by Piper Rayne
So professional like he’s going to use me as his servant instead of his sex slave.
That thought shouldn’t disappoint me as much as it does.
Chapter Eight
The taxi drops me off in front of the address Roarke sent me.
“Come on, Lucy.” I tug on her leash, but her butt slides along the concrete.
She is not the protective German Shepard I thought I was buying.
I tug a few more times and she finally stands and prances across the concrete until a man spins through the revolving door at the building’s entrance. Her paws halt.
“Come on.” I tug a little bit, but she sits down again, all four paws trying her hardest to grip the cement sidewalk. “Please Lucy,” I beg.
Nothing.
“I don’t want to go in there either, but we’re doing it for the girls. It’s two days and then we’ll be back home.” The dog sitter sounded like a good idea, but I figure if I do bring Lucy and she chases the cat around it’s an easy out for me. Voila, favor number two complete.
Then again, what if I can’t fulfill this favor and he says it doesn’t count?
I shake my head. What are we, in high school? He can’t bully me.
“Lucy.” I kneel down, my overnight bag falling from my shoulder and smacking the sidewalk. I pet her head, staring into her eyes. “Once we’re through those revolving doors, it’s just like home.”
Her head tips down. Yeah, she’s not going for my pep talk.
“Miss?” A man to my side opens up the door beside the revolving ones.
I stand, and Lucy gets to all fours again.
“Please feel free to use this door.” The man is dressed in his uniform that suggests he’s either the doorman or security.
“Thank you very much.”
Lucy actually follows behind me this time. She does love people.
“Who are you here to see?” he asks, rounding his desk in front of the elevators.
“I’m housesitting for Roarke Baldwin.”
“Ah…yes…he mentioned that when he left this morning. He said you’d have a key.” He punches something on the keyboard. “Hannah Crowley?”
I hold up said key. “That’s me.”
“He also said you’d need a dog walker four times a day?”
“Um…” Lucy tugs on the leash and I pull her back so I can finish my conversation.
“The building supplies it.”
“Would it be billed to Mr. Baldwin?” I ask.
“Well, yes, but he’s already paid for it.”
Great, tack on another favor.
“I insist on paying the fee myself.” I approach the desk, Lucy finding a little girl coming off the elevator much more interesting than the desk.
I extend the leash as long as I can get it to reach the doorman, who I now see is Will, according to his name tag.
“I am sorry, but that’s not possible, Ms. Crowley.”
“Not possible? Surely you can send the invoice to me and not Mr. Baldwin?”
He points to the computer screen. “It clearly says here that if Ms. Crowley tries to pay for the service, then I am to politely refuse.”
All I see is a mask of red. I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, but I’m about to lose my temper. I do my best to hold it in since it’s not Will’s fault.
“Fine, I’ll reimburse Mr. Baldwin directly then. Anything else in those notes of his?” I air-quote notes because him leaving instructions that pertain to me is utterly ridiculous.
“Seems to be about it. He’ll be home on Sunday.”
I nod. “Yes, I’ll be leaving first thing Sunday morning.”
Will smiles, teeth yellow from what I can smell is probably years of smoking.
“Then let’s get you upstairs.” He rounds the desk again, patting Lucy on her head.
Lucy stands and wags her tail confused when he doesn’t stop to let her lick his face.
“I’m sure I can manage to get upstairs on my own,” I say.
“I’ll just keep the doors open for you and press the floor.”
I smile, and Lucy and I step into the elevator, my shoulder killing me from carrying her bed, food, along with my overnight bag. I should’ve said bring the cat to me, but since he mentioned something about it just getting acquainted it’s probably better for it to stay in the environment it knows. Plus, I’ll admit to being curious to see Roarke’s condo.
“Thank you, Will.” I grab some cash from the front pocket of my purse and hand it over.
He shakes his head.
“I’ve already been tipped for the entire weekend. So have the other doormen. Please enjoy your stay, Ms. Crowley.”
The elevator doors shut, and I put the money back in my purse.
“He’s such a jackass,” I murmur. Lucy’s head turns in my direction with curiosity. “Two days, little one, and then we’re down to three favors left.”
The elevator doors open on the eighty-fifth floor.
“What? He didn’t have the extra mil for the top floor?” I mumble to myself, tightening the leash on Lucy as we walk down the hallway.
I keep walking and there are no doors anywhere, no signs to where I need to go, and I feel like I’m walking in a circle until I land in front of a door with the number he texted me. He could’ve given me more specific directions. There’s no way he owns this entire floor. Then again, the man screws rich people over for a living. I know from what I had to shell out to my own lawyer that they don’t need to clip coupons.
I insert the key, Lucy sniffing the door like she’s a drug dog and can’t wait to make her master proud. The door lock clicks and Lucy jumps, pushing it open the rest of the way, running into the condo.
Having her leash wrapped tight around my wrist, I lunge forward. My purse lands with a thud and the contents spill out across the expensive marble floors. My overnight bag drops but luckily my computer is cushioned between my clothes.
“LUCY!” I yell, but she’s running from room to room, sniffing out the cat, I assume.
I think I’ll be using that number soon. I smile to myself as I get up off the floor.
