Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Come on, baby,” he said. “I’m a man…you know what we do.”
“Well, I hope you were thinking about your wife.”
I covered my mouth with both of my hands to silence the gasp that wanted to come out.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
How did I not know he was married?
How had he hidden this from me for so long?
How had she never been to the condo before now?
“Let’s celebrate,” Jake said. “Let’s go out to dinner. There’s a new steakhouse that just opened on Madison.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” she said. “But how about we finish you off first?”
Oh my god.
Jake hesitated for a moment. “You must be starving after your flight—”
“Starving for that dick, maybe.” Footsteps sounded, and then their kisses were audible.
I was still in the closet, my clothes bunched in my hands, listening to the man I’d been seeing for months have sex with another woman.
His fucking wife.
I stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway.
My phone kept vibrating with text messages from Jake.
Cleo, talk to me.
Let me explain.
Come on.
I turned the phone on silent then rang the doorbell for 32C.
There was a long wait, at least three minutes, before he finally unlocked the door and left it open. He headed back inside without greeting me.
I invited myself inside and stared at him as he walked away, seeing the muscles of his back shift and move through his t-shirt. I came inside and shut the door behind me. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton.”
He moved to the dining table where his laptop sat, along with a stack of papers. He was in his sweatpants and a t-shirt, wearing all black, his usual color choice. He slouched in the chair, leaned forward over the table, and stared at his computer.
When I’d emailed him and asked to swing by, he didn’t respond to me. It took at least three emails before he gave me the time of day, and that was probably just to get me to go away.
I carried the mail to the table and laid everything out in piles. “I picked up your mail. I’ve organized it into stacks so you can go through it at your leisure.”
He continued to stare at his computer.
“I can also pay your bills for you, if you’d like.”
He lifted his gaze and looked at me, his dark eyes hostile like always. “No.” He dropped his gaze back to the computer.
Sometimes it was hard to be sympathetic when he was so cold.
I sat at the table with him and set my notepad down with a pen. “Mr. Hamilton, I thought it would be good to take some time to discuss your needs. I’ve been doing this a long time, and our team can provide a lot of services that will make your life more convenient.” I got my pen ready and stared at him, the laptop in between us.
His eyes followed the words he read in his email, as if I wasn’t even there.
Now I wondered if he was just a jackass. “Mr. Hamilton?”
He shut his laptop as if he knew he was being rude, picking up on the displeased tone of my voice. “I can pay my own bills like a grown-ass man.” When he gave me that terrifying gaze, I missed the laptop as a buffer.
Some of my clients were difficult by nature, others were sweet as candy, but he seemed to fall into an entirely different category. He didn’t think I knew my face from my ass, that I was no asset to him at all, and he was too burned-out to give anyone the time of day. “Alright, but how about your dry cleaning? I can do that for you and place it exactly where you like.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, his gaze so still, so unflinching, as if he hadn’t heard what I said. Then he abruptly rose from his chair and walked down the hallway.
I followed him.
He entered his master bedroom, a beautiful room with a gorgeous view of the park, and stepped into his closet. “Dry cleaning goes in here.” He kicked the dirty laundry basket aside. “New stuff goes here.” He grabbed his clothes on the hangers and pushed them to the right, leaving a noticeable space in the closet. “Don’t remove the plastic so I know it’s the dry cleaning.”
I jotted down the notes. “Anything else?”
“I want a personal shopper.” With his arms straight by his sides, his tanned skin tight over his muscled arms, he walked out of his closet and into his bedroom.
I noticed his bed was unmade. “Would you like me to have housekeeping tidy up your home every day after you leave for work?”
“No.” He headed down the hallway and entered his office, a spacious room with a black desk.
I followed behind him. “A weekly cleaning, then?”