Cruel Money (Cruel 1)

Six years was a long time.

It was.

Most people might not remember someone that they’d had a one-night stand with from that long ago. I knew it was maybe a little irrational to be upset about it all. But, fuck it, I was upset.

You didn’t have the most amazing night of your life with a total stranger and then completely forget that person! I didn’t care who the hell you were. I didn’t care how many times you’d had a one-night stand.

And it had been pretty clear that it wasn’t Penn’s first time—though it had been mine—but still, how could he have forgotten me?

“After all this time?” he asked.

“Never mind,” I grumbled. “The real question is, what are you doing here? Do you live nearby? I thought this was the wrong time of year for the rich and entitled to be in the Hamptons. Memorial Day to Labor Day, right?”

I couldn’t keep the snark out of my voice. No point in filling the bastard in on how I knew him. If he lived nearby, this was going to be one hellacious house-watching.

“Most people are gone. But this is my home, which is why I was wondering what you were doing here.”

“This is your home?” I whispered, pointing at the house off the beach. “No, this belongs to Mayor Kensington. She hired me to watch it this fall. You can’t possibly own that house.”

He shrugged and then sighed. “I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he said, clearly frustrated at my appearance.

“But…but…why would you…”

Then, it dawned on me. My heart stopped. My jaw dropped. I released a sharp breath in disbelief.

“You’re a Kensington.”

He gave me a sheepish grin. “I suppose it’s my family home.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I shook my head in disbelief.

I thought this ritual was supposed to cleanse shit from my life. Not bring in another issue. Fuck.

I could not deal with this right now. Not with my anxiety high from the rejection letters. I’d only been here three days. I’d thought this was a dream come true. Everything was pointing me to get the fuck out of Dodge. Because, man, what else was life going to throw at me? Everything always came in threes. That was what my mom had said.

“I can’t,” I said. I held up my hand to keep him from saying anything. Then, I grabbed the remaining matches and the bourbon, which he eyed curiously, and then stomped off with the shovel over my shoulder.

“Um…where are you going?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I told him.

I didn’t care that I was being incredibly unprofessional. Or that I was probably ruining my chance at staying at this house. Not that I wanted to work for the woman who had birthed this asshole. But I just needed to get away. I needed to get away and decompress and figure out how to proceed. If I saw his gorgeous face and that come-hither smile anymore, I was likely to stab him with the shovel.

Penn didn’t seem to listen though. He barged right up the beach after me. Heedless of the sand in his loafers or messing up his probably bajillion-dollar suit.

“Uh, you left this,” he said, holding out my bra.

I squeaked, juggled my full load, and snatched it out of his hand. Just fucking great. It wasn’t the first time he’d held my bra or anything, but, god, at some point, I had to catch a break. I had to.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath.

I had no intention of thanking him for anything. So, I kept my mouth shut.

“Are you going to tell me why you seem like you’re ready to set me on fire?” he asked. He was calm—curious but calm.

I was a puzzle he needed to solve. He needed to be able to put me in a box so that he could figure out how to manipulate my emotions to his whim.

“No.”

“All right,” he said. But it only made him inspect me harder. “I really don’t understand why you’re mad. This is my house. I thought you were the one trespassing.”

“Well, I’m not,” I growled. “I got this job a month ago. And I had no idea that you were going to be here. In fact, I had no idea you were even a Kensington.”

He peered at me inquisitively, as if he were memorizing the span of my face and the curve of my figure. As if he were about to take a test and was having a last-minute cram session to remember all the little things he already knew about me but promptly forgot. “Have we met before?”

I snorted. “Observant.”

“And it was a bad meeting?”

I snapped my narrowed eyes to him.

He held his hands up. “Okay. Very bad meeting.”

“The fact that you don’t even remember is…” I trailed off.

“Bad?”

“Reprehensible.”

“You know, you do look familiar. I thought you did this whole time.”