Chapter 4
I would never willingly admit to the number of hours I’d spent brainstorming all the ways I could inflict distress and misery on Dominic Crawford once I had full access to his lair, but let’s just say if I’d tried half this hard in school, his only claim to fame today would be as a tiny, forgotten endnote in the backmatter of my best-selling autobiography.
The cab driver shot me yet another curious glance as the dark gates leading to Dominic’s palatial estate eased open—no code required. I didn’t see any security around, so either Dom was already two steps ahead and expecting me, or he’d become rusty and forgotten how this worked.
I hoped it was the latter. He’d be in for such a rude awakening if so.
When the car started moving again, the driver finally caved. “You know I gotta ask, right?”
I was surprised it’d taken him so long.
He wanted to know why I, the twenty-six-year-old woman wearing a tailored designer pantsuit and heading into the depths of The Bridle Path, was doing so at 4:45 in the morning, while carrying an elegantly wrapped bouquet of toilet brushes.
“You know Dominic Crawford?” I asked.
His gaze darted to mine in the rearview mirror again. “The Midas Touch kid?”
Not exactly a “kid” anymore, but I guess when you made your first billion by twenty-two, the nickname stuck.
“He pays me five grand an hour to pretend to be his boss and spit on him while he scrubs toilets. Gets off on it.”
It took a second for my words to register. When they did, his eyes widened with wholehearted delight, his face splitting into a toothy grin. “No shit, eh?”
“Yup. Easiest money I’ve ever made.” I threw the door open as we finally slowed to a stop. “Make sure to tell all your friends, customers, and anyone else who might be interested! Literally anyone. He pays a generous premium for men over fifty and has a raging Mrs. Doubtfire fetish.”
I stepped out, frowning up at the striking Mediterranean-style mansion Dominic had built to compensate for the personality he didn’t have.
It was gorgeous, I’d give him that. Soft cream stucco walls, flat roof made from brown clay tiles, large French windows, and accented double doors with tastefully elaborate hand carvings.
He was still a piece of shit, though, which really tainted the regal, moonlit beauty of the place.
Such a waste.
I dipped the toilet-brush bouquet into the Spanish fountain on my way to the arched grand entrance, my heels clicking in harmony with the chirping crickets.
I took a second to run a hand over my blazer, smooth out my hair, and straighten my posture. Then, after a deep, calming breath, I began ringing the doorbell as fast and aggressively as I possibly could, as though every video game I’d ever played had been in preparation for this moment.
I envisioned him jolting upright in bed, disoriented and confused by the chaotic dings ricocheting off his walls. Maybe it would even scare him.
Fueled by the thought of having instilled fear into the Antichrist, my thumb moved faster, burning with the expended effort. Until, finally, the front door tore open.
And there he was. Fresh out of bed, according to the careless ruffle of his hair and savage scowl I was being fixed. The set of his broad shoulders was nothing short of hostile, his nostrils flaring with rage as he towered over me, too close for comfort.
Did I mention that Dominic was not a morning person? Because Dominic was really not a morning person. There was a reason he’d scheduled our meeting for 10:00 a.m.
I dazzled him with a practiced, professional smile. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Prince of Dorkness himself. Morning, sunshine. I’m surprised you still open your own doors.”
Before he could unlock his maw and swallow me whole, I thrust my soaked housewarming gift at his chest. Water sprinkled all over his face and neck, wetting his white T-shirt. “From me to you. A housewarming gift.”
He let the bouquet fall to the floor. Rather rude of him, if you asked me.
“What.” The word sniped out from between his clenched teeth, sharp and menacing. “What. Just.”
See? Not a morning person. The communication center of his brain wasn’t set to initialize for another four hours.
“The words you’re looking for are ‘hello,’ ‘welcome,’ and ‘come inside.’ Preferably in that order.”
His hand twitched toward me in what I could only imagine was the dark desire to wrap around my neck and squeeeeeeze.