A tiny silver fur ball runs past me and hides under the couch and Lucy resorts to sniffing around the perimeter of the piece of furniture, allowing me to soak in his condo for a minute. It’s decorated in hues of grey, blue, and white with dark floors and huge windows that give a different view from each room.
Bastard might not have the entire floor, but he’s got half.
I set off to explore some more, finding that his place has three bedrooms, each with their own bath and an office that looks like it’s rarely used. A huge living room is in the center of the space and sits open to a kitchen and a long dining table that runs the length of one of the large windows.
Everything is clean and orderly like I assumed it would be. There’s no beer cans or giant televisions that overpower a room, no clothes hanging out of a hamper or dried toothpaste in the sink. A perfectionist lives here. Though I already suspected that about him.
Lucy continues to circle the couch, sniffing for her prey.
I notice a piece of paper on the kitchen counter and so I head over to find a list of instructions in his sloppy man’s handwriting. I half expected it to be typed up by his assistant.
* * *
Hannah,
* * *
Thank you. As you probably already know by now, I hired a dog walker. He’ll come four times a day and they have access to my apartment so you don’t need to be here to meet them. Also, as you probably know by now, all tips to doormen for the weekend are already paid. Please don’t try to overtip them—they will refuse you.
I make a childish whatever face and roll my eyes to myself.
“Kitty” gets fed twice a day. Soft food is in fridge. Hard food in cabinet. Water obviously.
I have no plants to water and the cleaning service was there right before you.
One last thing, I’m trying to keep Kitty out of my guest bedrooms
, so you can sleep in my bed. Before you sigh, all sheets have been freshly washed.
I’d love for you to stick around on Sunday for dinner, but not enough to use it as a favor. The decision is yours.
Enjoy your weekend,
R
* * *
“Seriously?” The note slips from my hand down to the counter along with a written list of take-out places nearby.
ARF!
“Jesus, Lucy, leave the cat alone.” I turn around to find the small little kitten peeking its head out from under the couch. Lucy looks like she’s trying to get her huge-ass head under the couch, too, to join him.
Until this moment it didn’t dawn on me that it’s a little unexpected that a man like Roarke has a tiny, cute and fluffy kitten. A Doberman or a Pitbull wouldn’t have surprised me. But this cute little thing? I’ll admit it’s not what I would have expected from Roarke.
Lucy licks Kitty—which by the way is a stupid-ass name. I sit down on the couch, the kitten crawling out from the opposite end, then pouncing from the coffee table to my lap.
“Whoa.” My hand pets the soft grey fur and he begins to purr.
Lucy jumps up onto the couch, wanting to give her own welcome.
“You are a cutie. Kitty doesn’t really fit you. I think I’m going to call you… Nickel.” He purrs some more and pushes his head into my hand.
Lucy weasels her nose under my arm and flings it up in the worst emotion ever—Jealousy.
My phone rings from my purse so I place Nickel down on the couch and run over to answer.
I should’ve known to let it go to voicemail.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Is everything to your liking?” Roarke’s deep voice sends a shiver up my spine.
“Your condo? It’s okay.” I walk to the window that overlooks Lake Michigan, watching all the boats coming and going from Navy Pier.
He chuckles. “Sorry it’s not as costly as yours.”
We both know our condos probably cost roughly the same, and I’m not too big of a person to admit that his views are better.
“Well, what can I say? I could barely afford much after my divorce.”
“Touché.”
“Oh and I renamed Kitty.”
“You did?” He sounds amused. “What did you name him, may I ask?”
“Nickel. Since he’s a silver grey color.”
“Platinum sounds better.”
“Maybe if he was a she. I get where you’re going with the whole platinum being better than nickel, but we are talking cats here Mr.— Roarke.”
“You caught yourself. Good job, Hannah.” The way he says my name makes it feel like a million flickers of energy ignite in my stomach at the same time.
“Well, everything is good on this front. Favor number two seems like a cinch.”
He chuckles again. “I’m glad you’re settled. Please help yourself to whatever in the fridge. I had my assistant stock up on some items for you.”
“Were you ever in the hospitality field?”
He laughs again. “I told you already, you know nothing about me. I’m just a nice guy.”
“Not in the courtroom,” I tease.
Oh my God. Are we flirting?
“I can’t argue that point. But it’s my job and my clients hire the best and that’s what I give them. I know you were on the other side—”
“We don’t need to go over all that. Thanks for calling. Nickel and Lucy are getting along fine.” I turn to view the couch and find Nickel now snuggled into Lucy’s neck. “Better than fine.”
“Good. I didn’t really want to hire some stranger to come in. I’m glad it’s working out.”
A female voice calls his name in the background and I stiffen.
“If you need anything, I left my assistant’s phone number on the back of the paper, or any of the doormen can help.”
He gets called again by the same woman.
“Thank you again, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, pushing back my irritation at hearing a woman’s voice. What business is it of mine what he’s up to this weekend?
We hang up and I tap my cell phone against my chest as I watch the boats sailing along the glimmering lake. That might’ve been the first conversation where I didn’t want to rip his head off.
