Maybe that’s the point?
I gritted my teeth as I moved the vacuum over the rug near the dining room—again. It was still just as spotless as the day before, hardly worn, and I felt like I was doing nothing that mattered here. Andre wasn’t messy and no one came in his massive building to get it dirty to need a full-time maid.
Submitting to you and letting my life be turned upside down is thepoint?
I shook my head, letting my frustration bottle and rattle inside me. The pressure of my irritation had no chance to vent.
He had no clue what he was talking about. He was in no position to speculate on my life.
That I was just being contrary to stick with rejecting him.
That I was acting like a silly woman, playing hard to get for the hell of it.
I didn’t need to invent cheap thrills to entertain myself.
I had to somehow find that determination that got me here in the first place. That need to spy for my damn uncle so I could extend my cousin’s life and well-being for as long as I could.
If I caved to that sexy man, if I let Andre seduce me and weaken me and make me addicted to having him please me, all my best efforts for Esmeralda would be a joke.
Andre would kill me if he knew who I was.
He would hate me if he knew why I was here.
Avoiding either of those fates was simply in my best damn interests—regardless of how wet he made me when he drugged me with those stolen kisses and how needy he made me feel when he smiled at me and listened to what I had to say.
I growled, fed up with debating about it all.
No. Thereisno debate.
He and I have no chance at being anything.
I pressed my lips together, scowling at the whirring vacuum cleaner as I fought back the thoughts of him.
Shirtless when he came out of the shower that first night.
The devoted interest that shone in his eyes when we ate together every day with him treating me like a guest instead of a maid.
All those warm touches as he clutched me closer to dizzy me with his kisses.
Every heated look he sent my way in passing, as if heknewhow aroused I’d get with what his naughty smirks implied.
So lost in my anger and frustration and yearning and wanting, I didn’t realize he’d come close until his shoes blocked the vacuum from moving forward.
I whipped my head up and frowned at him.
“Hi.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.
I heaved out a deep breath, wishing I could just hate him, and turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Hello.”
“You’re fired.”
My eyes popped open wide. My mouth hung open. A squeak of alarm shot out past my parted lips, and I swore my heart slammed to a stop.
Fired?
No.
What?
