“Perfect,” I say. “Can I take off my shoes?”
“Do your feet stink?”
I look at him, affronted. “I never stink.”
“Then go ahead.”
I slip my shoes off and set them neatly by the door before letting myself into the study, flipping the lights on and examining the room.
It’s just what I pictured: musty with wood-paneled walls, a desk, a few filing cabinets, several boxes labeledbooks,and a wall of shelves with cabinets beneath.
“I’ll be honest. I don’t know what’s in here,” Roman admits from behind me, and I startle forward before turning to look at him. “I haven’t dug around yet. My grandpa died a long time ago, and he was the one who used this room. I’m not sure my grandma did much with it.”
“That’s fine,” I say vaguely, mentally creating a plan of action. I open the windows to start out, of course, which is an immediate improvement. “Do you have cleaning supplies? I won’t need it for a while, but if something needs wiping down before I get to the rest I’d like to have it on hand.”
“I’ll bring you some,” he says with a nod.
“Do you have any particular system you prefer? As far as organization goes? Alphabetical, dates, all that?”
“None,” he says. “Do whatever you think is best. And take as long as you need.”
“I will.” I’m going to start with the desk and the filing cabinets, I think. So I take the hair tie from my wrist and pull my hair into a quick ponytail, relishing the feeling of the breeze on my neck.
Then I get to work.
Or, rather, I try to.
I’ve only emptied the top left drawer of the desk when I feel eyes on me, and looking over my shoulder, I find Roman still standing there. He’s leaning against the doorframe now, arms folded across his chest once more, a pleasantly interested look on his face.
My response is less pleasant, because if I’m going to work, I’d like to not be distracted. “What are you doing?”
“Why?” he says, raising an eyebrow at me. “I can go if I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I say, but the words come out curtly, and he lets out a low whistle.
“You’re touchy today.”
“What—am I prettier when I smile?”
A ghost of amusement flashes through his eyes at this, but he doesn’t answer.
Fine. I can ignore him.
Except…I can’t. I make it through three drawers, each one’s contents laid in neat piles on the floor, before I finally snap. I whirl around and glare at Roman.
“Are you really just going to stand there?” I demand.
He hums. “Maybe.” Then, after a pause, he says, “Tell me why you need the money.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“That’s what you said before.”
“Yes, well. It was true then too.”
When he doesn’t reply, I sigh. I have no one but myself to blame for the situation I’m in. I may as well own up to it, considering I’m earning back as much money as possible from Roman.
“I cosigned a business loan with an old business partner,” I say grudgingly, leaning back against the desk and resting for a minute.
