire trapped inside me bounced around, searching for a weakness. It needed to escape, to have freedom and take what it wanted.
No. It’s not allowed.
The fuck if that didn’t make me want her more.
“And my office,” I added.
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
Charlotte began to move, strolling toward the kitchen, causing me to follow. “All right, I’m going to walk around and take a look.” She pulled to a stop so suddenly, I nearly ran into her. “I mean, if that’s all right with you? I’m trying to figure out how many hours I think it’ll take so I can give you a quote.”
I gestured toward the hallway. “Go ahead.”
We didn’t speak as she went room by room. There were no comments about the drastic improvement of my kitchen, with its empty sink and clean countertops. Nor did she say anything about the artwork hanging on the walls.
But she hesitated at the threshold to my bedroom.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
It forced her to keep moving, and she stepped inside the room, taking in her surroundings. “You made your bed today.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I knew I was going to have company.”
She turned in place, giving me a full view of her flat expression. “Don’t think of me like that.”
“Like what? A person?”
“Like a friend.” She put a hand on her hip. “Maybe think of me as your employee.”
I raised my eyebrows. “If you’re asking to keep things strictly professional between us, I couldn’t agree more, and you’ll have no issues from my end.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Her gaze shifted away to linger on my bed, and her expression turned cryptic. What was she thinking about?
Her voice lost some of its power. “Will you want to be here while I’m doing it?”
“While you’re cleaning? I don’t have to be.” It seemed unlikely she was going to make off with any of my stuff. “Is that what you’d prefer?”
She looked relieved. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She pulled the neckline up over her bare shoulder, only for it to immediately slide off. “I don’t want us to get in each other’s way.”
I was pretty sure I understood what she really meant, that this whole thing would be easier for her if she didn’t have to see me. And why was that? Was I too tempting?
Stop thinking like that.
“Okay,” I said. “Next time you come, I’ll make sure I’m not around, but I’ve got too much to do to leave tonight.”
She nodded, and with that settled, she padded on her socked feet into my bathroom. Her gaze swept over the large glass shower, the double vanity sinks, and the freestanding bathtub I doubted I’d ever use. Something caught her attention, and I watched her through the mirror as she marched toward the sink that was clearly mine.
A slow smile crept over her lips as she peered at the bare granite. “Did you clean before I got here?”
How the fuck could she tell? I shrugged one shoulder, pretending I didn’t care and that I hadn’t done it for her. “Maybe.”
Her gaze lifted to connect with mine through the glass. For a split second, I saw the girl she’d been the other night, but a heartbeat later, she vanished. Charlotte turned, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned back against the counter.
“One visit a week?” she asked.
I was one person. “Yeah, that should be plenty.”
“I think it’ll take me three hours, and my rate is forty an hour.”
A humorless laugh punched free from my chest. “You’re dreaming.”
She tilted her head and shot me a hard look. “You have a big house, Noah. I don’t think I can do it any faster—”
“No, you’re dreaming about your rate.” Explaining to Ardy why this deal with his daughter fell through should be easy now. “I looked at rates in this area, and most places don’t charge more than twenty-five bucks.” I spoke with the same direct tone I used when executing trades. “I’m doing you a favor; I’m not donating to charity .”
Her eyes narrowed. “I guess I could do it for thirty.”
“Twenty-five,” I reiterated.
She committed the cardinal sin of negotiations when she dropped her arms, and a look of desperation overtook her face. She was letting her emotions drive the conversation, which had no place in our business discussion.
“Those other companies won’t do as good of a job as I will.”
Maybe she was right, but she sounded pouty, and that was the moment I knew I had won.
“Twenty-five is as high as I’m willing to go,” I said flatly.
She glanced at the door to my bedroom like she was thinking about walking away, but I could practically see the thoughts in her mind. She needed this. I had all the leverage here, and she knew it.
She sighed with reluctance, although it felt forced. Like a production. As if the number she’d hoped to land on was twenty-five all along. “All right.” She pushed off the counter and walked forward. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I’d thought she was going to stop when she reached me, but she blew right past and marched into my bedroom. It left me feeling weirdly off-balance. “Don’t you want to shake on it?”
“No.” Her voice faded as she left the bedroom. “I’ve got too much work to do.”
I held up my end of the deal, staying tucked away in my office and out of Charlotte’s way as she got to work on the kitchen. As I read up on the markets and scrolled through financial subreddits, I could hear her moving around on the other side of the house. There was faint music, water occasionally being run from the tap, and the hissing sprays from a squirt bottle.
