by S. Ann Cole
Gloriel came over Sunday evening with food containers packed with delicious goodness and fed us. She, too, is excited to have me back on the Upper East Side. Or just back in general. Who would’ve thought?
After they left late last night, too stuffed and drowsy to wait up for Noah, I went straight to bed, seeing as he was set to arrive around 2 AM.
As I’m about to exit my bedroom, I pause, noticing my door is ajar. Now, I might have been a little bit tipsy last night from Gloriel’s wine, but I’m positive I not only closed my bedroom door last night but also turned the lock. I’m far too paranoid about Andrew to have left a door open and a lock unturned. Tipsy or not, I know I locked this door. Someone had been in my room.
‘Relax. Don’t freak out. Maybe it was Noah,’ Rational Lotty rationalizes.
‘Yeah,’ Reckless Lotty chimed in, agreeing with Rational Lotty, which, I might add, is rare. ‘Maybe he came to check on you, make sure you are safe and still in one piece. You know how hotly possessive sexy billionaires can be.’
Rational Lotty arches an eyebrow. ‘You know? Who knows? Have you ever been with a sexy billionaire to know what billionaires can be like?’
Reckless Lotty is quiet for a moment. Then, says defensively, ‘I read about them in books! You have, too. Christian Grey, remember? Gideon Cross? Johnathan Drazen?’
‘Chick is insane,’ Rational Lotty murmurs under her breath and rolls her eyes.
Tuning out their bicker, I inhale deeply, exhale slowly, then continue on out the door
I’m stumped when I walk into the kitchen and find Noah sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and eating leftovers from yesterday.
We both freeze. His coffee cup paused mid-air, and my fingers paused tugging the hem of my now super-short uniform.
Thrown completely off my game. I expected him to be out running. Not sitting here at the butt-crack of dawn in nothing but his pajama bottoms, sipping coffee and eating leftovers. With tousled hair and shadowed jaw and skin so gorgeously tanned like he’d had been having dirty, immoral sex with the California sun. Dammit, the man was fine. It’s almost impossible to believe that all this had been hiding under Fatty Nate. Un.Be.Lievable.
‘Oh my, yumyumlickyslurpyum,’ Reckless Lotty whispers.
Ignoring her slutty ass, I clear my throat and get my head back in the game. He’s eating from Gloriel’s containers, which means he knows his mother was here, along with Kiera, which means he’s aware I’m now aware of his true identity. For all I know, he’s up and half-naked and deliciously sexy on purpose to throw me off, to boggle me, mentally seduce his way out of the lie.
Not that I mind…but still.
“I thought you’d be out running,” are my first words of the morning, proud of my voice for sounding strong and unaffected.
His hand holding the coffee cup drops so heavily to the counter that hot, dark-brown liquid splashes over the sides of the porcelain crockery. “What in the hell did you do to your uniform?!”
His tone, his volume, the glare in his green eyes, all surprise me. So not the reaction I expected. Though, Kiera had cautioned me to expect it at first. She told me he’d been downright mean and insultingly straightforward with her the first time she came on to him, but it didn’t deter her. Yep, Kiera Noel is shameless. Me, not so much.
Just barely, I flinch at his tone, but stand tall in the face of the giant. Glancing down at my outfit, I reply, “Oh, this? I made a few adjustments. You like?”
Uh-huh. My new uniform? Cropped miles above the knee. Adjusted so the material is making love to my curves. Altered bust and dipped cleavage cut so my breasts are practically spilling out, and, cherry on top, my new six-inch heels.
Obviously, I don’t plan on wearing this all throughout the day. Not when people like Gloriel can pop up at any moment. Nope, this wicked weapon is only when Noah’s at home. Change as soon as he leaves in the morning, and re-don before he gets home in the evenings.
“Yo-you made a—If I l-like,” he splutters nonsensically, and I can’t tell if it’s a rage splutter or a mind-blown splutter.
Either way, I smile, and sashay into the kitchen. “I’ll take that as yes.”
“Lotty,” he growls, “you look like you’re about to star in a porn video. You cannot wear that around the house.”
