by Johnson, Cat
Somebody kill me.
“Tami? You okay?” The humor faded from my brother’s voice like I was certain the color was draining from my face.
I lifted my gaze to his. “Remind me why I want this job.”
“Money and perks, I believe you told me when you were gloating about getting it.”
“Money and perks,” I repeated. “Right.” I opened the backpack and rummaged through it for the smaller bag I’d crammed into it, slung it over my shoulder by its strap, then straightened. “Okay,” I said more firmly. “I can do this. My train gets back at five-thirty. Don’t forget to pick me up.”
“Yeah, yeah.” My brother swung back onto his motorcycle, waved a hand, and sped off. I watched him disappear down the busy road and heard my cell chime once more.
CALL - Still waiting, Ms. Levers. Not good form to keep your new boss waiting.
Fuck my life.
How was I supposed to respond to that? Maybe I should just ignore it and hope he did the same.
I looked at the message again. Yeah, who was I trying to kid? I gave a mental shrug—there was nothing I could do about it right now. Shoving my cell into a pocket, I headed inside the station. I’d just have to deal with it when I got there.
2
Wood
“Remind me again why I need a live-in housekeeper?” I smiled at what I’d just written and hit send on the text, then lifted my head to look at my sister.
“Because I’m going out of town for a month. If there’s no one else here, the house could burn down while you’re in it and you wouldn’t even notice.” She smirked at me. “Or you’ll starve to death and the cat will eat you. I don’t want to come back to that kind of mess.”
“Cat? What cat?”
She gave me a flat look.
“You do know I spent years fending for myself before you decided to take over my life, right?” I tapped the screen on my cell.
Hmmm, no response from my new keeper—because, no matter how Phoebe wanted to term it, that’s exactly what this was. Her hiring someone to clean out my self-designed cage and feed the animal it contained.
I briefly wondered if my response to the message she’d clearly meant for someone else had scared her off. Sometimes I crossed lines before I realized there was one. One of the many reasons I stayed away from people.
Phoebe had interviewed the woman, and with her twisted sense of humor, there was every chance she’d hired someone in her late fifties. Maybe I’d given her a heart attack with my texts.
Shit, was she dead? Maybe I should call her and check.
“Wood, are you listening to me?” My sister’s exasperated tone caused my eyes to jerk back up.
“Yeah, of course, I am.” I hadn’t been. “What time is she getting here?”
Phoebe peered down at her perfectly manicured nails and ignored my question. “Gosh, is that the time? I’ve got to be going. Tami will be here soon.”
“Tami?” I frowned. Who the fuck was Tami? Another one of Phoebe's god-awful fake friends?
“For goodness’ sake, Wood! I knew you weren’t listening to me. Tami is your new housekeeper. She’ll be here today to learn the lay of the land …” My sister snickered at god knows what. There was nothing funny about what she’d said. “Don’t scare her off. Tomorrow she moves in for the month. I expect her to be here, alive and well, when I get back.”
“Why wouldn’t she be alive and well? I’m not planning to murder her while you’re gone.”
Her eyebrow rose sharply. “There's a reason I’m the only assistant who’s never left you.”
“You can’t leave me. You’re family.” I pointed out.
She sniffed her disdain. “You really think that’s the reason?” Her hand rose, palm outward, when I opened my mouth. “Don’t even answer me. I’m going. Behave yourself, Wood.”
And with that final warning, she turned and left me alone in my office.
“Wait!” I jumped to my feet and dashed after her as she walked toward my front door. “What time did you say this Tami … Tamara … whatever her name is. What time did you say she was going to get here?”
“Within the hour.” Phoebe paused with one hand on the door handle and turned back to look at me. “Please don’t screw this up.”
Before I could question what she meant, or the weird tone in her voice, she walked out of the house. Alone again, I returned to my office. I had a deadline to meet, a book to finish. One that already had a movie contract, as well as a signed cast ready to go when I was.
And that’s where I was forty minutes later, deeply involved with a female cat burglar about to steal a two-thousand-year-old relic, when I heard the doorbell ring.
3
Tami
I had to get a cab from the station to the address I’d been given, which added almost another half-hour drive into the middle of nowhere. The house seemed deserted when I finally arrived—no lights in the windows, no visible movement. I pushed the bell and waited.
Phoebe Conrad—the woman who had interviewed me for the position—had warned me that the house was far outside the city limits and set on private land, with no neighbors for miles around. She had carefully emphasized the lack of people, asking bluntly if I would be comfortable living alone with a man I didn’t know for an entire month.
I was equally blunt in my response—asking her outright if there was a reason I should be concerned. Phoebe had laughed and offered me the job on the spot, if I wanted to take it.
And what a job it turned out to be …
I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to protect the employer’s privacy before I was told who the job was for. Phoebe had been very careful about that. After I’d signed, she explained that she hadn’t wanted just anyone applying for it—especially when they realized who it was. Her employer, she said, was a very private person and she didn’t want to risk hiring someone who wanted the job purely to get to meet him.
