I just want to have fun.
And fun—fun is kissing Margot Merriweather-Brown.
My new partner in crime.
My soulmate in executing justice.
I lean in.
She leans in.
I finish what I started, wrapping my arm around her, and settle my hand on her hip.
Hers glides up my chest.
And then everything jolts, and we’re thrust backward as the gondola starts moving again.
I block her head from hitting the glass at the back of the car, and she grabs onto my shirt as an anchor while the car sways with its new movement.
“That couch can’t be comfortable,” she murmurs as the car begins slowing almost as quickly as it got up to speed. We’re almost at the end of the ride.
“Slept on worse.”
“Maybe we can find a way for you to sleep better tonight.”
So I’ll be walking around with a boner for the rest of my shift.
Fabulous.
Her smoky blue eyes sparkle. “Provided you help me clean up a mess I apparently made.”
“I cook or clean, Skillet. I don’t do both.”
“Are you offering to make me dinner?”
“Yes.”
“I can cook too.”
“You can prove it tomorrow.”
The doors start to slide open as the car enters the terminal.
I rise and help her to her feet.
Adjust my crotch.
And then get the pleasure of watching her ass as she exits before me, passing by a group of dudes who don’t even look at her.
Fucking idiots.
And I’d say that whether she was a housekeeper or a billionaire hotel heiress.
No relationships, just fun, I remind myself. Fun and revenge.
So long as I don’t contemplate that she’s the first person I’ve told this much about Felice and my stepfamily, and how much I genuinely like her as a person, I can keep believing that.
17
