Oh. My. Not thinking that. Uh-uh. She cleared her throat. “What schedules will we be working around? You gave me your hours, but…”
Ethan scritched under the cat’s chin. “There is only me.”
“Oh.” He and Angel must not live together or even close. Long-distance M/s relationships were popular these days. “All right. Did you want to complete the paperwork now?”
“There’s always paperwork, isn’t there? Let’s get it over with.” With a wry smile, he glanced at the cat in his lap. “Since I’m pinned down, would you get us something to drink while we work, please?”
“Of course.” She rose.
“The wet bar has a variety of refreshments. I’d like some apple cider.” He tilted his head. “It’s quite good. I think you might enjoy a glass.”
Inside her head, a bell sounded. A chime of recognition. She’d heard that smooth accented voice saying just those words before. “I think you might enjoy a glass.”
Frozen in place, she stared at him. Those deep blue eyes. Dark hair. That accent and unmistakable voice.
It was him. Her champion. The Master who’d talked about a slave who’d gone free. The Master who’d said a slave contract wasn’t valid. His words had been the catalyst that had let her escape.
“Ms. Delaney?” He was watching her, one eyebrow up.
“I’d love some cider. Thank you.” She hurried over to the wet bar beneath the sleek wall-mounted widescreen TV. Finding the cider in the small built-in fridge, she busied herself pouring two glasses. Her emotions felt ragged, like ripped-up fabric. Fixing him something to drink steadied her.
Over the years, she’d wondered if the English Master had deliberately spoken to inform her that she had options. Had he known he was giving her an escape route?
Maybe.
Probably not.
She stomped on her need to thank him. It wouldn’t be wise to mention she recognized him. He’d want to talk about the past.
Never.
She handed him the glass of cider.
“Thank you.” He studied her intently for a long second before saying, “Let’s get started on the paperwork.”
Taking a seat, she pulled out the standard contract. “Bear in mind, it can take a while to get everything properly streamlined, to learn your preferences, to see other areas where we can make a difference. Please, never hesitate to call me if you have any concerns or questions, no matter how minor, or if you find something one of the services could have done better. I’m reachable by email, text, or phone—however you’re more comfortable communicating.”
“Your younger clients text; the older ones will call?”
She laughed. “You got it. Personalities skew that way, of course. Introverts will text or email, extroverts like to hear a voice or have a meeting.”
The smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth let her relax.
After filling out her part of the forms, she scooped the cat from his lap so he could read through the papers. As she settled down in an armchair, Churchill rubbed his muzzle energetically against her thigh before going limp again.
“He likes you.” Ethan read through the list of preferences for cleaning, products, times, etc. His brow lifted. “You have an excellent memory.”
The compliment sent sparkles of happiness through her. “Part of the job.”
He scrawled his signature at the bottom and set the notebook on the ottoman before leaning back and sipping his drink. “You appear to be feeling more at ease.”
Her breath caught for a second. He was uncannily observant. Distressingly so. She’d learned the hard way that a Master who discovered her vulnerabilities could use those fears against her.
She breathed out slowly. Talk about paranoia. Ethan had merely made a comment. A kind one, actually. “You have a relaxing home.”
“You said you had an upsetting incident before you arrived. Did you handle the person? Is the problem resolved?”
She stared at him. “What?”
“You’re a friend of Abby’s, Piper. If I can help, I will.”
“It’s…” She shook her head, unable to find the right words to put him off.
“Can you tell me what happened?” His smooth voice had softened to low and coaxing.
He was the Master she’d always considered her champion, the one who’d thrown a line to pull her out of the abyss. How could she tell him no?
She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Nothing horrible occurred. A client who’d had a messy party wanted his place cleaned immediately. Since the cleaning service wouldn’t arrive for a couple of hours, he ordered the chatelaine to do it and was unhappy when I reminded him that his chatelaine was there to manage other services.”
“In other words, he was rude.”
“Well, yes.”
“I hope you told him to bugger off.”
