Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
When I reached the penthouses, I quickly stowed my wet coat and umbrella by the door, then rushed to dry off in the bathroom. My top was wet, so I peeled it off and lay it across the heated towel rack to dry. I needed something to dry my hair with, but the only option was to use one of Mr Oaks’ towels. Panic and indecision seized me because the towels weren’t for my use. If I did use them, I’d have to launder them, and then Mr Oaks might think I showered in his apartment while I was supposed to be cleaning. Then it could get around to my other clients and …
No. I was overreacting again, just as I had at Shay’s house yesterday. I’d basically walked through a rainstorm to get to work. The least my employer could do was allow me to use one of his towels to dry off. Conservatively, I plucked the smallest hand towel and scrunched the dripping ends of my hair.
My panic had just started to simmer down as I emerged from the bathroom, scrubbing my wet hair and wearing only leggings and a thin tank top. I stilled, abruptly realising I wasn’t alone.
Jonathan Oaks, the man I hadn’t seen since the day I started working for him, stood by the kitchen island, a small espresso cup held to his lips.
“Mr Oaks. I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, my panic returning tenfold. Why did I always pick the wrong option? I should’ve gone with my gut and done my best to dry off with toilet paper or something. I was even more embarrassed by my clothes. My damp tank top was practically glued to me, leaving little to the imagination. My cheeks flamed hot.
A flicker of amusement passed over his features. “That much is obvious.” A pause as he eyed me up and down. “Is that my towel?”
“What?” I asked, pulse thrumming as I glanced at the small towel bunched in my hand. “Y-yes, my apologies. I got caught in the rain and was just drying off.”
“No need to apologise. I’m surprised you’re here at all, given the weather warning. My driver is running late because of a road that flooded in his area, which is why I haven’t left yet.”
“I see,” I said, swallowing thickly and willing myself to relax. He just said I didn’t need to apologise. That meant he wasn’t bothered about me using the towel. I needed to chill out. “Well, I hope the flood eases soon. I’ll get right to work. Oh, and I’ll put this towel in the laundry.”
I hurried back into the bathroom, grabbing my jumper and pulling it on, even though it was still a little bit damp. I’d suffer the unpleasantness rather than standing in front of my employer with my bra almost showing a second longer.
“Miss Lydon,” Jonathan said when I came back out, his attention wandering over me once more, but not in a lascivious way. His assessment was clinical. It didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, even if he was a tall, handsome man, and I was a little intimidated by him. That was probably because of the expensive suit he wore. Why were people so much more intimidating when they wore suits? I briefly wondered what Shay would look like in one but quickly pushed away that particularly enticing daydream.
“Yes?” I replied, smoothing my hands down over my top.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around very much since you started working here. I tend to leave early and get back late. How have you been finding it?” he asked.
“Well,” I replied, surprised he was interested. I always imagined Mr Oaks as someone who didn’t want to know about the live human being who cleaned his apartment. He’d prefer to imagine invisible pixies came in on Mondays and set everything to rights. “I already told you, I don’t think you need me for the full day. I can usually get finished by two in the afternoon.”
His lips formed an amused slant. “So, you’re telling me I’ve been paying you for several extra hours every week?”
“I tried explaining this when I started, but you thought I was trying to get out of doing a proper job.”
“I like to maintain a level of suspicion with new employees. But now that you’ve proven yourself and the penthouses are always spotless after you’ve cleaned them, I see I can trust you.”
“Well, I’m glad. Does that mean you want to adjust my hours? Because I’d be happy to only bill you for half a day.”
Jonathan ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. I guessed he was nearing forty, but he still had an enviously full head of dark blond hair. “It means I might have another job for you.”
I blinked, “Pardon?”
“Do you like being a cleaner, Miss Lydon?”