Page 23 of House of Lies

I’m right beside a partly open door leading into what looks like a guest bedroom when the exact door I was heading for opens.

My heart gives a hard thud in my chest, propelling me into the guest room with a stifled squeak of surprise. I press my back against the wall, gulping down a silent breath to fill my tight chest.

The thick carpeting in the hallway gives me no clue where Remington could be, but I remembered his long, sure strides—he should have passed me already. I’m about to peek out of the room, laundry hamper clutched to my chest, when he crosses the doorway outside.

Of course I drop the hamper.

Of course he hears the noise and turns to find me on hands and knees, hurriedly scooping his clean clothes off the jewel-colored rug and tossing them into the hamper.

“Olivia?”

God, I hate his voice. Gravelly, slightly hoarse. It sounds like he’s exorcizing a demon every time he calls me.

“Mr. Remington, uh, Sir. I, uh, I was—” I swallow down whatever nonsense I was trying to concoct and blurt out, “I was looking for your bedroom.” Then, because he’s just standing there with his phone in one hand, a deep frown between his brows, I add, “You said not to disturb you.”

“And yet here you are.” From the sounds of it, he’s never been more disturbed in his fucking life.

There’s a twist to his mouth like he’s eaten something sour, and the derogatory scan he gives me suggests that he’s seen more appetizing things smeared on the tarmac several sweltering days after their encounter with a speeding car.

“My apologies.” And then, because he’s such a smarmy fuck, I add in an icy, “Sir.”

His lips part, cement-gray eyes narrowing. “Why were you looking for my room?”

“To put these away.” I stand, lifting the hamper in case he doesn’t know what clean clothes look like anymore.

He barely glances at it. “Is this your first time working under someone?”

I don’t know why the hell my cheeks catch fire. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he means something else entirely. “Look, if you can just tell me where your bedroom is, I can?—”

When he stalks up to me, I hurriedly bite off the rest of the sentence. It’s that or yelp like a terrified puppy again.

He plucks out a pink button-down shirt, then a pair of black socks, then a blood-red tie. Slowly, alarm spreads across his face. “Did you wash these?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice jumps up a few octaves. “You can tell by how clean they are.”

“Together?” His growl makes my hackles rise.

I barely stop myself from retreating.

Shit. I hadn’t even thought about separating colors or anything like that. My clothes are all so worn out, it doesn’t matter anymore. Come to think about it, I don’t remember seeing any pink shirts going into the washer.

He smells the shirt. “No dryer sheets?” When he puts his phone in his pants pockets so he can lift the shirt in both hands, that’s when I know I’m in deep shit. “Do you assume I have an iron in my bedroom? Or were you planning to hang these up as is?”

“It was a lot less creased before it landed on the floor,” I mutter.

He tosses the shirt back in the hamper. “Why the hell are you doing laundry, anyway? The dry cleaners could have taken care of these.” His voice drops even lower. “I told you to clean the kitchen.”

“What did you think I was doing while the laundry was being washed?” I lift my chin and give him an indignant sniff. “Filing my nails? Plus, it’s a waste of money sending stuff like this to the cleaners.”

There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You cleaned the entire kitchen already?”

“Yes, Sir. The whole entire kitchen. And half of your enormous entrance hall.” I shift my grip on the hamper. “Came upstairs to put these away before they got even more creased.” I drop my eyes, glancing at the shirt he picked up. “I’ll iron those this afternoon when all the housework is done, but I need clothes hangers in the meantime.”

The more I speak, the calmer he looks. He steps back and sweeps out an arm. “Down the hall. Last door.”

I keep my chin up as I slip past him and make my way to the end of the hall. I can feel his eyes moving over me as I walk, piercing through my coat like I might as well be wearing nothing at all. It’s only when I stop to juggle the hamper so I can open one of the double doors that I realize why the feeling was so intense.

“Allow me.”

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