She choked on her drink and sputtered a laugh.
The spark of amusement in the Dom’s eyes almost set her off again.
“I was far more polite than that. In fact, I almost caved in and started cleaning for him. But his assigned chatelaine was there, and I needed to set a good example, and—” She shut her mouth with an almost audible snap. What the heck had she just confessed? “I—”
Ethan didn’t look surprised. Or judgmental. Or…anything. Instead, he put his legs up on the ottoman. “Your company is successful partly because you have a talent for service. You learn what makes your customers happy and give them what they need.”
She nodded. That had actually been why she’d started her company.
“However, a gift like that backfires when you run into someone you can’t please.” He hit the nail right on the head. What with running a conglomerate, he must know a lot about people.
“That sounds about right,” she agreed glumly. “Even knowing he was out of line, I still feel uncomfortable over leaving him unhappy.”
“I daresay.” He gave her a level look. “Have you ever been in a hotel room where the temperature is preset and you can’t change it?”
What kind of question was that? “Yes.”
“Guilt is like that thermometer. When providing an ethical gauge, guilt is useful. Sometimes, though, the regulator has been preset by our parents or society and no longer fits who we are today. If your childhood conscience conflicts with proper adult behavior, you might need to recalibrate your gauge.”
Trust a tech company owner to come up with such an odd analogy. She took a minute to work through what he was saying and…he was right. Her guilt about Mr. Tannehill was excessive. In fact, she shouldn’t be feeling any remorse at all. “That’s a good way to look at it. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Well, I need to be going.” She rose and set the cat in her spot.
Churchill gave her an indignant look worthy of a true prime minister.
Gathering the completed paperwork, Piper smiled at Ethan. Look at this—she was actually comfortable. She’d made it through an entire initial interview with a Dominant.
You go, girl. Facing her fears worked, didn’t it?
Then he rose. Absolutely confident, devastatingly masculine, terrifyingly powerful. She wasn’t sure if her inability to breathe was from fear or attraction.
She should assign someone else to handle his account. She must. “If we could set up an appointment so I can introduce you to your chate—”
“Ms. Delaney,” he interrupted. He put his hand on her arm, which silenced her completely. His fingers were warm and strong, as he turned her toward the kitchen area. “I forgot to tell you there are spare cat supplies down here.”
“Um, what?”
“Extra tins of food. In case Churchill feels peckish when a sports game lasts too long.”
The wry amusement in his voice made her laugh. And relaxed her. Who could fear someone who doted on his furbaby? “I noticed the boxing gloves on the shelf. Are they yours?”
“My first set, yes.” Although he didn’t smile, a subtle l
augh line appeared to the right of his mustache. “I was a skinny lad. My father hoped it would toughen me up.”
His corded forearm looked harder than a baseball bat.
“Was his plan successful?”
“Indeed. I did take to the sport.” He chuckled. “It proved useful in boarding school.”
“Boarding school. You didn’t live with your family?”
“My mother died when I was young. My father”—he shook his head slightly—“wasn’t comfortable raising a child.”
No one had hugged Ethan as a boy; that was so obvious. Pity made her heart ache. She knew how it felt to be unwanted. “Did you know anyone at the school? Was it an okay place?”
He touched her cheek lightly. “You have a soft heart, poppet. I made friends. In fact, the boarding school was where Xavier and I met.”
Abby’s husband? “I thought Xavier was American.”
“His father sent him abroad for school. We got to be friends when I saw the idiot Yank charge in to rescue a nerd from several upperclassmen.”
She knew the answer before she asked. “You helped him?”
“Five-to-one is bad sport.” Ethan’s jaw hardened, and she knew he’d never side with the bullies. “I simply stepped in to assist. It was the first of many fights we shared.”
He motioned to a framed photo next to the trophies. Two lanky teens. Ethan had a fat lip. Xavier had a black eye. “By the time we won the brawl, we were friends.”
