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“You know what a Dom is?” I questioned, blinking my eyes innocently.
He grunted and stood up, offering me the flashlight.
Since I was still fiddling with my transmitter, I gestured to the drawer I’d had it in. “Just put it in there.”
He bent over and opened the drawer and paused.
That’s when my eyes closed as I realized what I’d done.
That was the ‘drawer.’
The one that every woman had with her special supplies—such as lube, condoms, and her vibrators.
Jesus. Christ.
My cheeks flamed even hotter than before, and I wished the ground would swallow me whole.
He didn’t say a word, though, as he gently placed the flashlight in right next to my dildo—the same one that matched the one on the floor that he’d likely mistakenly blamed on the previous tenants—and closed it tight.
Moments later, he was standing at the end of my bed and pushing it into the wall once again. This time where there was no gap at all.
I swallowed just as he rounded it and laid down.
I bit my lip as I watched him watch me.
“I’m a healthy woman!” I cried.
His lip twitched. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He lifted his arms up over his head and made himself comfortable in my bed, his eyes trailing around my room only to stop on my door.
Then he frowned.
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
I followed his gaze, staring out onto the porch…and realized what else I’d revealed.
“You can see into my room,” he said.
I shrugged. “Maybe. I hadn’t really noticed.”
He gave me a look that clearly said he didn’t believe me and then switched over to what I now deemed as ‘my side’ of the bed.
It was the side that allowed me the easiest access to his TV—and his porn.
Son of a biscuit eater.
This day could literally not get any worse.
I turned away from him to hide my embarrassment. He knew that I could see him.
Then he sobered.
“Henley?”
I looked over to find him staring at me fiddling with my transmitter.
“Yeah?”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
My stomach plummeted at hearing those words.
“Yeah…” I paused. “Sure.”
I was expecting to hear about the porn that he was watching—that I was watching, too—but that wasn’t what I got. Not even close.
“Good.” He took a deep breath. “I know that I offered you eight months, but…”
“Oh, God. You’re firing me, aren’t you? I knew you didn’t really need me anywhere near as long as you said you did.” My shoulders slumped.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
He’d said words that I hadn’t expected to hear from him—at least not this soon.
Sure, I probably should’ve expected it. I was, after all, not doing a damn thing to help him.
“Kind of.”
I frowned. “How do you kind of get fired?”
“Well…” He paused. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore…but I do want you to marry me.”Chapter 16Sneeze on your knuckles before a fight in order to inflict poison damage.
-Helpful Tip
Rhys
I hadn’t actually intended on telling her this today. I’d intended on doing it once her the rest of my convalescent time was up—but, she’d presented me with this opportunity, and I had to take it.
“You want me to what?” she asked curiously.
“I want you to marry me,” I repeated.
“Why?”
She honestly sounded so flabbergasted by the fact that I was asking her, of all people in the world that there were to pick from, that I started to bristle.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well…because we barely know each other, first off. And I’m a plain Jane. You could have anybody in this world. Any woman would jump at the chance to have you. Hell, a lot of women have already tried.”
“Exactly.” I paused. “In all this time, you were the only woman who spent any significant amount of time with me without trying to throw yourself at me…and honestly, I was concerned that you didn’t even find me attractive.”
The snort that left her was quite unladylike.
“I’d have to be dead not to find you attractive,” she pointed out. “You’re the whole package, Rhys.”
I found myself grinning. “Yeah?”
She flipped me off.
I sobered.
“I have a…problem.”
“What kind of problem?” she asked hesitantly.
“The kind where, if I don’t marry by the time I’m thirty, my inheritance goes bye-bye and goes to the next highest bidder.”
“And who is the next highest bidder?”
I scowled. “My uncle Pablo. The head honcho of the Italian mob.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, unsure what to say.
“Your uncle is the leader of the mob.”
I nodded.
“You’re joking, right?”
I shook my head.
“I think you’re trying to fool me. This is all some sick joke, isn’t it?”
I shook my head again, smiling sadly. “You’re telling me you’ve never heard of Rhys Rivera, the missing mobster’s nephew?”
She looked clueless when she answered with a shake of her head.
“Google me. I’ll wait.”
She frowned but reached for her phone that was in her back pocket.
Then she started clicking away.
