I can’t waste time forever, so I pop in my earbuds and start up an audiobook on personal development. Some people work to music, and I can completely relate to that, but I find that listening to a guru as they urge me to take control of my life and climb toward a better future is particularly inspiring when I’m scrubbing a toilet.
It won’t be like this forever.
Hours pass with Antony Robinson whispering in my ear. By the time I finish toothbrushing the grout, washing and polishing the hardwood floors of the entire first floor by hand, and using an extendable duster to reach the corners between the walls and fifteen-foot ceilings, my back, shoulders and knees are killing me.
And I still have to do the second floor.
At least two of the rooms are unused guest rooms, and one of the bathrooms is also unused. I wipe that one down with my spray bottle of vinegar and lemon—he’s so generous, letting me get away with only wiping the room down—before changing the linens.
Even unused, they must be changed. Who is this person?
I notice Lisa’s attention to detail when it came to hospital corners and I make a mental note to do the same, even as the wicked voice in the back of my mind tells me he’d never know if I change the sheets or not. They haven’t even been slept in, and all the others in the linen closet are exactly the same.
But a sane little voice in my head says he’ll know. I don’t even know who this crusty old dude is, but I just know in my bones, he’ll know.
By the time I’m finished with everything but the master bedroom and bathroom suite, it’s been seven hours and I can’t even get excited about the money because holy crap, I’m going to die of exhaustion. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Killing myself to make his apartment perfectly clean? Then dying in the middle of it, lying there for two days? Mr. Demanding would probably move out.
I text Helen to let her know I’m finished because damn it, I need a short break, but I don’t feel right relaxing on the client’s dime. I’ll do these last two rooms off the clock—after all, a thousand dollars minus Helen’s ten percent is nothing to sneeze at. For me, it’s nearly half a month of work. I can almost pay the rent on my little Red Bank studio apartment or the entire month’s bills. Maybe I can take a little time to focus on my schoolwork. As exhausting as this day has been, it’s also been a godsend. I can’t pretend it hasn’t.
The fact that the bed is so huge and so darn comfy looking isn’t helping. All right. I’ll do the bathroom, then take a break before changing the bed and dusting everything. It’s a very masculine suite—the entire apartment is masculine, but this even more so. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’d know in a heartbeat that this room belongs to a man.
The bathroom, with its sunken marble tub large enough for four people, heated floors and ten-jet shower is my idea of heaven. It is also roughly the size of my entire apartment. If it were mine, I would never leave. I’d just soak in the tub until my skin pruned and eventually fell off entirely. I’d be that deeply committed.
Another hour and another room finished. He’s a neat freak, for sure. His toiletries are lined up perfectly, and they’re all ultra-expensive brands in sleek, sexy packaging. I’m such a sucker for things like that. A salesperson’s dream come true.
It’s six o’clock now and I’ve been cleaning for seven hours. I need a rest. I look longingly at the big bed. I have to change the sheets anyway, so it won’t matter if I take a tiny little rest at the foot of the bed, will it? I sure hope not, because oh, look, I’m already sinking down onto it and the silk slides against my bare arms, and I’m more comfortable than I’ve been in a long time. My entire body is singing right now.
Singing a lullaby.
My eyelids slide shut.
Chapter 3
Brock
“Truthfully, I don’t give a damn what you tell them. They don’t deserve an explanation. They weren’t there on time. I don’t wait for anyone. They can fly up to New York to see me if they really want this deal.”
“But, Mr. Garret—”
“Are you questioning my decision, Sarah?” I ask, my voice bristling with impatience.
“No, of course, not,” Sarah gasps, horrified to have pissed me off. “I’m sorry, sir. My only concern is for you.”
A twinge of guilt touches my heart. She’s a kind soul and old enough to be my grandmother. She should be treated a little gentler than the many PAs who’ve come and gone over the years. There were times when it felt like they were coming in through a revolving door. They were in and out so quickly. One of them lasted all of two hours. One moment she was trying to get my coffee order correctly, the next, she fled out of the doors in tears.
But not Sarah.
She’s hung in with me for the last 2 years, is excellent at her job, and shows no signs of going anywhere. I’ve even started to rely on her, which would make it extremely unfortunate if she left.
“I realize that, Sarah…I shouldn’t have been so sharp, and I’m sorry.” I’m rarely in the wrong, but admitting when I am, has never been a problem for me.
“I completely understand, sir. I’ll tell the investors that you had an emergency at home which needed attending to immediately.”
“Tell them whatever makes you feel happy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s extremely late. Shouldn’t you have left the office hours ago?”
“You know how it is, sir. There’s nothing for me at home but my cats, and half the time, they act as though they were happier before I got home.”
I chuckle, though I do wish I could do something more for her than giving her a salary that puts her in the category of most highly paid PA in the world. She’s too valuable a person, and not just an assistant, but a person, to be left living alone with her cats. Funny thing is she doesn’t strike me as a cat lady. Her clothing is always impeccably free of hair. Lucky her, because I’m allergic to cats, dogs, birds, reptiles, people…
“Right. Good night, Sarah. See you at work tomorrow.”
