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Eileen nodded at all the right moments, pretending to care, but I’d caught her checking her thin leather Cartier often.
I could do worse than to marry someone who didn’t want to be in the same room as me. In fact, I preferred it to the alternative.
Fending off a needy wife seemed like a new circle of hell.
On our way to the dining room, I caught sight of Farrow. So much for giving her space on her first day.
She kneeled in the corridor, scrubbing away a persistent mud stain from the porcelain tiles.
I’d gotten used to witnessing her in this state—sweaty, sporting a bird’s nest on her scalp, her clothes peppered with bleached pigments.
She looked pitiful. The product of poverty and exhaustion. So opposite of me and my genteel guest.
And, I realized, for the very first time, so fucking beautiful I couldn’t breathe.
With her sharp features,golden hair, and sparkling blues. And those overgrown bangs—a little wavy and out of control—that made her look like a cool grunge girl on a double spread ofVogue.
The line of thought startled me.
I never admired humans.
I certainly never admired them for something as temporary as their beauty.
This is good. This is fine.
As long as you remember she’s a means to an end and not an actual three-dimensional person, you can admire her looks.
To prove my own point, I sidestepped her like she was a puddle of puke, sneering down at her as I guided Eileen along the hallway. “You missed a spot.”
Farrow glared up at me, no doubt stabbing me in her mind. “Sorry, Boss, but you’re a permanent feature.”
There she is.
At my maid’s smart mouth, Eileen released a tiny gasp, turning to glance between us.
I stopped at the junction between the dining room and the guest wing, my eyes still pinned on my new housekeeper. “It’s Mr. Sun to you.”
Farrow slumped against the wall and blew a lock of hair from her eye, appraising me and Eileen.
No part of her seemed ashamed or distressed at being seen like this. At our feet. Scrubbing my floor to high shine.
She inclined her chin and offered a toothy grin directed at Eileen. “Did he tell you he sucks at Go?”
From her lips, it sounded just as Mom had suspected—likeGowas code for something else, and she’d just accused me of being bad in bed.
Eileen’s brows shot to her hairline, her slender fingers kissing her collarbone. “Are you going to let her talk to you like this?”
“Hope not.” Farrow picked up her rag and resumed scrubbing. “My wet dream is to have him fire me.”
Astonishingly, I found myself wanting to be part of her wet dreams.
In fact, I was hard-pressed to conjure something I wanted more than to watch her with her legs spread open, buck naked, showing me how wet she was.
I’d officially lost it. Sailed deep into murky, unchartered waters with these foreign thoughts and unchecked desires.
A speck of dirty water splashed from the rag onto my bare toe with her thorough scrub. My eyelid twitched.
She batted her lashes, awarding us an angelic smile. “Not to be confused with him firingatme. Because he did that, too. Did he tell you he likes throwing knives?”