“You should set up your gate access preferences,” I offered helpfully, shouldering past him and through the doors. “Pop a lock on there so random people can’t just walk in. Could you imagine if I were unhinged?”
I glanced around the dark grand foyer, crossing my arms. It was empty. Not a single piece of furniture or decorative item in sight. No heart. No soul. “Love what you’ve done with the space,” I mused with dry enthusiasm. “It’s so… you.”
He was still frozen by the door, staring at me like he couldn’t quite understand my face or why it infuriated him. His crippling aversion to early mornings gave me too big an advantage. Guy couldn’t even talk yet.
“I’m here for our interview,” I said. “I showed up early to indicate to you, my potential new boss, that I’m a punctual, reliable, and dedicated potential new employee.
Not to tell you how to do your job, but it would only be polite if you acknowledged, out loud, your appreciation for said punctuality, reliability, and dedication. ”
He took a graceless step toward me, then another, seemingly forgetting about the door he’d left wide open. Without a word, he nudged at my arm and dragged his feet down the hall.
It was early-morning-Dom speak for “follow me.”
He led us to what I assumed was supposed to be the great room. High, spacious ceilings; exposed wooden beams; tall, curved windows with stone moldings. Gorgeous. Genuinely. Especially with all the moonlight illuminating the space.
It was also empty, save for the small end table and two upholstered armchairs he’d set up beside a window.
“Did you just move in yesterday?”
“Sit,” he ordered in the exact tone you’d use with a misbehaving dog, and I decided that I was going to spend my first official morning snipping all the wires in his house.
He trudged away, the defined muscles in his back rippling under his shirt as he stuffed an aggravated hand through his dark curls.
Less than five minutes later, the warm scent of coffee drifted into the room.
“I’ll take one, too, please!” I called out. “With a splash of oat milk if you have!”
Not one for listening, Dominic returned with a single black mug, setting it on the end table with the gentleness and poise of a drowsy grizzly. Then he dragged his chair forward with no regard whatsoever for my personal space. When he finally plopped down, his gigantic knee pressed to mine.
Electric irritation zipped up my thigh.
“So I can see,” he explained, gesturing between us. “And vice versa.”
I bit back the retort nipping at the tip of my tongue. There was no point. I could insult his looks all I wanted, but we both knew it was bullshit.
Unfortunately for me, that cat had clawed its way out of the bag our senior year of high school, and there was no putting it back.
Instead, I picked up his mug and took a sip. “I’m ready to start whenever you are.”
The dim drowsiness in his eyes was already starting to lift, making room for something sharper. “Tell me about your qualifications.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Any previous work experience you think will help you in this role?”
“Nope.”
His head slanted to one side as he paused for a moment to watch me, and a dark curl fell over his forehead. He leaned forward, his fingers grazing mine as he took the mug back. A delicate wave of sparkling sensation swept over my skin, making my pulse flutter.
He sipped, unfazed. Then, “How would you handle a situation in which a false accusation has been made against you in the workplace?”
My molars scraped together. “Deny it,” I said. Just as Rosie should’ve done.
The evidence had been pretty damning, but we all would’ve believed her if she’d just denied taking the jewelry. But, according to Gampy, she’d just stood there, looking down at the photos and refusing to say anything.
Dominic didn’t want to hear it. “Have you ever falsely accused someone of something they didn’t do?”
“No.”
“You seem to have a knack for lying. How do you think that will help you in a role like this?”
I crossed my legs, wondering how long it would take him to notice if I started stuffing his pillows with dog shit. “Having to pretend like I respect my boss enough to follow his orders would be the main one.”
The right side of his plush mouth hooked up before he could hide it behind another sip. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”
My ankle ticked. “As far away from you as possible.”
“Have you ever washed a dish?”
“Obviously not,” I deadpanned. I’d never even seen a kitchen sink. I was too spoiled, useless, and entitled for that. Obviously.
“Do you think you’ll last more than twenty-four hours in this role?”
“I’m not sure, but I do think I’ll outlast you.”