“Have a safe trip, sir.”
I hang up with a slight smile, satisfied in the knowledge that there will never be repercussions as a result of doing as I damn well please. The unfathomably solid returns I’ve generated over the past seven quarters for Garret Industries has become a phenomenon. The kind that’s gotten my picture on the cover of every financial magazine since I took over what used to be a struggling parts manufacturer and turned it around.
I lean back against the leather seats of the car carrying me towards the airplane hangar where my jet is housed. To be honest, I’m actually glad I’m leaving LA two days early.
I could never understand why it’s such a big draw for people. I hate it. Sure, the weather’s nice, but underneath the glitz, glamour, and tanned bodies, it’s just hollow. New York is much more my speed. Sophisticated and stylish, but gritty. Real. Willing to come to blows if need be and crack open a beer once the fight is over.
My phone buzzes.
“Are you sitting down?” my best friend, Mark asks.
I frown. “Yes. Why?”
“Charlotte is getting married.”
“Why do I need to be sitting down for that? I’m not the poor bastard she’s marrying.”
“I don’t know. I thought it might affect you. It looked like a difficult breakup.”
Yeah. It was difficult. For her. She miscalculated. She thought she could bring me to heel if I thought other men wanted her. I told her they were welcome to her. The day I’d walked into my apartment and found her spread-eagled on the bed with another man on top of her flashed into my head. Her shocked face, when I said, “Carry on. Finish.” I had the place fumigated after that. The screaming and crying, the swearing of how she loved me and would never hurt me again. What a load of bullshit. As if I cared. She did me a fucking favor.
“You still there?” Mark asks.
“Yeah.”
“So anyway, she called me not five minutes ago to announce that she’s marrying this guy in Vegas
this weekend. I didn’t even know she was seeing him until, like, two weeks ago.”
My driver opens my door and I get out, walking towards my jet. “I wasn’t aware that the two of you stayed in touch.”
“I wouldn’t call it staying in touch. She texts or phones every once in a while to tell me how amazing her life is. I always assumed she expected me to take the information back to you, so obviously, I never did. Why would I give her what she wants?”
I nod at the captain, and run lightly up the steps.
She was hot, fun to be with and great in bed. That deserved to be acknowledged, too. Her magic trick needed a pack of condoms and a male volunteer.
“You still there?” Mark asked, raising his voice over the noise around me.
“Yeah. Still here.”
“You know she wasn’t right for you. Let’s be honest, she’s not the forever type. You know that, right? Women like her, who needs them.”
“I know.”
“It’s your pride that cares more than anything else.”
I cut him off there. “Why do I get the impression you think this bit of news has devastated me?”
“Hasn’t it?” he mumbles.
“Fuck no.”
“Uh, there’s something else.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. What else is there?” I checked my watch, and pick up the glass of freshly squeezed tomato juice, the air stewardess places in front of me.
“You’re gonna laugh. I swear to God, you’re gonna laugh.”
“I wouldn’t bet the farm on that, bro.”
“She asked me to be the best man.”
I nearly choke on the juice. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“And you said?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you didn’t even know she was dating this guy until recently.”
“I didn’t. I’ve never met him.”
“So why?”
“Ah, man. You know I’ve always had a thing for her friend. She’s going to be maid of honor and you know how closely the maid of honor has to work with the best man.”
I laugh. “Well, she sure knows where everybody’s buttons are.”
“I guess it’s the ultimate revenge, huh? Asking your best friend to stand up at her wedding.”
“Actually, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Still, what kind of guy allows the best friend of his ex to be his best man? She must have his balls in her purse, man. I wonder what she offered in return for this?”
I didn’t have to wonder. I know. A man doesn’t forget the kind of things Charlotte Leyton is willing to do to keep a man coming back for more. I guess that must have been one long night for her.
“Look, if you mind, or prefer I don’t do it, I’ll say no,” Mark offers.
“Mind? No, I don’t mind. Go ahead and have a great time. Bang the maid of honor. Fuck the bride for all I care.”
Mark chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll try. Bang the maid of honor, I mean. Uh…one more thing.”
“What?”
He gives a bark of forced laughter. “Umm…Charlotte wants to ask you to come, but doesn’t have the nerve.” Mark saved the best for last.
Doesn’t have the nerve? Clearly, Mark has no idea what Charlotte is made of. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”
“I know. I felt the same way, but I promised I’d pass on the invite, just the same.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” I say, marveling at Mark’s naivety. Charlotte is easily one of the most cunning and manipulative women I have ever had the misfortune to meet. She’s just dangled a carrot in front of Mark so he’d do all the donkey work for her.
“But it could be fun, huh? Las Vegas. We could burn some money together, maybe get smashed and get laid,” Mark suggests excitedly.
There, he just did her dirty work for her.
“No offence, but I’d rather sit in a dentist’s chair for two hours, than be within a mile of Charlotte again.”
