Page 19 of House of Lies

I’d have remembered someone as curvy and angry as her.

Janice warned me she was running out of employees willing to come to Glenmont, despite the generous wages I paid. I can’t help it if the people she sends are always disturbing me when I’m working.

I won’t apologize for being who I am…which is apparently a mean grump. But I don’t want to deal with the hassle of finding a new maid, either.

I’d better show her some civility, unless she runs for the hills.

“Seems we got off on the wrong foot, Olivia,” I say gruffly.

“I agree, Mr. Remington,” she says in a tight voice.

I stop at the threshold of the kitchen, and she walks on ahead for a few steps before turning back with a frown.

I don’t care for the sound of my name on her lips. It brought a vivid image of the way her mouth forms a perfect O at the end. Now my mind is overflowing with thoughts about all the things I could slide between those perfect lips.

Lips I now can’t seem to look away from, which pisses me off.

“Are you wearing lipstick?”

She presses the back of her hand to her mouth as if to rub it away, blurting out a flustered, “No.”

Looks like I have a little liar on my hands. And no time to chastise her appropriately. I give her a hard look. I call bullshit on the lipstick. Lips aren’t naturally so pink.

She glares at me like I bought her at a slave auction and she’s already planning her escape—after slitting my throat in my sleep.

Bad news, girl. I’m a light sleeper.

Fuck, she is just a girl, probably early twenties. Far too young to be of any interest to me.

Too young.

Too pretty.

Too angry.

And why the fuck does she keep scowling at me?

Seeming uncomfortable with my unblinking stare, she ducks her head so her chestnut bangs fall in her eyes. Not exactly contrite, but at least she isn’t glaring a hole in my head anymore.

“No names,” I snap.

Her throat moves. There’s a flash of spite in her eyes when she says, “Yes, Master.”

An ephemeral jolt shoots through my body, paralyzing me for a moment. There’s a low hum in my ears—the thrum of blood chasing through my veins.

It’s been a long, long time since someone called me that.

It takes everything I have to turn on my heel and charge away instead of pinning her to the nearest wall with a hand on her throat.

Fuck, how I wish I could send her away. But I need her. I’ve procrastinated on this too long, and left myself with few options. If I chase this girl out, I’ll have to spend all day on the phone, calling around and trying to get a new cleaner in here.

No, I won’t be sending Olivia away. She can’t possibly know how much she’s triggering me with just her presence alone. As soon as I’ve shown her the ropes, I’ll retreat upstairs and lock the fucking door.

Safer that way…especially for her.

We pass through the manor’s cavernous kitchen with its blinding white granite countertops and cast-iron gas stove, then through the scullery and into the laundry room. When I turn to open one of the storage closets with all the detergents and cleaning supplies, I catch Olivia’s wide-eyed glance at the piles of laundry in a nearby corner.

There used to be a laundry hamper. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s still there. It should be easy to find if you have a shovel.

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