The spread of his grin was slow enough to be deliberate, as though he understood the full, heart-stopping impact of it and wanted to take his sweet time driving the knife in. “Is that a challenge, Lice?”
“More of a promise.”
His grin twitched, arrogant and amused as I casually stole the mug back.
“Let’s talk terms.” He was waking up surprisingly fast for how early it was, even factoring in the coffee. “You can go first.”
Fine with me. I’d come prepared. “Thirty days, you and me. You can torture me to your heart’s content, but if I make it to the end, you’ll leave me, my brother, and the rest of my family alone.
You’ll release a statement through every media outlet under 6Queue’s umbrella—including Gossip Gorilla—admitting that the smear campaign you initiated against Adrien was fabricated bullshit.
Then you’ll issue him a public apology—one that I sign off on.
” I paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before I went for the kill.
Keeping my tone calm and measured, I said, “And lastly, I want to talk to Rosie. In person.”
His amusement waned at that, replaced by something hostile and unpleasant.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I want to hear that from her.”
My family had made several attempts to get in touch with Rosie and talk things out over the last eight years to no avail. And I had a strong inkling Dominic was the reason why.
“And if I don’t agree?” he asked.
“Our lawyers can fight it out,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if there was anything they could do about Dominic manipulating my professional life from behind the scenes, but they could try. And once my parents found out he’d also gone after their other child, even Gampy wouldn’t be able to stop them from taking action.
By then, there’d be so much legal red tape involved that Dom and I wouldn’t be able to exchange a single word for years without lawyers present. And he knew it.
I offered him a wicked, knowing smile. “But what fun would that be?”
A cage match was much more his speed. Thirty days of free rein to inflict as much pain and humiliation on me as he’d been dreaming about since we were teenagers. What more could he possibly want? “Besides, you don’t think I’ll make it through the first twenty-four hours, let alone an additional…”
“Six hundred and ninety-six.”
My grin twitched. Such a nerd. “Let alone an additional six hundred and ninety-six of them.”
I was weak, spoiled, and easy to break. He had absolutely nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
He studied me for a few moments, contemplating. “If you quit before the thirty-day mark, you’ll admit that you set her up.”
I’d have to be on the brink of death for that to happen—and maybe not even then—but sure. I took another sip, giving him space to continue.
“You’ll give a statement, outlining how you planted the jewelry in her car, snapped a picture, and falsely accused your housekeeper of fourteen years—the woman who loved and treated you like the daughter she never had—of an offense that could have put her behind bars for a decade.
Not because she was guilty, but because your family could afford a better legal team than the woman who scrubbed their toilets.
” The longer he went on, the thicker the disdain in his voice grew, until it was nothing but gravel and char.
“You’ll post it on every social media account you’ve ever created, and I’ll make sure it catches enough fire to go viral so that everyone will finally know what a vile, self-centered little witch the so-called mysterious and elusive Cloutier Princess really is. ”
The coffee suddenly tasted too bitter to keep down. I placed the mug back on the end table, ignoring the aching tightness of my chest as I focused on maintaining control of my expression. “Fine.”
The tendons in his neck grew taut, and it took him a few seconds to calm down enough to say, “As for the job, you’ll do everything she did.
Everything. I’ll draft you a task list with her old schedule, and you’ll have until midnight to complete whatever is due for that day.
Failure to do so will count as forfeiture on your end. ”
I nodded, swallowing through the clump of emotion gathered in the base of my throat.
“But afterward, we’re done,” I said. “No more of this. We’ll leave each other alone.
Permanently, this time. You won’t have anything to do with me, and I won’t have anything to do with you. We might as well be strangers.”
The sense of wrongness and unease that trailed the stipulation was gut-wrenching, but I smacked it away. I didn’t entertain delusions or fantasies about vicious, underserving men. Rosie had taught me better than that.
He glared at me for almost a full minute before nodding. “Deal.”
I looked down at his outstretched hand, the knot in my stomach coiling tighter. I knew exactly what to expect when I took it, but the warm sparks still made my pulse trip. Even eight years later.
“Deal.”