I tore my focus from her long enough to look around. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. It sure as hell wasn’t as bad as it usually ended up, mostly because I’d cut the party short.
I didn’t share that.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“If stuff was stolen?—”
“It wasn’t.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I bought the house during filming and haven’t had time to decorate.”
That was a half-truth. I had bought it while filmingOld Flame, but I’d had more than enough time to decorate. Or at least hire a professional to do it for me. I just hadn’t given a shit enough to do it beyond the bare minimum.
I had TVs. A couch. A bed.
What else did I need?
Her shoulders dropped with relief that I wasn’t the victim of a ransacking. “Okay, good. I didn’t want to mess with too much in case it was an active crime scene, but if you’re sure everything is here, then I’ll start cleaning up.”
“No.”
At my firm tone, her eyes snapped to me. “What?”
“Cleaning up my messes isn’t your job.” Her mouth opened, but I spoke over her. “Not my literal messes. I’m sure there will be enough other kinds I’ll need you to fix. Like the thing with Intrepid.”
Shockingly, she wasn’t happy to take the out. Her full lips pressed into a tight line at my refusal, and she gave a stubborn lift of her chin. “I’m your assistant.”
“Exactly. My assistant. Not my housekeeper. I have a service for that.”
“Then I’ll call them.”
“They’re already scheduled to come later.”
She looked skeptical, but it wasn’t a lie.
Since I’d thought Greer was coming over the following day, I’d scheduled a deep clean with my service that already came twice aweek to dust the mostly empty rooms. I’d also ordered fresh fruit to be delivered in the morning so I could make the water I knew she liked.
Much to my frustration, her Instagram profile was private, but I was able to see the pictures she tagged Maddie in. Very few were of them. The majority were of French toast or their drinks. The most recent celebratory cocktail picture had included a joke about mozzarella sticks, and I’d called the dive bar to buy them for her. I’d known the frequently appearing fruit water must’ve been Greer’s since the other drink with it was Maddie’s coffee that was more whipped cream than actual coffee.
Not that I was a stalker.
Okay, fine, I fucking was. But it’d also been thorough research so I could make a good impression. Or at least a better one than the first impression of me on the roof or me running late for our meeting with Tony.
Instead, it was yet another on my long list of fuckups.
“If you’re sure,” she said even as she continued to scrub the counter.
I reached out and stilled her motions with a hand on her upper arm. “Greer.”
Her wide eyes met mine as her lips parted, and the look hit me in the gut… and the dick.
There’s a reason I shouldn’t kiss her. I know there is.
But I can’t for the damn life of me remember what it is.
She did, though. Breaking the tense moment, she stepped away to rinse the rag she held. “I’ll be back tomorrow then. Unless you’d rather reschedule. That’s fine, too.”
“Like I said upstairs…”
When I was naked and hard and imagining you crawling to me like in my fantasies.