My interest had sparked at that point, and then she told me about the job: housekeeper to the successful author, Callahan Woodrow. My jaw dropped. He was a writer whose many books had been turned into movies, most of them vehicles for the very popular action star, Cole Spencer. But, while he was an extremely talented author, he also had a reputation for his reclusiveness, to the extent that photographs of him were rare.
Needless to say, I’d Googled him when I got home from the interview, in the hopes of something new about him being posted, but there were no images of him anywhere. I’d always wondered if Callahan Woodrow was a pseudonym. It wouldn’t be unusual, since lots of people used other names to protect their privacy, and Phoebe had been very clear that her client loved his privacy—which made the short text conversation I’d had with him earlier even stranger.
I leaned on the doorbell again and the door flew open seconds later.
“Impatient much?” A deep masculine voice snapped. “Do you have any fucking idea how long it takes to get from the back of the house to the front door? Give me a fucking chance!”
I stepped back under the onslaught, my eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing with irritation as he continued to berate me for disturbing his peace. When he showed no sign of slowing his tirade down, I felt my own temper rising, straightened, stiffened my shoulders, and met a pair of sharp blue eyes head-on.
“First, how do you expect me to know where in the house you’re located?” I snapped over him. “And second, are you always this rude to people?”
His response was to slam the door in my face. I stood for a moment, unsure what to do, and then reached out once more to stab at the bell. The door swung open before my finger connected with it.
“Tami?” he said, his voice still gruff but slightly less angry-sounding than a few seconds ago. “That’s who you are, right?”
“Yes. And you are?” I was still bristling. Phoebe hadn’t said Callahan had a … a what? I let myself focus on the man standing in front of me and felt the breath catch in my throat. Holy shit … did Callaha
n Woodrow have a Greek God working for him?
Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair flopping down into his eyes … eyes that were a silvery blue and assessing me in return. I guessed he was a little older than me—maybe he was Callahan’s son? Did he have a son? Surely he wasn’t really a Greek God?
A smile flashed across his face and it completely changed his countenance, turning him from darkly good looking to breathtaking. “I’m your new boss.”
I heard the words, but they didn’t sink in, until he thrust out a hand … a large tattooed hand. My eyes bounced from the hand to his face and back down again.
“Wait … you’re Callahan Woodrow?” My heart sank.
Well done, Tami. First, you text him, then you lose your temper with him, and now you’re drooling over him. I waited for him to fire me on the spot.
4
Wood
I proffered my hand again, while she stared at it like it was a snake about to bite.
“Guilty as charged,” I said when she finally slipped her palm against mine and shook firmly. A bolt of … something shot up my arm at her touch. “Although, my actual name is Edward Conrad, but you can call me Wood.” I dropped her hand, resisting the urge to rub my palm against my thigh to ease the shock I’d got from her touch, and stepped to one side. “Come in.”
She hesitated before moving past me and into the reception hall. I couldn’t fault her since I’d just chewed her out for disturbing me, and she was probably questioning how much of an asshole I was. Truthfully, I could never be called a ‘people person.’ That’s why, until my sister took it upon herself to organize my life, no one I hired stayed for long. I preferred to be left alone. I liked my own space, my own company, and my own routine. Having people coming in and disrupting that ruined my concentration. It was bad enough having Phoebe around, but now I had a stranger to contend with. One who would need to learn my living habits and work around them.
I eyed said stranger, and found myself admiring the curve of her ass, as she stopped just inside the reception hall and turned back to face me. From the expression on her face, she’d caught my appraisal.
“I thought you’d be older,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. No comment on me staring at her ass—interesting. “Funny, I thought the same about you.” Smirking, I gave her another blatant once over, inwardly acknowledging that she was everything I appreciated in a woman. “Nice …” my eyes paused on her cleavage, “biscuit tin though.”
Her cheeks turned a fiery red at my unsubtle reference to her text from earlier, but to her credit, she didn’t rise to it. Instead, she opted to look around the hall with undisguised curiosity. There wasn’t a lot to see. Dark walls, dark grey carpet, no paintings or fittings to take away from the starkness. I liked it. It suited me. Phoebe didn’t. But she did agree it suited me.
“Phoebe said I was to spend today with you and arrange a schedule that works best,” she broke the silence, her voice turning brisk.
I shrugged. “All you really need to know is if my office door is shut, I’m working and don’t want to be disturbed.”
“That’s not the way this works, Mr. Woodrow.”
“Wood,” I corrected her. “My pseudonym is a combination of my parents’ names and mine. Callahan is my father, Rowena, my mother. Wood … obviously from me. Thus Callahan Woodrow.” I moved toward the door at the opposite end of the hall. “Let’s go through to my office and get whatever you need out of the way so I can carry on working.”
