Page 7 of His Property

I didn’t know why I was feeling so defensive about my damned car, but just his tone seemed to get completely under my skin.

It does a lot more than that. What’s gotten into you?

“That’s the one,” he said with a sigh. “That thing’s an eyesore in this neighborhood. I want you to get it cleaned, washed, and detailed. You know that place, Patrick’s? On 15th? Three lights down from my street?”

I nodded, though I frowned at him. It wasnotan eyesore!

“Get it done then.” He dropped the bill onto the desk. “If it’s going to be parked anywhere near my property, it can’t be looking like that.”

I knew I should have refused it, that it was an extremely bad idea to even entertain this, but the mere thought of having my car clean, for the first time in a very long while, was very, very tempting indeed.

Going out there and gluing the Benjamin to his fucking windshield was what Iwantedto do.

Or you could just take it like a normal person, and consider yourself fortunate.

I stepped forward, snatched the money up, then spun around and strode for the door.

There’d be plenty of time to curl up into a fetal position of self-loathing for stooping to take quasi-charity from a man who thought I was nothing more than a menial servant.

Right?

CHAPTER5

Lola

A morning drizzle was just beginning to spit outside when I walked in the front door at work, just after nine a.m. My back felt like a construction worker in steel-toed boots had danced a jig on my thoracic spine. Living the way I did was getting old. But there was nothing for it, at least anytime soon.

The location of my employer’s shop was in a nondescript suburban strip mall.The Happy Helperwas lit up in a neon blue cursive in the front window. The tenant to its left was a florist. To the right was a store that prepackaged dinners and other meals for overworked—and overpaid—tech worker neo-yuppies.

The place was little more than a storefront, with a cramped, ill-lit lobby and a front counter sporting a pair of faded cleaning supply displays. It wasn’t much, but it was my job, and that meant it was the difference between me eating and not.

The front was deserted, so I took a seat in one of the worn, cracked stuffed leather chairs in the lobby, groaning softly as my back protested. It was looking to be a very long day indeed, if my body was already hurting before I even started cleaning.

The murmur of voices drifted out from the back. There were two offices at the rear—one for Craig, the owner, and the other for Lisa, the bookkeeper. Lisa never so much as set foot in the office before 9:30, but the lights were already on in Craig’s, the door slightly open.

Getting up and strolling around the end of the front counter, I paused outside his office.

“…so I wanted to thank you again for seeing me so early this morning. I appreciate you making the time, Craig.”

What the fuck?

My heart was immediately pounding a million miles an hour. Iknewthat voice. And it wasn’t my boss’.

“Anytime, Mr. Winters,” Craig’s voice said. “You’re one of our very first accounts, and our best customer. Happy to talk whenever you need. And thank you for telling me this. It’s… I’ll make sure it’s relayed to her. Immediately.”

The door to Craig’s office swung open then, and I was face to face with Ellis Winters. Or face to chest, really. The man towered over me, more than a foot taller than my five-three frame.

I forced myself to stand my ground as I looked up at him. He wore a dark coat and black driving gloves. He smelled fuckingamazing, a combination of something vaguely spicy with a touch of musk. His magnetic eyes fixed upon me for a moment, his little half smile born of either mirth or arrogance. Probably both.

“Ms. Grant,” he rumbled softly, slipping past me. He didn’t so much as look back once as he opened the door, striding out into the parking lot. Unfortunately, his coat was longer than waist length, concealing the ass I hated myself for wanting to drool over.

He’s an asshole. Stop it!

I turned back toward my boss’ office. Craig waved me in, looking a little comical as he always did, his big frame crammed in behind a desk both too small for him, and yet far too large for his tiny office.

I sat down in the lumpy guest chair still warm from Mr. Winters’ ass.

Stop that!

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