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“Wait.” She stops, then cringes. “Are they gonna ask me about the show?”
I shrug. I don’t tell her I watched her for hours last night and my slowly growing obsession with her may be amping up.
I saw the fight with Lisa. In fact, I rewound it so many times I lost count.
I try not to let the amusement show on my face. She’s got some spirit, I’ll give her that.
“I have no idea. I don’t know if the girls even watch the show,” I say honestly. It’s probably something I should’ve asked Cash about.
I can tell the idea of going to the clubhouse excites her.
What I don’t like is seeing her cry. Tears of sorrow does something to me. She loves that damn cat, and I have a plan to make an enclosure so that Pirate can be safe, and we won’t have any splattered cats on the sidewalk below.
Even though I don’t know her, I’ll do anything to not see the tears well in her eyes like they did last night.
Frankly, I was concerned when I saw her walking out onto the balcony, knowing that she hates heights. Not that I thought she was gonna do anything stupid, but under my watch, I don’t like the idea that she’s out there, all alone. Even if we are on the top floor. And when she just stood there, staring out at the city, she looked so lost.
I realize that I have been judging her. Labeling her as a spoiled, poor little rich girl. What if she’s so much more than that? What if I’ve got it all wrong? More to the point, why do I care?
So far, I know that she has a sense of humor. A feisty side. And she’s emotional. None of those things I am easily equipped to deal with.
I question again why the hell Cash put me on this job.
But now I’m invested.
I have to see this through.
I’ve never quit anything I’ve ever done, and I’m not about to let this woman get under my skin to the point that I can’t do my job.
If she wants me to take her to the gym, I’ll take her to the goddamn gym. She won’t last five minutes anyway.
“Lead the way.” I fling my arm out toward the door and her eyebrows raise in surprise.
I was going to go for a run, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She walks in front of me as I try to keep my eyes on her shoulders, instead of her ass. But that’s a trying task.
Everything about Aspyn draws my eyes to her curves. I swear this woman would look good in a paper bag.
I run a hand through my hair. I tied it back this morning to keep my unruly strays out of the way.
When we’re in the elevator together, heading down, I keep my eyes laser focused ahead.
“Sleep well?” she asks.
“Like sleepin’ on a cloud,” I tell her honestly. When I did finally get to sleep, it was probably the comfiest bed I’ve ever been in.
Better than that piece of shit mattress I have at home.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat that goes straight to my dick.
“Tell me about it,” she purrs.
Is she purposely doing this?
Is she purposely trying to talk to me? What for?
As if this isn’t hard enough.
