It's Never Easy - Boudreaux Universe

What the fuck?

I don’t notice shit like this unless I’m taking her home for the night, and that’s definitely not happening with her. She’s too young, and there’s far too much hope in her pretty face. Jesus, I need another drink.

“I-I . . . Uhm . . . I’m Nea Kinley,” she stutters at me in a soft, melodic voice, wincing when I growl and step back to allow her inside.

“You’re early.” My voice comes out gruff, and I have to clear my throat to stop her effect on me from showing. “I don’t like tardiness, but being too early can also be frustrating since I live onsite,” I bite out, releasing the door handle and leaving her to shut the door behind herself.

“I’m sorry.” I hear her from behind me, but I don’t turn to look at her. With my hangover pounding in my skull, I can only handle so much light at once, and this girl, even dressed all in black, is far too bright.

In the kitchen, I grab a mug and shove it under the Keurig, then turn to regard the waif of a woman. She’s dressed in long, black pants and a long-sleeved blouse, and even though I’m sure she’s trying to hide her tattoos, I can see them through the flimsy material.

“You have a lovely home,” she tells me. A small, shy smile dances on her full, pink lips, and I can’t stop myself from being entranced by them.

“Do you drink coffee?” I ask her, not commenting on her observation.

“Yes, Mr. Elliot.”

Nodding, I place a second mug under the drip and wait for it to fill. Once it’s done, I take them over to where she’s nervously standing at the breakfast counter. She’s shifting from one foot to the other, and her hands tremble when I hand her a coffee. For a split second, her fingers brush along mine, causing my body to jolt from the gentle touch of her skin.

I don’t think this is a good idea. She can’t work for me. It’s been a while since a woman has caused me to react to her so much, and having her here on a daily basis may prove to be too distracting.

“Tell me about you.” I settle on a stool, gesturing for her to join me. My gaze lingers on hers for a long while before she sits.

“What would you like to know?”

“Why did you decide to come to New Orleans? There are plenty of galleries in cities like New York, Chicago—”

“This city has a special place in my heart. My mom grew up here, but she wasn’t around long enough to bring me to see it.” Her voice cracks on her words, which intrigues me. She’s obviously still affected by the loss of her mother from the glassy emotion that sparkles in her eyes.

“I have a specific person in mind for the role. Someone who won’t be partying every night and coming in with a hangover. I want a responsible hostess to run the gallery.” My gaze travels over her, noticing the small diamond pierced through her nose and the multitude of silver rings in her ears— three on each side.

Her gaze shoots up from the mug at my words. I can’t pretend to be her friend if I’m going to hire her. And even though I’m sure this is a mistake, I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave. Not yet.

“It’s a two-month probationary period. One month if I don’t like your work.”

“I promise you, I’m—”

“I don’t need promises, Ms. Kinley. I want to see what you can do.” I’m curt, cold, and aloof, but I can’t have her thinking I’m a pushover.

“Mr. Elliot, I am responsible. I’ve spent a year on my own, working for an art gallery in Rome. I’ve brought along my references.” She pulls out some pages from her bag, but I don’t make a move to take them. Anyone can write words on a piece of paper. It’s actions I want to see.

“That won’t be necessary.” I rise and head to the coffee machine once more. Keeping my back to her, I close my eyes and focus on the throbbing in my head. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

“Mr. Elliot.” Her voice filters through the pain that’s currently got a tight hold on my chest, easing it somewhat, and I turn to regard her standing in my kitchen looking like a kitten that’s just turned into a tigress.Chapter 4NeaWhen he turns to me, I focus on his scowl rather than on how handsome he is. Even in his disheveled state, the man is an Adonis with sharp features and an angular jaw that looks like it’s been carved from granite. His dark hair is messy, and those eyes that are the deepest green pierce me.