The men nearby turn with a damn smirk on their faces.
I raise a brow. “You want to discuss my home life here?”
She pushes her long hair behind her ear, raising her chin. “Absolutely. Have you employed a chef and other house assistants?”
I narrow my gaze at her. “No. It’s only been days since I arrived, and I’ve barely had time to unpack.”
“Just as I thought. You wouldn’t even know where your ducks are swimming. They’re probably pigeons, and you’re clueless.”
“My ducks are in a fucking row, Charlotte.”
Her eyes look straight through me. “Are you pleased with the apartment?”
“It’s fine for now. But I have Jobe looking for something more permanent.” I catch her flinch.That’s right, Charlotte, I intend to stay.
“Cleaning and laundry, we can take care of that for you.”
“The apartment is serviced and…” I hesitate, “… I would appreciate a laundry service.”
“Great. Bring your laundry to training, and I’ll have Miranda take care of it. It’s a one-day turnaround service.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I place a hand on her forearm. “Thanks, Lottie, I appreciate it.”
She rips her arm away. “I saidnotto call me that,” she snaps, then quickly composes herself. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know, and I’ll have our staff follow it up.” She spins and strides away in those heels that make her hips sway. I’m mesmerized for the moment, watching her, imagining those heels over my shoulders as I thrust into her.
“Be careful,” Ewan says, suddenly beside me. “I wouldn’t trust her.”
“She’s doing her job, man. And…” I pat his shoulder, “… she’s still fucking pissed at me.” I look Ewan in the eye and add, “Which she has every right to be.”
17
CHARLOTTE
A massive bouquetarrived at my office on Monday morning, filling the air with a soft, floral sweetness. Pink lilies, peonies, and gerberas were nestled together in a stunning display of color. Tucked among the blooms was a small note, simple yet thoughtful.
Thank you for your help.
I know exactly who they are from because I didn’t offer River any assistance.
Brandon is under my skin.
After the game on Saturday night, he looked irresistible in his designer suit. Not the leisure wear he wore when we hung out. I remember the first time I saw him in his boardshorts from Australia, or hisboardies, as he liked to call them. How I fell head over heels for his tanned, athletic body. I know the contour of every muscle beneath that suit,yet it clings to him in a different way—muscles defined over time. Now, I can’t stop thinking how he’s changed. Matured. Grown into a man.
I still hate him.
The lilium has started to open, the fresh fragrance filling my office, but I can’t take a chance of it falling on my clothes. So I retrieve scissors and begin cutting the pollen from the stamen before it falls and stains everything. After two flowers, I stop and smile with an idea. A brilliant but childish idea. Nothing is beyond me after the humiliation he dealt years ago. And this is nothing compared to that.
I pick up the phone and connect to the laundry. “Miranda, have you received anything from Mr. Brandon Johns?”
“Yes, Ms. Hendricks.”
“Perfect. I’ll be down in a minute.”
I grab the flowers out of the vase and wrap them in paper. Then, I place the flowers in a bag before heading down to the laundry.
Miranda is sorting through clothes and directs me to Brandon’s basket of clothes. “He asked me to check one of his pockets,” I tell her, then discreetly wrap the flowers between his white shirts and T-shirts. Since one machine is empty, I use the opportunity to shove all of his clothes in, add detergent, and press the gentle cycle.
There’s no way I can chance her finding my gift.