I moved in front of her to lead the way and took off down the hallway, without checking to make sure she was following. Either she’d arrive behind me or turn tail and flee while I wasn’t watching. I didn’t really care, either way. This had been Phoebe’s idea and, frankly, it wasn’t one I was particularly comfortable with. I flexed the fingers of one hand, the one she’d gripped, still feeling that odd tingling sensation.
I settled behind my desk and leaned back, not even disguising the fact I was watching her when she came through the door a few seconds later. She was cute, I acknowledged to myself.
The writer in me described her in my head—dark brown hair in a haphazard knot on top of her head, still slightly damp from the rain. She was dressed in clothes that gave off the message she was all business—a no-nonsense cream blouse and black pants. I masked a smirk. But those high heels on her feet suggested that the boring mousy look wasn’t natural for her and she hadn’t been able to resist wearing something which reflected her true personality—the one she was trying to hide behind professionalism. And no amount of professional clothing could hide those killer curves.
I pursed my lips, letting my gaze track over her face, knowing she was aware of my perusal, yet she remained silent. She’d kept makeup to a minimum. I thought I could see mascara, but no eye shadow and she was wearing lip gloss which didn’t so much color her lips as keep them moisturized.
“Are you done?” she snapped.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Is that any way to talk to your new boss?”
“When he’s looking me over like cattle in a farmer’s market, absolutely yes!”
Feisty, I liked that … and my sister damn well knew it. I should have guessed she wouldn’t hire a mouse or something who would just slot into my house without me noticing them. No, Phoebe had purposely hired someone who would demand my attention. I stopped myself from shaking my head. My sister was devious in her plan to drag me out of my self-imposed isolation, but I gave the girl a week before she resigned, possibly less if I drove her away before then.
“Sit down.” I waved to the chair opposite me and waited while she made herself comfortable. “What did Phoebe tell you about the job?”
“She said you needed someone who would keep the house running smoothly, as well as keeping the kitchen stocked and ensuring you eat at least one decent meal a day. I’m to make sure no one disturbs you who hasn’t got an appointment, although judging by your reaction when I arrived, I don’t imagine anyone comes visiting very often.”
Her bluntness was refreshing. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
“I won’t.”
I snorted a laugh. This woman was something else—five minutes in my company and she wasn’t scared to say what she thought. I found I really liked that.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she spoke up again. “But you were very rude.”
“You disturbed me,” I countered.
“You knew I was coming.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that argument. I had been forewarned. I just got so wrapped up in my work, I lost track of time—which was one of the reasons Phoebe had hired her.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’m sorry for the way I welcomed you.”
“Apology accepted.”
5
Tami
We spent less than an hour together that first day, while he showed me around his house before ditching me in the bedroom Phoebe had aired out for my use and retreating back to his office. I got the distinct impression that this was a man who really wasn’t happy about having someone invade his territory and was going to do everything in his power to pretend I didn’t exist.
And that was the pattern for the first five days I lived in his house.
Wood was a man who lived by a very specific routine. I discovered, by chance, that he was up and out in the swimming pool, which my bedroom window overlooked, at five every morning. And Wood slicing through the water at dawn was a damn near perfect start to my day. Not that he knew I was admiring him from my window, and I planned to keep it that way. One thing was sure, Callahan Woodrow—Wood—was very easy on the eye.
His morning swim was followed by an hour in the gym located in the basement. At six-thirty on the dot, he headed into the kitchen for coffee and two slices of wholemeal toast, slathered thickly with orange marmalade, after which he disappeared into his office.
I knew, almost to the minute, how long it would be before he reached the kitchen after his morning workout, and by day five, I ha
d his coffee and toast waiting for him. The first time he walked into the kitchen and found me there, he stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow quirking up in question at my presence. I merely pointed at his breakfast and continued to sip my own coffee.
His surprised smile was worth the effort of dragging myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour and, by the seventh day, he had stopped devouring his toast at the speed of light and taken to lingering for a little while to talk about the latest book he was writing and how I was filling my days.
In truth, I was struggling to find things to do. Wood lived alone and spent most of his time in one room. Other than preparing a couple of meals each day and cleaning up afterward, there was very little to do. In the entire week I’d been there, he hadn’t had a single visitor, so I spent most of my time in the kitchen reading a book or watching movies on my cell. I probably could have used the TV in the living room, but didn’t think it would be appropriate treating his house like it was my own home.
Partway through the second week, things changed …
After Wood retreated to his office for the day, I spent the morning washing all the bedding from his room, mine, and the other guest rooms—although they didn’t need it. I was stretching the fitted sheet back over Wood’s mattress when I heard a noise behind me. Straightening, I turned just as my naked employer came out of his en-suite, head hidden by a towel as he rubbed his hair.
I tried to step aside to avoid the collision course he was on with me, but I wasn’t fast enough and his body—very wet and naked—slammed against me.
