“No,” I said quickly. “I just don’t want to deal with drama at work.”
“I believe him,” Jerome said. “He’s not into her at all.”
“Yeah,” Pierre said with a laugh. “Makes it pretty obvious.”
I was about to take a bite of my sandwich. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Uh, because you bark at her all the time,” Pierre said.
“Yeah, Derek,” Jerome said. “She does all this stuff for you, and you barely look at her. Kinda cold…”
I turned back to the window and watched her work. She was holding a trash bag and picked up all the used coffee supplies and napkins at the coffee station I almost never used anymore. I never really considered how I spoke to her. I was just so annoyed that my mother forced this situation on me when I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But when I considered my clean penthouse, my organized files, the fact that she’d come all the way out here to make sure I had lunch, I realized she wasn’t so bad. “I’ll be back…” I sighed as I walked to the office and let myself inside.
She faced me and stilled, as if she was ready for me to yell at her.
Was I that much of a tyrant? “Uh…you’re doing a good job.”
The shock on her face was so paramount, she looked like she saw a ghost.
“Just…wanted you to know that.” I cleared my throat and walked back out to the guys, who were eating and staring at me. I grabbed my sandwich and took a bite before I dished the fruit onto my plate.
The guys both stared at me.
“What?” I was the owner of this company, but I never expected my employees to treat me that way. I considered myself to be a coworker, an equal contributor to our projects, and I hated it when people blew smoke up my ass.
Jerome stared at me as he chewed.
“What did you say?” Pierre asked.
“I said she was doing a good job.” I took another bite of my sandwich.
“That’s it?” Pierre asked.
“What else am I supposed to say?” I snapped. “She’s just doing her job. I gotta kiss the ground she walks on every time she does it?”
“No,” Pierre said. “You could just be a little nicer, that’s all.”
“Come on, Derek,” Jerome said. “She’s fiiiiine.”
Pierre shook his head as he stared at her through the window. “That body… Damn.”
“So, I should treat her differently because she’s attractive?” I asked incredulously. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t care what she looks like.”
“She’s not attractive,” Jerome argued. “She’s a fine-ass woman—”
“Okay, knock that shit off.” I faced both of them, a little angry. “She works for me, so she’s a coworker to you. This isn’t a goddamn locker room. Treat her with respect, and talk about her like that on your own time if you must.”
Pierre grinned even though I’d snapped. “Well, you may not like her, but you clearly respect her.”
My younger sister was beautiful, and I had to listen to men talk about her like that, and it drove me fucking crazy. So, I didn’t do that crap or participate in that kind of bullshit, especially at work. “Let’s get back to work. Lunchtime is over.”
When I came home, the penthouse had a whole new atmosphere to it.
My mail was always on the coffee table waiting for me, organized into piles and labeled. My dinner was waiting for me in the fridge, a gourmet meal that wasn’t greasy or heavy because I didn’t like to eat that way before bed. The dining table was clean, without an ounce of dust on the surface.
Fresh flowers filled the room with a scent that reminded me of summer outdoors.
I set my bag on the table then went into my bedroom to change.
Some of my clean clothes were folded and placed on my dresser because Cleo didn’t open my drawers. My clean jeans and t-shirts were hung in the closet, neatly organized. My dirty clothes hamper was always empty because she did my laundry every single day.
My bed was made…and I never made my bed.
I hopped in the shower, and since it hadn’t been cleaned in years prior to Emerson, that was a new experience. The glass doors were always pristine, so clean you forgot you were boxed in.
When I got out, I noticed a vase of flowers on the vanity between the two sinks. When I shaved, hair got everywhere and I never cleaned it up, but every time I came home, all traces were gone. I threw my dirty towel on the floor, but it would be gone by the time I came home from work tomorrow.
I put on sweatpants and returned to the dining table.
My phone lit up with a text message…from Fleur. Babe, I miss you.
I hated it when she called me that.
I was back to where I didn’t want to be, screwing a woman I despised. Every time I tried to end it, she pushed me down and got on top of me, rode me so good that I forgot why I wanted to get away from her. Last time, she begged me to fuck her in the ass—and I couldn’t say no to that.