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I can’t bear the pressure of his stare anymore, and I don’t really feel like spitting out another lie he’ll see through immediately. So instead of finishing that sentence, I hurry over to the side of the room, where a net on a long pole rests against the wall.
The phone is sitting like an ugly black mark at the bottom of the pool when I return, and my hands shake slightly as I thrust the net in and try to scoop it up.
I can’t fucking grab it though. It’s heavy and slippery, and I can’t get it past the metal rim of the net. All four of the guys are watching me in silence now, and motherfucker, I really wish I’d just left the pool house the second they came in.
My panic is rising, and the net—isn’t—fucking—working.
So I toss it aside and jump into the pool myself, plunging to the bottom and scrabbling for the small cell phone. I grab it and shoot upward to break the surface. The pool is only about five feet deep at this end, so my feet almost touch the ground with my head above water. I kick toward the tiled edge and haul myself out, my black and white maid’s uniform dripping.
When I stand, my shoes squelch.
My damn nipples are like beacons now, made even more obvious by the way the wet fabric clings to me. My hair was pulled back in a loose bun, but it fell out when I jumped in the water.
“Um, here.”
I squish my way over to River, who’s looking at me like he can’t quite figure out what to make of me, and hold out the phone to him. The screen is black, just like the rest of it.
“It’s a brick,” he says flatly. “It became a brick the second you decided to kick it into the pool.”
His word choice isn’t lost on me, and panic flares again as I hold the phone out more emphatically. “You could dry it—”
“No.” He snorts. Then he leans back in his lounge chair, looking up at me. And even though I’m standing and he’s sitting, I know I’m not the one who has the power here. “It’s too late. Why don’t you keep it as a souvenir?”
Oh God, no. Don’t get us fired. Please, fuck, no.
“I’ll buy you a new one!” I blurt, although I’m sure the fucking thing cost at least six hundred dollars.
He doesn’t even give an answer to that though. Instead, he crosses his ankles on the lounge chair, and as if responding to some unspoken signal, the other three all sit back too. They start talking amongst themselves—some shit about school and cheerleaders and a guy named Trent—and completely ignore my existence.
I stand there for another several moments, holding his phone out, hoping he’ll take it, but he doesn’t even look at me.
Shit. He’s right. This thing is totally destroyed.
It shouldn’t be so goddamn easy to do, but there you have it—my impulsiveness mixed with fragility of expensive technology has just potentially sent me and my mom packing.
I can’t just stand here forever, and I’m still dripping on the bright tiles, so after another beat, I slip the phone into my apron pocket and make a beeline for the door. I need to at least change into some dry clothes before Mr. or Mrs. Black sees me.
The po
ol house is accessed by a hallway that curves around the breakfast room—which is different than the dining room, because rich people are crazy. I follow it around to the west wing stairs and am about to start up them when a hand grabs my elbow.
I yelp as I’m spun around to face Lincoln. The look on his face is so intense that I involuntarily take a few steps back before the wall stops me. He follows me though, maintaining the close proximity of our bodies until I’m trapped between him and the hard plane behind me. There’s only a foot of space between us, but it’s not enough room to allow me a full breath.
My shoes are still wet, probably leaving little puddles I’ll have to clean up as soon as I can, and the cool air of the house makes goose bumps erupt on my damp skin.
Lincoln’s gaze is fierce, and despite my fear, despite my worry about getting fired, I find annoyance rising inside me too. Why is he always like this? What the hell is his fucking problem?
Okay, yeah, the phone thing was stupid. But it’s not like I did it unprovoked. He’s been a dick to me since the minute I walked through the front door, and he and his buddies were being complete misogynistic douches.
“Look, I said I was sorry, okay?”
I puff up my chest, only realizing it was a mistake after the fact. I’m just putting my body closer to his this way, and I’m suddenly very conscious of the fact that all he’s wearing is a pair of dark blue board shorts and that my clothes are plastered to my wet body.
“Yeah. I heard you.” His lips press into a hard line. “Thing is, I just don’t fucking believe you, Pool Girl.”
“Well, too bad, because—”
“I know what you’re after. I know what you want.” His eyes narrow as he leans even closer, looming over me. “You think I haven’t played this game before?”
