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Are you? I’m sure you’ve never had to clean anything a day in your life.
“Sure thing, boss.”
My flippant tone must grate his nerves because there’s the slightest shift of his hands. A reflex. As if he’s holding himself back from clenching them. It makes me smile, and as I expected, his orders become worse.
“Christina uses non-toxic ingredients in her cleaning solutions, but I think I’m sick of lemon lately.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “I’ll be sure to buy a different scent.”
Right after I dig your grave and bury you in it.
“No,” he corrects, matching my smile with his own, and we must look ridiculous, grinning at each other like all is merry while venom seeps out of our eyes. “You’ll have to make a different scent.”
“Any preferences?”
Not sure you’ll be able to smell it after I greet your nose with my fist.
“Lemongrass.”
Is he serious? Lemon and lemongrass both smell like lemons. And he knows it. He may be a psycho, but he sure can smell.
But he’s not done.
“You’ll have to walk to the store to buy it. Chef doesn’t like anyone touching his herbs.” That smile hasn’t slipped from his face. “Gail will hand you a few quarters to purchase it. I know your financial situation is tight.”
It’s official. If I don’t get out of here fast, the only thing I’ll be cleaning off these floors is a dead body.
He must know it, too, because he’s already heading for the door. “Don’t take too long,” he calls over his shoulder. “I still need to go over tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Then you better stop talking and let me work.” The bite is there, and I know I must take a breath and calm down. Going off on him won’t be good for me.
He pauses at the edge of the staircase. “Always with the smart mouth.”
“Better smart than stupid.”
Yep. So much for listening to my own advice.
“It will get you in trouble someday.”
“It already has. Nothing I can’t live through again.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and I realize my mistake.
I gave him a glimpse into me.
I dropped a damn breadcrumb into my past that I never should have. Hopefully, he didn’t realize what I said. Maybe he won’t start digging around to understand.
Because that was a tiny thread of information. But if he picks at that thread long enough, it’s sure to unravel.
I can’t have that.
Trent Aldridge can’t know my past.
He can’t know anything I have done or had to put up with before.
If I ever want to get far away and start fresh, I need Ronald’s money.
It’s my only way to escape the demons that still haunt me.
18
Trent
* * *
A less observant man might have missed it.
Might have been too busy staring at her. The fiery woman as she barked back at me. The way her chest rose and fell with each restrained breath.
But I am not that man.
I miss nothing. I see everything.
And I certainly heard what she said.
She dropped a piece of the puzzle, and if she isn’t careful, I will collect all the pieces and use them to ruin her.
I latch onto the clue like a detective, ready to unravel it, no matter how long it takes. And it will take a bit of time. The statement wasn’t clear. It didn’t point me in any particular direction.
So, her mouth got her into trouble once before.
Interesting.
In the meantime, I’m enjoying toying with her more than I’d like to admit.
Payton Hart is easily angered. Her cheeks flush red when she’s upset. It quickly spreads down her chest.
Yes. I noticed that. Not something I’m proud of. To be fair, it’s like I said . . . I do notice everything.
Gail greets me at the top of the stairs with her tablet in hand. I plucked her from a top-tier service specializing in house management for military officials.
On the plus side, she cleared rigorous background checks with flying colors, knows how to keep a secret, and gets shit done without judgment. On the flip side, she possesses the humor of a five-star general preparing for battle.
“Mr. Aldridge.”
“Do you have a report for me?”
She hands the tablet to me, watching as I scroll through the bullet-point write-up she prepared for me. “Ms. Hart spends most of her time in her room.”
“And when you assign her the house duties?”
“She does them without complaint.”
There’s no emotion to Gail’s tone. If there’s any consolation to having a militant robot as a house manager, it’s the fact that she is at no risk of befriending Payton. I think Gail would rather endure waterboarding than befriend anyone, let alone Payton Hart.
I hand the tablet back to Gail. “Does she eat?”
“I have Chef make her healthy meals and leave them in glass containers in the fridge, as you instructed.”
“She has no idea they were made specifically for her?”
