The Truth

And what do I want? Him, Daniel Stryker, to be mine.

Decision made, I ring his doorbell, putting my plan into action.

“Just a second!” he calls from inside, and I hear soft footsteps. The chain lock rattles, and he opens the door. He looks . . . so casually sexy.

He’s wearing olive green sweatpants that are hiked up at the ankles, showing his bare feet. I have never once considered a man’s feet sexy. Mostly, I just thank their mothers for teaching them to trim their nails and scrub between their toes. But Daniel being barefoot feels intimate somehow. He’s also wearing an athletic cut black T-shirt that highlights his biceps. I’ve rarely gotten a peek at those, usually only seeing him in business wear. It’s probably a good thing too, because I’m tempted to bite one to test its firmness right now, and that would be hella awkward during a board meeting.

“Tiffany,” he says, and I watch as his eyebrows jump in surprise at seeing me at his door. But I also don’t miss how his eyes track quickly down my body and back up. No, I don’t think I misread anything last night, and the small victory gives me the adrenalin I need.

I don’t wait for an invitation. I simply push my way inside and head to the bathroom as I say over my shoulder, “You took care of the car, so I’m here to take care of the bathroom. Sorry again.”

He follows me down the hallway, arguing with me the whole way. Hopefully, with his eyes unconsciously going to my ass. I swish it back and forth a little extra just in case.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, but I don’t slow down. “Clara comes to clean this week, and I don’t use this bathroom anyway.”

Reasonable, logical arguments that I completely ignore. I open the door and take a look inside, leveling him with a raised eyebrow of disapproval.

“Please tell me you clean up before Clara comes?” I ask, intending to set him off-balance. At the same time, I’m pulling cleaners from my bucket and getting my plan of attack ready for this room. I might’ve only sullied the shower in here, but I intend to clean it all. And after that, I’m hitting up the tub in the main bathroom too.

“What?”

Poor thing, he looks so confused at the question. I tsk and pop the top on my bottle of cleaner before adding a half-bucketful of hot water from the detachable showerhead.

“Why would I clean before she comes to clean?”

Another mostly reasonable question, but not valid for my purposes. “Really?” I reply, giving him a look of disappointment and continue my attack, on both the bathroom and Daniel. “I see we have much to discuss.”

While the hot water cools a little, I attack the mirror with a flurry of foamy blue vinegary goodness, working in tight circles until every bit of it is spotless, streak-free, and probably antiseptic.

Daniel stands in the doorway, watching from under furrowed brows as I make him wait for an explanation. It’s sort of cool, knowing that this powerful, in-control man is in the palm of my hand.

And maybe later, I can really have a certain part of him in the palm of my hand.

Slow down, libido.

When the mirror and sink are done, I turn, bending forward to scrub the toilet. I can definitely say that I have never considered toilet scrubbing as one of my best methods of flirting, but apparently, I was sorely mistaken because as soon as I turn my yoga-pants-covered ass Daniel’s way, I hear his sharp intake of breath.

I’d like to thank the ruching on my pants. Who would’ve thought an extra line of stitching would be the thing to put me over that edge?

My lips twitch as I fight my smile of victory and practice my award ceremony speech.

You haven’t won yet, girl, I tell myself.

“You pre-clean so she doesn’t think you’re making donut-laced alcohol moonshine in your bathroom,” I finally answer his question. “You want Elliot Ness kicking in your door?”

I glance up into the mirror, but he’s already forgotten what we were talking about and is fully hypnotized by my ass. He’s sporting a vacant look of wonder I don’t think he’d recognize even if I took a picture and showed him his own expression.

“Huh?” he says.

“The cleaning service,” I fill in for him. “The Untouchables?”

He nods, coming out of his trance momentarily as his brain tries to function well enough to follow the conversation. Except that’s not what I want, so I go back to cleaning, humming to myself as I ‘let’ my ass start swaying back and forth.

When the toilet is done, I pull out the big guns and sink to my knees by the shower, my butt resting on my heels. “Let me just do this so I can salvage what’s left of my dignity. Please?”