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“A weekend is three days.” I inhale deeply, attempting to keep the straining strands of my composure intact. “And, unless you're dying, you’re not leaving that cabin with my mother there.”
What the fuck?
“Then maybe you’ll understand this answer…” I lean in, our mouths only but a swift motion away from either of us. It forces me to smell the lavender scent coming off her body mixed with something else that I can’t put my finger on. “Fuck no.”
Liv frowns, and she looks like she’s about to cry. “Hudson?—”
“If you say my name one more?—”
“Anything,” she claims quickly, instantly steering up ideas in my head that don’t need to be there. “Help a coworker out. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. I need this.”
Shit, if the boys hear about this…
I’m not a fan of secrets or surprises, so this is as untempting as a fucking dumpster fire. But my imagination decides to kick up with ideas of things I could make her do with terms set in place so she can’t tell anyone. My gaze drops to her lips and I imagine them wrapped tightly around my cock as she stares up at me with those sexy blue?—
“It’s not part of my job description, as your boss, to help you with anything,” I carp mid-thought. “I owe you a paycheck every two weeks, not a solid or a courtesy to go spend time with a family I don’t know or give two shits about.”
“Damn, you really don’t know a good deal when you see one.”
My eyes tighten around those high cheekbones, dark pink lips, and she’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “You’re doing an excellent job at this selling thing again.”
“You didn’t hire me to be a saleswoman, but I got skills, Hudson. Your Instagram page is poppin’.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“It’s lit.” I perk a still confused brow. “Busy. People are reacting to it.”
Whatever.
I’ve been booked out months in advance before her ass hunted down this job.
“Three days,” she says. “And I’ll agree to one month of slavery.”
“Slavery,” I practically choke out because this girl needs a muzzle around her mouth. “I thought this was called an agreement. A deal.” I rock my head back and forth. “The more you talk, the more time I’m tacking on since you can’t grow a pair of balls and tell your mother to fuck off.”
However, it shouldn’t matter.
If I agree to this, I’m going to use every single day of that month with her doing odds and end shit for me, straight up. There’s so much shit I need to be done at my house it’s not even funny.
“Deal.” Her tiny hand shoots out in between us, and I glance down to stare at it.
Pink fingernails.
Dainty fingers.
“You don’t want to make a deal with me, kid. I’m an asshole, and I don’t care that you’re a woman. I’ll use?—”
“You’re not talking me out of this.”
Stubborn little fucking shit.
I silently sigh.
She’s asking for it. Begging for help. What’s the worst that could happen?
Three nights.
One trip.
