“I trust that if you want to be able to outbid Shaeffer on the Golden Rule job, you’ll do what you have to. Pretty girls aren’t hard to find, and lucky for you, most of them can be bought.”
And with that, I am finished with this conversation. I hang up and down the rest of my glass, slamming it onto the desk. I’m about to reach for the bottle again when a soft knock comes to my door.
“Yeah,” I call out, still reeling. Mila steps just inside the doorway.
“It’s four, sir,” she says.
“Yes, it is,” I say. “And you usually stay until six, don’t you?”
“I believe I discussed with you last week that starting today I would need to get off at four because of my–”
“Third job, that’s right. Yeah, you can go.”
She bites her lips, and I can’t help but stare at them. Something about the way she does it makes my heart beat fast and my blood run hot. I look away. I’ve had too much to drink.
She turns to leave but then turns back. “Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Why do you ask?” I ask her, turning the empty glass on the desk and staring into the bottom of it with a scowl.
“Because you usually don’t start drinking until six,” she says.
“And how do you know that?” I snap. I’m surprised to find her smiling when I look up at her.
“Because that’s usually how I know what time it is. Six on the dot, you pop the top,” she answers, still smirking. That’s when I notice for the first time, her eyes are the same color as the whiskey in the bottle in front of me.
“Observant little thing, aren’t you?” I ask, still spinning the glass.
“Attention to detail is part of my job,” she says. “That and bartenders pay attention to people’s poison of choice,” she says, then she walks out.
I get up from my chair and am taking the bottle back to the shelf when I hear another rap on the door.
“Yes, Miss Rojas?” I ask.
“Guess again,” a male voice floods into the room, and I turn to see my best friend and business partner, Andrew, standing there.
“Who let you in?” I ask, closing the liquor cabinet.
“Your maid did,” he says. “On her way out.”
“You mean Mila?” I ask.
“You never told me she was hot,” he says.
“I never thought about it,” I say.
“Oh please,” Andrew laughs. “Even you, Mr. Heart of Stone, has to admit that girl is fine as fuck.”
Let me preface the rest of this conversation by saying Andrew is like a brother to me. He’s more often than not a pain in my ass.
“She’s my maid,” I tell him.
“And?”
“And I’m not going to fuck around with a housekeeper. She vacuums my floors for fuck’s sake,” I snap.
“Tell me she at least does it in a cute little costume and not the leggings and high-necked tank top she just had on,” he says.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” I ask.