Opening a cupboard, I reach for a coffee cup, tipping up so my dress rides up, and then I move to the coffee pot, pour some in my cup, and turn to face him, pouting. “Why not? I like it. Kiera fixed it up for me.”
His drool-worthy chest rises as he inhales and then exhales with a shake of his head. “Of course. Kiera. Should have known.”
My best friend’s reputation precedes her.
Taking a long, slow sip of my coffee, I set it down with gentle care, then lean forward, pressing my forearms to the counter, squeezing my arms to my sides so my cleavage is exaggerated.
Noah’s eyes falls unerringly to my copious girls, and I watch with delight as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“So, Noah,” I begin, “tell me, is your friend coming over again today? You know, the one with the accent. What’s his name again?”
A green glare snaps up at me, a strong jaw tightening. Exactly the reaction I want.
“What do you want with Q?”
“Well…” I reach across and drag my finger upside his cup to scoop up some of the spilled coffee, then bring it to my mouth and suck it off. “He’s kinda hot. No, not kinda. He’s fire. I was wondering if—”
“No,” he clips, loud and resound. “Q’s in a serious relationship. He has no time for cheap flings. So your efforts, and that god-awful excuse of a uniform, are wasted.”
‘Did he really just call us cheap?!’ Rational Lotty explodes.
‘Oh, pipe down,’ Reckless Lotty murmurs, checking her nails. ‘He doesn’t mean it. He’s just jealous. That’s the plan. Were you sleeping through the important stuff?’
Rational Lotty huffs, only mildly appeased.
Straightening, I shrug and pick up my coffee again, tsk-ing before taking a sip. “Shame. We could’ve had a lot of fun together.”
He’s lying about Qwesie. The guy had flat-out hit on me in front him, and he’d all but had to bark him off. Serious relationship? Yeah, right.
“You altered all your uniforms like that?”
I taunt him with a grin. “Maybe.”
He grimaces. “I’m ordering new uniforms for you today.”
‘Booooooo!’ shouts Reckless Lotty.
“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug, a little more than disappointed. “Why aren’t you out running?”
“Not feeling it.” He forks a bit of apple pie in his mouth. “Plus I’m hungover. We had a bit of…entertainment on the plane ride back.”
A surge of jealousy soars through me, and my toes curl in outrage in my new shoes. I know, all too well, what “entertainment” on a jet with more than one billionaire means.
Turning to the sink, I mumble into my coffee cup, “Hope your hangover lasts the rest of the year.”
“What was that?” he asks my back.
After another sip of my coffee, I splash out the rest into the sink. Appetite gone. Then turn and flash him a bright smile. “I said I hope you feel better soon.”
He watches me, and it’s evident in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me.
Setting down his fork, he clasps his hands together on the counter. “Muscles told me you took a stroll through Manhattan on Saturday. Did you enjoy your weekend?”
Leaning my hip against the counter, I fold my arms over my chest, not missing the lingering of his gaze on my trussed-up cleavage, and stare straight at him.
His leering eyes flick up to mine when I clear my throat.
He’s unapologetic.
I reply, “It was…insightful.” The last word is theatrically stressed, so he’ll get the hint that I think it’s time we discuss his lie.
But he just nods and says, “Good. Good. Glad you finally got out of the h
ouse. Now you can start your morning runs again. Muscles will always be shadowing you.”
I blink at him. He stares daringly at me.
And in the moment, I realize he has no intention of addressing the lie he’s caught in. Now you can start your morning runs again is a clear acknowledgment that he knows that I know. Because Nate knows I used to run in the mornings. Noah doesn’t. So, either he’s waiting on me to bring it up, so he can amuse himself at my reaction, or he’s planning on avoiding it altogether.
I want to jump over the counter and claw his eyes out. Or jump over the counter and kiss his brains out. Either way, my body is screaming to jump over the counter just to make contact with his. Whether out of anger or arousal. Reckless Lotty wouldn’t care which.
‘Damn straight,’ she confirms.
We stare at each other across the counter, iris to iris, daring, challenging. Should I give in and amuse the bastard like he wants, or should I take the challenge and play his game? Where does he plan on going with this, though?
Don’t know. But sure would like to see. Therefore, I take the challenge and abort all plans to call him out on his lie.
