Dirty Jock

by Sienna Valentine

  Todd nodded approvingly. “Remember what I said, Ms. Paulson.” He turned and exited the kitchen, his words trailing after him. “He’s a difficult man and requires a certain touch.”

  A shiver ran through me as I recalled exactly what kind of touch he liked.

  I arrived at the study door a few minutes later, after stopping off in the bathroom to readjust my hair and wipe the makeup from under my eyes. The door was still closed, as expected, but I wasn’t leaving until I had a decision one way or the other.

  I knocked on the heavy oak awkwardly with my left hand, as my right was holding two sample tiles and swatches for potential matching countertop and paint. I had no idea when I’d next get a chance to talk to him, so I was prepared.

  Professionally, anyway.

  If I didn’t know he was in there, I might have thought the study was empty. There were no sounds of movement and he didn’t call out in response. But he’d been in there all day.

  Great. So not only he is he pretending nothing had ever happened between us, but now he was hiding from me as well?

  Somehow that made it hurt even more.

  Still, I soldiered on, knocking again.

  And again, silence.

  “Mr. Bentley?” I called out.

  I winced at the formal appellation. Only a week ago we’d been on very familiar terms.

  Frustrated, I knocked again. “Mr. Bentley!”

  Stomping footsteps approached the door. I took a step back, wondering if maybe I’d overstepped. But no, if he wanted creative control, he needed to be available to me.

  The door swung open and Oliver towered above me, eyebrows knitted in consternation. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Are you trying to sell me cookies or something?”

  His ruffled hair and rolled up sleeves gave the impression he’d been at work on something. But what? I learned about as much about Oliver while working for him than I’d learned by having sex with him, which was just about nothing.

  There were oval shaped marks on the bridge of his nose. Did he wear glasses?

  “I have to put my tile order in by six,” I said, ignoring his snarky comment. I thrust my samples toward him. “Should we sit down so I can show you what this is going to look like?”

  Oliver looked at me blankly. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded slowly. Was he serious? I couldn’t reconcile the memory of the man I’d met at Repeat with this asshole. He’d steadfastly ignored me since I got here, and now he was being downright rude.

  I squared my shoulders. “Of course I’m serious,” I said. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

  He rolled his eyes and closed the door in my face.

  My mouth dropped open in an outraged gasp. I knocked again, harder this time. “Mr. Bentley!”

  His muffled response filtered through the door. “Go away, woman! I’m clearly busy!”

  I gritted my teeth. If my life were a cartoon, there would be steam bursting out my ears. The nerve of him! The disrespect! I turned on my heel and stomped back to the kitchen. I was tempted to throw the samples down on the table, but it wasn’t their fault he was a huge dick.

  Why was he being like this? The only thing that made sense was that he was always like this, and it was the Oliver I’d met at the club that had been the act. One designed simply to get into my pants.

  How many times had that worked? How many women had he closed down the VIP room for before me? The memory was now completely ruined, and I mentally screwed it up into a ball and tossed it into the furthest depths of my mind.

  Tears pricked the corners of my eyes but I blinked them back. He wasn’t worth tears. He had all the money in the world, but he wasn’t worth anything. It was time I got my head around the fact that this was just a job. I needed to just get it done and move on. If Oliver wanted to forget about me then fine, as soon as this job was done I would forget about him. Maybe sooner. I was basically working for Todd now anyway.

  Still, the tile choice was risky. I’d chosen a bold color and it would be an expensive fix if I laid it and Oliver ended up hating it. The safer option would be to put down a neutral stone or a stone-finished ceramic, but in my heart that didn’t feel right.

  As much of a jerk as my boss was being, I was already way too invested in this project. I actually really liked this house and I had big plans for it. I didn’t want to make concessions because Oliver was being difficult. Todd had told me I would need to stand my ground against him, and I was going to stand my goddamn ground.

  I called up Harry and spent the first couple thousand dollars of my budget. And it felt good.

  Chapter 8

  Oliver

  Bzzt bzzt!

  Bzzt bzzt!

  Bzzzzzt!

  I removed my glasses and tossed them across the desk. They skittered to the edge and toppled off. I cursed.

  When would this godawful racket end? Less than two weeks ago I’d had a kitchen. Now I had endless, droning noise.

  With a heavy sigh, I rose from my chair and headed out into the hall. Without the barrier of my closed study door, the noises were even louder. People talking, hammering, drilling… It was incessant. It was annoying. And it was all her fault.

