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I’ll be back.
Kat
“Jesus.”I rip the note off the door, crumpling it in my hand, wondering what her deal is. “Well, at least I got the name right.”
It’s very clear now. Kat with a K is going to be a Problem with a capital P.
3
Kylie
I placethe last bottle of window cleaner on the metal shelving unit in the little cleaning closet I found off the kitchen. I step back and smile, admiring the once jumbled supplies that now neatly line the shelves, their labels turned forward for easy identifying.
Time to mop.
I left this job for the end of the day, not only because it made sense to clean the floors after my dusting, but because I love saving the best for last. Oh, the reward of mopping these floors back to beauty! The wood is worn, yes, but removing the layer of grime and shining them up with my favorite oil soap is going to leave them lustrous and beautiful, bringing me peace and happiness.
I drag an old mop bucket out from behind a pile of brooms. At least it has wheels; I’m going to need them. This house is huge. I turn the rusty old spigot and clear, warm water runs out. As the bucket fills, I grab discarded mops and brooms and hang them on their rightful hooks on the wall.
Bootsteps lure me from my meditative organization, signaling an Accardi man is passing my closet. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to pass. They’ve left me alone all day, and now I cut the water, hoping against hope.
No such luck.
A brother with gray eyes—Silas, I think—pops his head into the open closet door. “There you are. I’ve looked everywhere. I’d accuse you of hiding out in here all day, but the entire house smells like lemon so I’m guessing you have been working.”
I roll the now-filled bucket to the center of the closet, indicating I’m ready for him to leave.
“Just getting ready to mop.” I push a strand of hair that’s loosened from my ponytail back from my face with the clean back of my hand. “Can I help you?”
He moves out of my way, letting me pass into the hall. He glances around at the polished wood, the sparkling glass on the family picture frames. “Nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
His back facing the cleaning closet, his broad shoulders fill the doorframe. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I repeat myself, eager to have him gone. “How can I help you?”
He tilts his head in the direction of the front of the house. “Antonio wants you. He’s in the dining room.”
Antonio. The man with the hook for a hand and bright green eyes that promised me we would be helping one another out. The time for me to pay back the favor of employing me has already come.
“The water is still warm,” I stall. “Would it be okay to mop first?”
Silas’ dark brow knits over his storm-cloud eyes. “This house has eleven rooms in it. Besides the fact it will take you the rest of the night to mop, my brother hates to be kept waiting, and he already has been while I’ve been looking for you. I’m sure he’s tapping that hook against the dining table right now, agitated as hell.” He gives a laugh.
There’s an edge to his joke that makes my skin feel prickly. “Okay. Let me just wash my hands and I’ll be right there.”
“Maybe skip the handwash and just head on in.”
“O…kay.” I wipe the dust as best I can on my apron.
He steps aside, letting me pass. I turn left, my feet softly moving along the threadbare carpet runner. His gaze feels heavy on my back as I go, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.
The dining room door is closed.
Knocking feels like a job on its own. I lift my hand but before my knuckles can hit the wood, a gruff voice calls to me.
“Come in.”
I thought I’d moved quietly down the hall, but I guess not. I open the door. Antonio sits at the head of the long, gleaming table I earlier brought back to life with lemon polish.