Instead, I ask, “Were you in my room last night?”
My question catches him unaware. The fractional widening of his eyes telling me he wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting the other question. The initial ‘why did you lie’ question. Hurt and indignation. But definitely not that.
His mouth opens as if to answer, and then he picks up his coffee. With his own precious time, he takes a sip, studying the handle of the cup much too long, before bringing his gaze back to me.
His nod is almost imperceptible, but I see it. “Briefly. To check if you were alright. If you were…still here.”
If I should ask why he thought I might have left, then that would force us to talk about the lie we’re avoiding. And the game is not to talk about it. Thus, my appropriate responses to his answer are limited.
“Well,” I shrug, pushing away from the counter, “seeing as I didn’t wake up with any dried sperm on my belly, I suppose that’s all you did.”
Noah ducks his head before I can see his expression. Pressing two fingers to his temple, he mumbles, “Think I’m just gonna head upstairs and get some sleep. My head’s pounding.”
‘I bet his penis is throbbing, too,’ Reckless Lotty says with a salacious grin.
Rational Lotty is quiet. I can’t blame her.
“Wait,” I stop him as he rises up from the barstool. Fetching a bottle of aspirin from the ‘Pills & Vitamins’ cupboard, I shake two out in his palm and then pass him a glass of water. “Take these first.”
As if wanting to just get it over with and get away from me, he takes them without hesitation. Slamming the empty glass down, he turns without another breath and beelines for the stairs.
“Oh, just a head-ups,” I call after him. He stops but doesn’t turn. “Gloriel is going to rip you a new one.”
Loud and shameless, he groans.
TEN
MY BOSS REMAINS unseen for the rest of the day. Not certain if it’s on purpose, or if he’s just curled up in a ball under the covers from his hangover.
Twice I’d gone up to his room to check if he wanted food or drink, but he never answers when I knock. Maybe he’s dead?
Or maybe he’s just avoiding me. I did, after all, slutify my uniform. Probably doing his damnedest to avoid being tempted by the Reckless Lotty in me.
Forty minutes after my quitting hour, when there’s still no sound of life from upstairs, I throw in the towel, mentally stowing all the flirts and innuendos I’d had planned for the dinner table.
As it turns out, my plan’s an epic fail. Noah’s a lot smarter at the game than I gave him credit for. Kiera had been certain this plan wouldn’t work, and I’d stupidly bet her that it would.
After having dinner alone, I shower and change into sleep shorts and a tank. Feeling anything but sleepy, I scoop up one of the fluffy, giant pillows from my bed and pad out to the living room.
With a Ziploc bag of jelly beans I snatched from the pantry, I curl up on my boss’ amazingly lush sofa in front of his 70-inch flat screen, and catch up on Game of Thrones episodes. I’m way behind.
Almost two hours has flown by, my attention rapt with the television series, popping one jelly bean after another in my mouth, when I hear the elevator ding.
Click-clack of stilettos echoes off the wooden floors. Sensual confidence in each step.
Fumbling for the remote, I hit pause just as the tall, flawless bombshell turns in to the living room. Platinum-blonde hair parted down the middle; long, straight tresses flowing down her back. A classy, skin-tight, violet dress accentuating her curves. Tanned, toned legs extended by mile-high heels.
Sienna Sullivan.
Noah’s ex-wife has full access to his home. Really? Is he seriously still in love with this woman? This woman who’s incapable of fidelity and is convinced the world revolves around her?
I’ll never forget how she wrecked Noah. Their ugly divorce had been the gossip on everyone’s lips for months. He’d been the laughing stock, the punchline of every joke. Had been so incredibly sad and depressed all the time, his hurt was almost physical.
It was around that time I began inserting myself more into his life. Daring him to run with me in the mornings, daring him to take himself seriously. Tried to let him see, in my own way, with my own underlying intentions, that he didn’t have to stay lying down and let himself be kicked.
I’d left thinking I never got enough time to break through to him like I wanted. But seeing him again, years later, a completely different man, so different I didn’t even recognize him, I’m convinced my efforts contributed, even a little bit, to the hot piece of ass he is today.