Of course, they’d won. She’d watched him move—always aware and balanced with rippling muscles like a cat. Xavier would flatten an opponent quickly, but if Ethan got angry, she’d bet he’d take the time to inflict some damage first. For sport. “It’s good to have friends.”
“Yes. When I came to the States”—his gaze darkened—“Xavier was the first to welcome me.”
Seeing the pain beneath his stern expression, she reached out. Before he noticed, she pulled her hand back and put herself into professional mode. “I need to get going.”
She would have Rosalie take his account. Or…maybe not. He was a champion, saving nerdy kids and lost slaves. He was her champion. How could she let someone else look out for him?
Tending his needs herself would be a small way to pay him back.
She smiled at him. “Most of the services you wanted will start tomorrow. I’ll touch base with you on Friday. Once everything is in place, I’ll set up an appointment to see what needs to be fine-tuned.”
Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. “You will.”
He’d picked up that she’d planned to hand him off to someone else? “Yes, Sir.” No, no, no, Piper. She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s right.”
He didn’t move to touch her. Simply smiled. “I’m very pleased. Thank you.”
The glow from his smile lasted all the way home.
Chapter Six
Piper considered cookies to be a far finer dessert than cake. More options and designs. Perfect finger food for a fast lifestyle. Putting in oatmeal let a girl pretend a cookie was healthy. But men seemed to like cake better so that’s what she’d baked.
Besides, chocolate cake batter was awesome.
Balancing the plastic carrier, Piper crossed the hallway and tapped on Stan and Dixon’s door.
A few seconds later, Dix opened it and grinned. “Hey, girlfriend.” His gaze fell on the cake, and his eyes widened.
See? Men—so predictable. “This is gratitude-cake to thank you two for inviting me to your party. Chatelaines won five new clients this week, partly because Stan reminded me that making contacts is part of a business owner’s job.”
“Trust Stan to point that out.” Dix rolled his eyes. “Personally, I go to a party to enjoy myself. But it’s all good, especially if we get goodies. C’mon in.”
His voice rose. “Everybody here likes cake, right?”
What did he mean—everybody?
A chorus of enthusiastic agreement came from three women in the living room.
Piper took a step back. “I’m sorry, Dix. I didn’t realize you were entertaining.”
“Pffft.” He grabbed her wrist and towed her in, kicking the door shut behind him. “People, this is Piper. She’s my boss and likes me anyway.”
“Hi, Piper,” Abby called from where she sat on one of the dark leather couches. “It’s good to see you.”
Piper could feel herself flushing. Abby would have heard her gloating about getting new clients. Why didn’t the floor open up and drop her down a nice big hole?
“Gratitude-cake, hmm?” Abby smiled. “I should bake one, too, since Stan and Dixon are the reason I now have Chatelaines, and I can get out to see my friends rather than catching up on household tasks.”
“Wait.” Next to Abby, a slightly older woman with shoulder-length, champagne-colored hair held up her hand. “Is Piper the owner of the household management company you’ve been gloating about?”
“The very one,” Dixon said proudly.
“Perfect.” The woman’s smile grew. “I’m Rona. Simon and I want to hire Chatelaines, too.”
Well, wow. Piper glanced down at herself. Black leggings and barefooted. Her worn-thin, red lounging cardigan. Under that was her ragged T-shirt. The graphic was a wand-holding coffee cup saying: ESPRESSO PATRONUM.
This wasn’t the way she usually looked when talking business. Suck up and deal, Piper.
“It’s nice to meet you, Rona.” Piper sat in a leather armchair and summoned a professional mien. “I don’t have business cards with me, but Chatelaines has a website and—”
Rona’s laugh stopped her. “We’ve already checked it out. You’re on my to-do list to call on Monday.”
Five minutes later, they’d set up an appointment.
Sitting back, Piper grinned at Abby. “I’m going to hire you to run public relations.”
“It’s all you, Piper, and Chatelaines.” Abby shook her head. “I always hated having the cleaning crew or anyone showing up when Xavier and I are at home. Now, they don’t. Everyone schedules around our hours, and we still have food in the fridge and meals ready and a clean house. It’s like having magic elves or something.”
