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His hair was cut quite short to his scalp, and clearly beginning to gray. Where it wasn’t, it was the deepest black, so dark it had an almost cobalt hint to it. His facial hair had that thick five o’clock shadow that I’d never been able to resist, whether it was affected or not. Either way, it made me want to stroke it—and not just with my hands, either.
His shoulders were so wide they filled a doorway, his imposing height—at least six foot four—only enhancing the intimidating and alluring effect. No matter how much I might not want it to be so.
His ass, compact, but pleasingly round, was perfectly highlighted and showcased in his slacks, the suit fitting him exquisitely well in a way only custom tailoring can achieve. His clothes looked to be worth more than my car.
Why do the gorgeous ones have to be such grade A pricks?
Most of all though was how he looked at me. It was something between curiosity and the cold, calm, absolute certainty of control an entomologist has when spiking his bug specimen just right upon its display pin.
Once the living room was done—surprisingly fast, mercifully—all that was really left was the last bathroom downstairs that hadn’t been cleaned. I couldn’t help but wonder about what Kara had been caught doing upstairs. I’d even peeked into that bathroom when I’d first begun working, just to have a look, and was stunned at the size and the welcoming feel of the place; stone everywhere, perfect, warm lighting, and a level of luxury to the smallest detail, even the towel hooks, something I’d never seen before. It felt more like a spa than a bathroom! And it was sized accordingly. Hell, the showers, all four of them put together, had to be bigger than my last apartment!
Which would be quite the upgrade from your current accommodations.
Mr. Winters, asshole or not, definitely liked the finer things in life.
I was about to slip out the front door—making sure to lock it this time, of course—but the muted sound of a cough reminded me he was still up there in his office.
Did I leave quietly, as if I weren’t even there? Or did I have a modicum of manners and at least let him know I was finished?
You need to get the fuck out of here. If he wants to be an asshole about you not saying goodbye, he can be an asshole to the next girl. Not your problem.
The vehemence of the thought had me wondering though. Maybe I’d just caught him at a bad moment? I really would like to leave on a tiny bit of a positive note, if it was possible.
It was just… a thing with me. My need to make people happy made it almost impossible for me to leave things with anyone on a bad note. Perhaps that was a weakness, or a betrayal of my lack of self-esteem? I didn’t know, and stopped caring a long time ago—because it had served me well thus far.
At least I thought so.
With that, I headed up the stairs, for what—I hoped—would be the last time I’d ever speak to one grumpy asshole, Mr. Ellis Winters.
CHAPTER4
Lola
His study, or office as he called it, was at the end of a long hallway upstairs. His place had six huge bedrooms on the second floor, two bathrooms, and the master suite, with its own palatial bathroom.
But the study seemed almost an afterthought, the smallest room of all.
As I stood at the partially open door, listening, I realized my heart was pounding. I remembered too, Alicia’s sneered admonishment not to talk to Mr. Winters at all. Which was stupid, really. But it did give me pause as to whether or not this was a particularly good idea.
Why, Lola? Fuck her. Just tell him goodbye, and get out.
I rapped my knuckles on the frame, as quietly and unobtrusively as a knock could be.
“Huh?”
It wasn’t exactly the response from him I’d been girding myself for.
I peeked my head in. “Hi, uh, I just wanted to let you know I was finished. I’m heading out, but wanted to see if there was anything else you needed before I go?”
He was seated behind a single massive cherry wood desk, which dominated one wall. Two huge monitors were arrayed before him. Other than a gray phone and a couple of tablets scattered atop the blotter, there wasn’t much else on the desk. The thick pile carpet in the palest shade of slate kept the sounds in the room pleasingly muted.
He’d ditched his suitcoat, his light blue button-down shirt revealing the sinews and dark hair of his forearms, the cuffs rolled up almost to his elbows. More dark hair was revealed at the hollow of his throat by the top buttons being undone on his shirt.
Nothing good comes from noticing such things, Lola.
Behind him, also polished wood, was an entire wall of built-ins, stretching almost to the ceiling, filled to overstuffed with books, tomes, and texts. It reminded me so much of a professor’s library that I almost giggled. It was not at all what I’d expect to find. Opposite the desk were two high-backed upholstered chairs the color of cobalt, angled to face toward an inset gas fireplace. On the wall above was a collection—and an impressive one—of antique muskets, rifles, and even pistols. I had no idea what period they came from, but they looked incredibly old. And valuable.
Much more his speed.