Miss Heart-Eater Sienna has contributed nothing but blows to his self-esteem and morbid humiliation to his name. So, yeah, I hate the woman. Terribly.
She spots me on the sofa and pauses in her steps, her Marc Jacobs’ purse clutched in one hand, her lit-up iPhone in the other. One perfectly groomed eyebrow arches at me. “Well, aren’t you comfortable for a housekeeper? Are you even allowed out here when off duty? Don’t you have a box for a help-quarters or something?”
‘Bitch!’ Reckless Lotty spits.
Instead of giving Sienna the satisfaction of being vexed, I roll onto my back, draw my legs up, and cross one ankle over a knee, indolently tapping the remote on my bare inner thigh.
“Hmm, yes, I have a quarter,” I reply. “But I wouldn’t exactly call it a box. Let’s see, there’s a king-size bed with a remote-controlled mattress that massages my back after a long day. An amazing walk-in closet. A spectacular city view from my floor-to-ceiling windows. A splendid bathroom with a double-sink vanity, a rain shower and a jetted bath tub.”
With delight, I watch as Sienna’s lips tighten, her glare glacial.
“Yep, I can watch the flat-screen in my uber-comfy room if I want. But I prefer it out here. I mean, I wouldn’t want to miss out on glimpsing Mr. Van Der Wells with his pajamas hanging off those cut, narrow hips.” As her nostrils flare, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand and giggle like a naughty school girl. “Oops, did I just say that out loud? Damn the dirty little slut in me.”
If looks could kill, I would be stiff, dead, and rotting with maggots on that couch. Sienna is so brassed off I’m barely keeping it together.
Marching up to me, she jabs a finger at my knee. “You listen to me, little miss nobody. I warned you before, and I won’t warn you again: Noah. Is. Mine. Spread your legs for him and I’ll rip your head off like the useless little doll you are. I don’t know what he was thinking putting you in that room, but I’m going to make damn sure you are where you belong by morning. In a box. You need to know your place, your boundaries, and you need to learn to respect me whenever you see me. I’m his woman.”
She doesn’t wait for my retort; maybe she’s afraid of what else might come out of my mouth. With attitude and swaying hip
s, she stomps off, muttering under her breath as she, unladylike, takes the stairs two at a time.
I’m going to be in deep trouble with Noah because he warned to be nice to his guests no matter who they are. But hell and damnation, I can’t help myself. Sienna thinks her shit doesn’t stink and that men and women alike should bow before her, so I find great pleasure in ticking her off. A little nobody like me.
Moments later, I hear a shriek from upstairs. Hitting ‘play’ on the remote, I turn up the volume. The last thing I want to do is listen to Noah and his bitch of an ex-wife fornicate.
After about ten minutes of forcing myself to get back into the episode but can’t because my blood is irrationally boiling at the thought of Noah’s narrow hips pumping between Sienna’s legs, at the thought of her touching his chest when I can’t, at the thought of him making her come, her making him come…I hear barks discording with the shrieks.
Okay. Either they like it rough, role playing and all, or they’re quarreling.
Soon the shrieks turn into pleading.
Again, I press pause on the remote.
More barking. More pleading.
A door slams.
Bare feet slap against wooden floors.
Clicking and clacking of heels scurrying behind.
“Noah, please—”
“I won’t ask you to leave again, Sienna.”
Propping up on my pillow, I crane my head to take in the drama.
Sienna is still fully dressed and perfect—thank God—while Noah is in a wife-beater and burgundy sweatpants and…yum…his hair is insanely tousled from being in bed all day, a temporary sleep-line along his jaw.
Guess they hadn’t been fornicating then.
Reckless Lotty sags in relief. But Rational Lotty remains unconvinced.
Noah, who appears more irritated than angry despite his barks, marches toward me, and I brace myself. Oh no, he’s about to bite my head off for being rude to Sienna.
Thinking fast, I shift onto my back again, strategically fixing one arm across my chest—well not exactly across my chest, more like under my breasts, applying subtle pressure so they are thrust up and spilling out of my tank. Maybe he’ll get distracted by my big, luscious girls and forget he’s mad at me.