  In the kitchen, Elizabeth was looking over a piece of paper on the kitchen table. A man roughly the size of a small house leaned over her, nodding and laughing. She was laughing too. She looked stunning when she laughed, her reddish hair spilling into her face, cheeks pink. I remember her looking like that as she rode me and I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t tell whether it was from arousal or jealousy.

  I decided it was neither.

  “Elizabeth!” I bellowed over the noise.

  Her attention darted to me. So did that of the hulking monstrosity beside her. He rose up to his full height and crossed his arms, staring at me. I didn’t care. I wasn’t afraid of him, much as he might be trying to intimidate me.

  Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, murmured something to the man, and strode toward me. “Yes, Mr. Bentley?”

  She looked up at me through her eyelashes. Innocent.

  How badly I wanted to change that. Finish the work I’d started.

  “Why are there a thousand goddamn contractors in the kitchen?” I asked, gesturing to where men and women seemed to occupy every surface. The old tile had been ripped up and the plywood underneath was covered in dust and debris from their work.

  “Uh, it’s kind of my personal Schlieffen Plan,” she replied.

  “Schlieffen Plan?”

  She grimaced. “It was a tactic the Germans planned to use to win the First World War,” she explained. “Use all resources to finish one area quickly, then divide up to take on the larger work.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at her. “I think you’ll have to explain that a little further.”

  I was familiar with the Schlieffen Plan. Since the Germans calculated that their Western neighbor, France, would mobilize faster than their eastern neighbor, Russia, the plan was to quickly take over France and then move the majority of their forces back east to take on Russia.

  I just didn’t see how it applied to my goddamn kitchen.

  “I’ve got a pretty standard home reno crew in my employ,” Elizabeth explained. “But if I spread them all out evenly, it’ll take longer to complete each room. So I’m concentrating them on priority rooms first before I spread them to the rest of the manor.”

  “So what you’re saying is my kitchen is France?” I deadpanned.

  She nodded.

  I didn’t hate the idea. It meant that the kitchen would be fully functional again in a matter of a few more days instead of a few more weeks. But it was goddamn noisy.

  I scanned the room, taking in the carnage. Then I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “What the hell are they putting on the wall?”

  She turned to follow my gaze. “Those are the cabinets, Mr. Bentley.”

  I hated when she called me Mr. Bentley, but it was for that same reason that I didn’t correct her. Keep things profes
sional between us, nothing more.

  I stepped over to the washed out mess of cabinets. The ones that had been in the kitchen before were a rich cherry. These were almost cream; they were too light.

  “They’re awful,” I declared.

  Elizabeth followed me, her jaw clenched in unmasked fury. I suppressed a smile.

  “They’re part of my design,” she said. “They’ll look good with the rest of the accents I’ve picked out.”

  I shook my head, turning toward my study. “No,” I said. “Take them out.” With that, I strode out of there. I’d put on headphones for the rest of the day.

  But another set of footsteps followed me into the hall. “Mr. Bentley!” Elizabeth called.

  I rolled my eyes and kept walking. This woman didn’t give up easily. Under other circumstances, I’d find that very sexy. Hell, I still do.

  But also annoying.

  She followed me into my study where I could no longer ignore her. “Mr. Bentley!”

  I whirled in anger. Now that we were alone, I didn’t have to be as nice as I had been in front of the contractors. She was mistaken if she believed I’d be easy to challenge.

  “I think I was perfectly clear in the kitchen,” I snapped.

  Her eyes were narrowed, anger matching my own, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. She looked like a warrior queen, ready to defend her people. It was a complete turn on. I wanted her and could not focus on anything else. But that also irritated me, because I couldn’t have her. I was forced to spend almost every day with her in my house and having to ignore the desire that should have long dissipated.

  Instead, it just continued to build.

  “The reason I chose those cabinets was because they go with the tile,” she said.

  I looked at her blankly. “Then send the tile back too. Start over.”

  She took a deep breath. “The cabinets are already being installed. I can’t just send them back. And the tile was special order.”

  “The cabinets are going to look horrible,” I declared. “I can’t believe Todd brought you in on this project when your design skills are so clearly lacking.”

  Elizabeth took another step toward me. It was cute that she thought that would intimidate me any more than it had when the hulk out there had tried it.

  “There is nothing wrong with my design skills,” she spat. “And I tried to talk to you about my plans for the kitchen before I started all of this, but you slammed the door in my face.”

  She had a point. But like hell I would back down now.

  “You can’t demand my attention whenever you feel like it,” I said. “Nobody gets that privilege.”

  She laughed coldly. “Privilege? You make it sound like your company is something to be aspired to. What makes you think anyone would want to spend more than a minute with you when they weren’t being paid?”