I’m not sure if that’s a good sign, or a bad one.
Chapter Nine
The weekend goes by without incident and I don’t hear from Roarke again. On Sunday morning, something wakes me up and I realize that there’s noise coming from the kitchen.
I bolt upright, seeing Lucy and Nickel fast asleep in Lucy’s dog bed. Seriously? Worst guard dog, ever.
Sliding out of the million thread count bedsheets that smell way too much like Roarke, I tiptoe to the door and peek down the hall.
A suitcase is next to the hallway table with keys and sunglasses strewn on top. Soft music pipes out of the area with a few sounds of someone cooking.
“He did not hire me a cook, did he?”
I turn and look back at the alarm clock.
Nine o’clock.
I have no idea how I slept so late, but I suspect binge-watching Netflix most of the night didn’t help. Once the dog walker came for Lucy, I changed into my pajamas and vegged out for the first time in I don’t know how long. I usually have to go to some charity event or dinner at the club with my parents. If I liked Roarke even a little, I’d thank him for giving me a Saturday night to myself.
“Lucy,” I softly scold for not alerting me to someone being inside.
Not that I think they’re doing anything other than making me breakfast.
Lucy picks up her head, looks at me and then plops it back down.
I continue on the balls of my bare feet as I descend down the hall to better assess the situation.
My gaze flickers to the sunglasses I’ve seen Roarke wear before. And the suitcase totally looks like something of his—expensive and all manly with silver and black. My shoulders lose all their tension.
Then I stiffen again.
Since when has Roarke Baldwin ever made me feel safe?
I hide behind the wall where the hallway meets the open living space, watching him move around his kitchen with his back to me. His hair isn’t as gelled and his suit has been replaced with a short sleeve shirt and jeans.
He’s opened the blinds to allow the early morning sun to seep into the space as it glistens off the water. Seriously, his views. What did he pay for those?
“Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band plays from a small speaker on the counter.
I silently watch him and swallow down the feeling that I’m glimpsing a rare moment of seeing the real him. It’s completely at odds with everything I’ve ever thought about this man up to this point.
Was this what favor number two was for? Some trick for me to have a meal with him? Coming home early on Sunday just to make me breakfast and force me to spend time with him.
He turns to grab something from the fridge and I can’t pry my eyes away, let alone hide back around the corner fast enough.
He catches me, a slow smile warming his face.
“You’re up,” he says like I live here and this breakfast would be expected.
“I am.” My feet feel stuck in cement, I don’t dare veer closer.
“Hungry?” he asks. A knock lands on the door. “Hang on.” He holds up his finger and answers the door.
My eyes are still transfixed on him, trying to get used to the idea of seeing him in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt.
Roarke’s head swivels in my direction. “It’s the dog walker.”
I nod, still confused by this whole situation.
Ned, the man who’s come every time to take Lucy on a walk, steps into the condo, waving at me.
“Good morning, Ms. Crowley.” He clicks the leash and the sound of four stomping paws barrelling down the hallway rings out, and then Lucy is skidding to a stop in front of her new favorite guy.
Lucy
pays no attention to Roarke who is back in the kitchen now.
“I’ll be back in forty or so.” Ned heads out shutting the door behind him.
Lucy never gives me a second look. Traitor.
“Hungry?” Roarke’s voice pulls my attention away from the front door.
“Um.”
Shit, why did I let Ned take Lucy? It was the perfect excuse for me to leave.
“Come and sit. It’s going to be at least forty minutes until you can leave.” His smile is friendly and kind, but I remind myself he staged this sneak attack.
“You planned this.” I break the distance from the hallway to the kitchen.
“What?” he asks the question, but the truth is written all over his face.
“You got me here knowing you’d be home early this morning.”
He dishes up pancakes on a plate and sets them to the side. “Not true.”
Nickel jumps up on the chair next to me and toddles over to sit on my lap.
“He likes you.” He points with his fork to the small ball of fur in my lap.
“Don’t change the subject.” My gaze stays on him.
He turns and opens the fridge, taking out some soft cat food and heads to the laundry room. Nickel jumps off my lap to the floor, scurrying to his bowl.
“Is this Lucy’s food?” he asks me.
“The one in the Ziploc? Yes.”
A second later I hear her food hit her bowl and the sound of water running.
He returns to the kitchen. “There, they’re all set.” He washes his hands and opens the oven pulling out some sort of quiche.
“Just so you know, I’m not a breakfast person.”
He takes the dishes out and heads around the corner to his long table.
“Everyone’s a breakfast person.”
I follow him. “Not me. I’m going to get dressed and be ready when Lucy returns.”
He leans his shoulder on the corner wall of the room between the dining room and kitchen.
“Please don’t make me use a favor.”
His low voice and the undercurrent of pleading softens me when it shouldn’t. My mind must be cloudy from being around him all weekend. Sure, he wasn’t here, but his scent was. He let me glimpse into his personal life. The way everything’s so organized except for one drawer in the laundry room that has a million different batteries, screws and odds and ends. His sheets might have been washed but either his smell is permanently embedded into them or he has some sort of special spray. I betrayed myself by smelling his shampoo and body wash in the shower yesterday.