Shining satisfaction filled Piper. “That’s the goal.”
The third woman, a brunette with multi-colored streaks in her hair, pouted. “I’m Lindsey, and I wish I could hire you, too.”
“I feel your pain, sweet thing.” Dix brought an empty glass from the kitchen and set it on the rustic wooden coffee table before dropping down beside Lindsey. “Stan and I don’t have a budget that allows for hiring chatelaines—let alone buying small nations like Rona and Abby.”
“Pffft. All that money stuff is Xavier’s. Professors sure aren’t overpaid.” Abby wrinkled her nose.
“Likewise.” Rona clinked her glass against Abby’s. “Hospital administrators make good money, but nothing like what Simon brings in.”
“Maybe I’m a little relieved that Zander isn’t rich. It would be weird.” Lindsey was about Piper’s age with a slow Texas drawl. “Y’all’s guys are great, but over-the-top rich people are a tad scary.”
Aren’t they just? And sometimes pretty obnoxious, Piper thought, remembering Mr. Tannehill. Then again, Ethan was rich and had been a complete gentleman. A completely ripped, drop-dead gorgeous, panty-melting-voiced gentleman.
Lindsey gave Piper an apologetic look. “I’m sorry; that rich comment was kind of rude, wasn’t it?”
“You’re fine. I’m not rich, and I know what you mean.” Piper smiled at Rona and Abby. “Thankfully, the wonderful people outweigh the others.”
“Boy, she’s tactful, too.” Picking up a pitcher, Lindsey filled the empty glass and handed it past Dixon to Piper. “I should have asked if you like Hawaiian margaritas.”
Piper glanced at the orange-red, slushy liquid. “I like margaritas, so probably?”
Lindsey had an infectious grin. “My family has a margarita-in-the-evening tradition, and a friend out near Yosemite gave me this recipe. It has t
he traditional tequila and triple sec stuff, but with strawberries and pineapple for a tropical slant.”
Piper sampled and smiled at the fruity burst of flavor. “That is yummy—and yay, I don’t have to drive home.”
“Me, neither.” Dix poured himself more. From the flush on his face, he’d already had one or two. “Knowing these three, someone will pick them up.”
“That’s good.” Piper looked around. “Where’s Stan? Is law enforcement prohibited from these gatherings?”
“That’d be fun to try to pull off. But no, he’s not here because he’s working tonight.” Dixon’s smile slid off, leaving unhappiness behind.
Uh-oh.
Lindsey bumped her shoulder against his. “Dix, ol’ buddy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He sat straighter and shrugged.
“Nothing shouldn’t make you look so unhappy, Dixon.” Piper curled her fingers around his and lowered her voice. “Do you want to talk? We can go get some air if you want. Or…drunken parties can be great for drunken confessions.”
She might have known the last would hit him right. He snorted and collapsed back against the cushions. “I’m good at drunken confessions.”
“What did Stan do to upset you?” Abby asked with the insight Piper had noticed was typical of her.
“He hasn’t done anything…yet.” Dix took a big gulp of his drink. “See, a friend of his from Texas, another Homeland Security agent, is here for some case, and he’s working with Stan. All the time. The Delicious Darrell is sexy as hell and an agent, and he has the hots for Stan.”
Piper blinked. “Oh.” That could ruin a person’s whole week.
“He even found himself an Airbnb rental right here in our building,” Dixon said glumly.
“Here? That must bite with a capital B.” Lindsey scowled. “Talk about having your house invaded by rodents. Okay, mice are really cute, but that guy sounds more like a big, fat rat.”
Rona tucked her hair behind one ear. “I can see why you’re unhappy. My question is—is Stan interested back?”
“I don’t know how he wouldn’t be.” Dixon slumped against Lindsey.
The brunette put her arm around him. “There, there, sugar. I don’t think anyone has a chance with your Stan. That man loves you.”
I Will Not Beg: Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 9 Page 6