  Her eyes widened as she realized that she’d just crossed a line. I knew Todd must have urged her to stand up to me, but now she’d started to get insulting and she obviously knew it. The worst part was that I admired her for it. In the boxing ring, she wasn’t the same mild-mannered, adorable innocent she was when I took her in that club.

  She was a Valkyrie.

  “Is that so, Ms. Paulson?”

  Valkyrie or no, I would have to make her regret her overly casual tongue. Not that her insults bothered me. They lacked bite and I’d had far worse directed my way. But I had an image to maintain, after all. And reminding her who was boss would be better for both of us in the long term.

  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with my company that night at Repeat.” I closed the distance between us, bumping my chest up against hers and staring down hard.

  She swallowed hard, but didn’t step back.

  “Tell me,” I cooed. “Was it this job you were celebrating before I took you up to the VIP area and fucked you senseless?”

  Elizabeth’s breath caught and her face flushed pink. And there she was again—that beautiful, innocent girl that I found impossible to resist. At once I knew I’d miscalculated. I thought I could intimidate her into staying away from me by bringing up our night together.

  But it only made me want her more.

  “The cabinets will look good with the finished design,” she croaked out.

  The edge of my lip twitched and I took a step back. She sucked in a breath.

  “Todd trusts you,” I stated, after a beat. I walked lazily back to my desk in an effort to make my decision seem more casual, as if I was giving her a break instead of backing off with my tail between my legs. She had power over me that she didn’t even realize, and it was better if she remained oblivious. “So I’ll give you a chance.”

  “A chance?” she questioned. She folded her arms over her chest, but I caught sight of her hands before she did. They were shaking.

  A spear of guilt ran through my gut.

  “I’ll wait to judge the kitchen until it’s finished,” I replied. “If I still hate it, you’re fired.” That would solve my problem, but it was still not something I wanted to do. It might become necessary, though, if I couldn’t control myself.

  If I couldn’t just start treating her like any other damn employee.

  If I couldn’t get her out of my head.

  I expected her to leave at that point. I hoped she would leave. Then I could get down to the business of castigating myself in private before getting on with my day. But she didn’t leave. She just sniffed, pursed her lips, and continued to challenge me.

  “And if you like it?”

  I looked up at her, blinking. “I’m not following.”

  “If you hate it, I get fired. So what happens if you like it?”

  Little minx. Maybe she suspects the power she has over me after all. I couldn’t help but admire her backbone, either way. That didn’t mean I was willing to let her off easily, though.

  “If I like it, isn’t that just you fulfilling the bare minimum of your job requirement?” The smirk on my face was more about how impressed I was with her, but I didn’t try to hide it. I figured she’d more than likely just take it as evidence of a lack of faith in her abilities.

  Truth was, I hadn’t made a final decision on that yet.

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “But you just humiliated me in front of the contractors, insulted me, and harassed me about our sexual history. If the outcome of the kitchen has consequences for me, I think it’s only fair that it have consequences for you, too.”

  She continued to impress me.

  “You realize that only makes me more motivated to hate the kitchen?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’m confident enough in my work to know you’ll love it.”

  “Very well, kitten,” I purred. “You’ve intrigued me. What do you want? More money?”

  She shook her head. “Money would be too easy for you.”

  “Then what?”

  “The truth.”

  Her words hung in the air between us. I furrowed my brow.

  “What do you mean ‘the truth’?” I was suddenly uncomfortable.

  She circled the desk, coming to lean against the side of it. I was momentarily distracted by the visual of the wood biting into the flesh of her ass, picturing my hand in its place.

  “I want to know why you’re like this,” she said. “I want to know why the man I met at Repeat is so different than the man I work for now.”

  “Darling, you may be setting yourself up for disappointment,” I said, trying not to show how deep her words dug. “I think you’re expecting the answer to be some Mr. Hyde type potion that changes me from a mild-mannered doctor into a horrific beast.” I grinned predatorily. “But maybe this is just the way I am?”

  “If that’s the case, then it should be an easy wager for you to make,” she challenged. Her eyes bore into mine. I’d never seen her so fierce. I’d never seen her so beautiful.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “But you would have been smarter to ask for more money.”

  She shook her
head. “I don’t think so. Maybe the answer to my question will be as simple as you say. But maybe it won’t.”

  She pushed off from the desk and strolled toward the door. I watched her leave, meditating on the potential seriousness of this development. I didn’t just admire her spirit. I goddamn respected her.

  And I still fucking wanted her.