“Anyway, we can talk more about it when you get back,” Mark says hopefully. “I’ll be waiting with a couple of beers by the time you get there.”
“Yeah, man. Will do. Talk soon.” I hang up without telling him I was coming back tonight.
Chapter 4
Brock
“Sir?” The driver’s voice stirs me out of my thoughts, and I realize we’ve stopped in front of my building. I look up at the tall grey structure. Home never looked so good. It’s a pleasure to unfold my long body and step out of the car.
I draw in a deep breath. New York. It smells of traffic, food carts, the crush of 27,000 people per square mile, the garbage they produce, and naked ambition. It’s not a good smell but it’s honest. Yes, I appreciate this city in a way I can never appreciate LA.
The lobby staff is gracious as always as I stride through. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and notice the worry lines around my normally clear, blue eyes. They seem soulless and cynical. Is there really nothing more than just this? Have I hit the peak and not realized?
I put my key in my door. I need to be alone for a little while. Recharge my batteries. There hasn’t been a day created yet that couldn’t be amended by opening my front door and knowing that everything is just the way I left it, just the way I like it. I look around at the grand space. Maybe there is nothing more, but maybe this is enough.
“Home.” I take in a deep breath.
This is my sanctuary. My haven. My solitude and peace in a fast moving, uncaring world. My first stop is the bar along one side of the living room. The bottles are gleaming, which tells me the cleaner has been around and gone. Good thing, since I’d hate to walk in on her and take great pains to make sure I don’t. Privacy is sacred in my world. Maybe because I got so little of it for so much of my life.
I pour out a small measure of Scotch. I know better than to overindulge. I know what that can do and never want it to happen to me. One of the overarching themes of my life: refraining from overindulgence. I take a sip of the drink made from a half-a-century old barrel of whiskey, and savor the smooth, mellow burn. Carrying the glass, I move through my home.
The apartment looks good. Whoever cleaned it did a solid job. Everything looks better than normal, I realize. The floors shine brighter than usual. The windows seem cleaner. The scent of lemon oil fills the air.
Is it a new girl?
There’s one way to know. I jog upstairs to one of the two guest bedrooms. I pull up the corner of the mattress. What I find surprises me. Yup. It’s a new girl. None of the others have ever bothered to change the sheets.
My discovery is enough to make me take a good look around the room, then around the second floor. I’ll have to ask Sarah to call the service and offer my approval and order that they never assign another cleaner, ever. This one is perfect, whoever she is.
Now, I’m softly humming to myself as I loosen my tie and walk down the hall to my bedroom. A hot shower is what today calls for.
No, a hard workout, then a shower.
I step through the doorway and the sight on my bed makes me stop short, almost sloshing Scotch out of the glass and onto the freshly-polished floor. No, scratch that. The floor hasn’t been polished yet. It doesn’t have the same gleam as the floor in the hall.
What the fuck? The cleaner is fast asleep on my bed!
She stopped and took a goddamned nap on my bed.
No commendation for this one.
Who the hell does she think she is? Curled up like a sleeping cat on my bedspread. I hope she doesn’t think I’m paying her to take a fucking nap. How long has she been staying here? Has she done this before? I’m already striding over to the bed and ready to give her the wakeup she deserves when she rolls onto her back, revealing her face for the first time.
I freeze with shock.
Is it her? Could it be? Jesus Christ, how long has it been since I last saw her? At least ten years. No, more like eleven or twelve. People change
a lot over that long a stretch of time, especially when it’s the stretch between childhood and adulthood.
Even so, it’s her. I’m as sure of it as I am of my birthday. It has to be her. The color of her hair escaping from her shower cap. Her full mouth and brows. Her high cheekbones and slightly dimpled chin. The tiny mole beside her right eye, almost unnoticeable until a person looks close enough.
Yes. It’s Dani. Dani Saber.
If I believed in God or a Higher Power, I’d swear the girl was dropped into my bed by such power. It’s enough to make a person believe in fate, if nothing else. Because this is the girl I’ve never been able to forget, not after all these years, and all the willing women.
Wherever her life has taken her it has thrown her right back into my path. Forget path. In my goddamn bed! It’s the most incredible, unbelievable, impossible thing. I couldn’t have predicted this in my wildest dreams. I’m not the one who gets thrown off my game. Not me. But, I can feel my wild excitement racing through my blood.
I can’t lose my cool.
I need to think about this. How should I handle the situation? It’s strange for me, not knowing immediately what to do. I trust my instincts implicitly, always have. Nobody knows what’s better for me than me. But this? This is a whole other ballgame.
She doesn’t budge or even flutter her eyelids.
She’s obviously exhausted. Because of me? I hate the idea of her working herself to that level of exhaustion. She’s grown up well. Full in the hips, the ass, the tits. Slim waist and legs. I feel my cock stir for all her delectable curves. Hell, I want to exhaust her in other ways. So many other ways.
Kissing Booth Page 2