After she’d left my bedroom, she’d gone back to her car and brought in all her supplies, and then come into my office to show me a checklist on her phone of what she planned to do. I appreciated how organized she was, especially since she’d never done this professionally before.
“I watched some videos on how to start a cleaning service.” The corner of her mouth quirked to the side. “If I’m going to do something, I want to be good at it.”
“I can relate to that.” Her ability to disarm my filter struck again. “That’s why this first month at Warbler has been kind of stressful.” I made a face. “Stressful is probably too strong a word, but this has been quite the career shift.”
She slid her phone into the pocket on the side of her leggings and peered at me with curiosity. “Yeah, I was wondering about that. I know my dad’s big on collecting people from wherever, but how does a stockbroker end up as Warbler’s VP of Booking?”
“A valid question.” I chuckled. “I grew up around the music industry. Really, my whole family did, because my dad got his start as a roadie and dragged us all over the place when he could. He eventually worked himself all the way up to tour manager, and after high school, my brothers and I would work for him sometimes too.”
I didn’t tell her about the friction it caused with my family when I decided to go to college. It had nothing to do with me getting an education or choosing a different career path. My parents supported that completely and understood I wanted more than late nights, hauling heavy sound equipment around, and living on the road.
It had everything to do with me moving to New York, moving so far away from them.
My family was tight-knit and resistant to change.
“My dad’s last job before he retired,” I continued, “was with Warbler. He told Ardy—your dad—I was planning to move back and maybe looking for work, so he reached out.”
“ Maybe looking for work?”
“I still trade, and I’m pretty heavily invested.”
She nodded like she understood, but I got the feeling it was an act.
The truth was, at my current position, I had enough in my portfolio that I could retire in ten years—as long as the market didn’t tank, and I didn’t fuck up and take too big of a loss. I liked being aggressive and I liked winning, but I always did my research before making a risky buy.
And while I could possibly live off my investments, I knew things could change in the blink of an eye and nothing was guaranteed. Plus, I was thirty-six, so I wasn’t mentally ready for retirement. I’d get bored, and that? It could become a big problem. With time on my hands, I’d want to chase the dragon, to find the perfect stock that would net me millions.
I had to stay busy.
“I like research,” I said, “and negotiations and working with people. Maybe I’m not a perfect fit for the role, but your father was willing to give me a shot.”
Charlotte’s gaze trailed over the black, geometric bull figurine on the bookcase behind me. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said. “He’s usually pretty good at finding the right people.”
She left me in my office and got to work, and I spent the next forty-five minutes trying to pretend she wasn’t out there in my kitchen, close enough that I could call to her and she’d appear.
This infatuation with her was weird and unsettling.
It was a good idea she’d asked me not to be here next time she cleaned. She was far too distracting, and I’d had to read the same article multiple times to actually take in the information.
Eventually, I was able to force her from her mind, but it only lasted a few minutes.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and found Charlotte lingering at the edge of my doorway. She didn’t say anything, and hesitation streaked her expression. The moment I locked eyes on her, she startled, turned, and her feet carried her swiftly away.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She halted and turned to face me. “Yeah. Yes.” Whatever she’d been thinking about, she made her decision and began her approach again. “Would it be all right if I used your house in some of my content?”
“What?”
She stopped a few feet in front of my desk. “I shot one of those Day in the Life videos a few days ago, when I was cleaning Warbler. It did really well, got a ton of engagement. I kept getting asked about my techniques or what products I was using.” She rested a hand casually on her hip. “Basically, they want more of that content, so I was wondering if you would mind if I did some filming here.” Her smile was warm and convincing. “I’d make sure nothing personal gets used in the shot, that it couldn’t be tied to you. No one will know where I am.”
The pleading look in her eyes punched right through any of my concerns. Was this the same look she used on her father when she wanted to get her way? Because, Christ, it worked on me.
“As long as everything stays private,” I said, “I guess that’s fine.”
“Awesome, thanks.” She grinned and practically bounced her way back to the kitchen. Her excitement caused me to smile.
But it froze when a new thought wormed its way into my mind. Was that the reason she looked so damn good today? Because she hoped to make some new content?
She didn’t make that effort for you. It was for her followers.
I shouldn’t have cared. So why the fuck was I disappointed?