The words leave my mouth absently, almost stream of consciousness. As soon as I actually hear them said out loud, however, it hits me.
I spring out of bed, infused with a fresh supply of righteous indignation. “You are trying to get me to leave! Aren’t you? Are you trying to get me to leave? Don’t bother answering––I know you are.”
He takes a step away from me. Seriously? If I wasn’t so mad, I’d be hurt.
“Why, Hendricks? Answer me and I may not make that phone call.” He shakes his head. “’Kay, have it your way.” I reach for my iPhone on the nightstand and a low growl comes from behind me.
“Okay, okay! Christ, lady––”
“Oh, and from now on, no more of this lady BS.” Heck, I’m holding a winning hand. Might as well double-down. “I have a name. It’s Amanda in case you were wondering.”
He heaves a pained sigh. You would think I’m pulling teeth with pliers with the way his face is pinched.
“Time’s a passin’, Hendricks. Before I turn fifty, please,” I say, crossing my arms. “Tic-toc.”
“I’m not good with women.” His voice is so low I have to strain to hear him.
“C’mon––” I barely resist rolling my eyes. “The truth, please.”
“That is the truth.” He finally looks at me and I can see he’s being sincere. “I have a temper…so I made it a habit to stay away from them.” He exhales loudly, almost as if a load has been lifted off his shoulders. Huh. Interesting. My skepticism lingers, however.
This is all sorts of weird. And what about honey? I want to say but don’t. I can’t admit I was eavesdropping when I’m finally winning an argument. “Like in a fit of rage you might beat one to death?”
This hits a nerve because he scowls at me.
“This isn’t a joke.” He turns to leave, clearly offended, and I react instinctively, taking hold of his bicep to stop him. His gaze falls on my hands and stays there.
“I didn’t mean it as a joke. I’m just trying to understand…”
He licks his lips and swallows, gaze aimed at the door. “I have anger management issues.”
This is news to me. Camilla makes this guy out to be some kind of saint. My eyes turn into two suspicion-filled slits. Am I being played here? “Camilla never mentioned it.”
“Nobody knows.” He shakes his head. “Not even the team.” You can’t feign the kind of emotional turmoil coming off of him. Not even Meryl Streep could pull that off.
“Nobody?” I reiterate, stupefied by his admission.
“You’re the first person I’ve told.” His gaze flickers to me and away.
“I’m the first person? I am? I am the first person you’ve told. Me?”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
At a loss for words, I nod. Dammit, he’s flipped the tables on me again.
“I trust you,” he declares in a quiet voice. “I know you’ll keep it to yourself.”
He’s trusting me? I barely trust me. And he’s trusting me with this?? One serving of humble pie coming right up. What little anger and doubt remain dissolve in the face of his patent trust.
“Look,” I say in a gentler voice, because he’s trusting me and I don’t like conflict, or walking on eggshells. “All I ask is that you not make my life more difficult than it already is. I have a business to get up and running. It’s a big house. I think we can both live here and stay out of each other’s hair even though, in my humble opinion, you would really benefit from a haircut. If you can stop your campaign of terror, I don’t see why we both can’t stay.”
His mouth curves in a soft, one-sided smile, the sides of his eyes creasing with amusement.
“Can you agree to that?”
“I think I can handle it,” he murmurs. “Thanks.” Then he unleashes an honest-to-goodness smile, one that completely alters his face.
Uhh…
I’m staring. I know I am but can’t seem to stop. Which naturally makes me frown. Because I like it. I like seeing him smile, which is totally wrong. Like so wrong.
“Okaygreatbye.” That came out high and a tad shrilly.
I give him a shove to hurry him out, swiftly closing the door afterward. Then I crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my nose, and sleep better than I have in years.
Chapter Seven
Dressed in my usual yoga pants and top with our brand logo on them, I walk into the kitchen to get started on breakfast and find Hendricks already there, lingering around the coffee machine with his back to me.
The good news––he has shorts on. A round of applause, everyone. It looks like he finally got the message that no one in this house is dying to see his bare ass.
The bad news––he’s still wearing a bad attitude, as evidenced by the frown he gives me when he notes I’m wearing a sports bra and leggings, that “moment” we shared last night long forgotten. If Miss Parnell hadn’t ingrained good manners into me, he’d be the recipient of a raised middle finger right about now.