Page 20 of House of Lies

“Are you judging me?”

“Me? No. Never.” Her voice is syrupy sweet. “But I saw movement back there. Some rats might have made a nest or something.”

Her impudence is so glaring, I’m in half a mind to congratulate her on her bravery instead of calling her out on it.

She gives me that strange smile of hers—the one that looks like it takes all of her effort to muster up. Olivia waves a limp hand in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. That’s why I’m here, right? To wash your clothes, and clean your house, and service you in whatever way your heart desires.”

An intense pressure builds inside me as the sing-song verses leave her mouth. By the time she’s done, I’m too wound up to speak.

She’d been gazing at the mountain of clothes with a far off look in her eyes, and gives me a double take when she finally glances in my direction again.

Her slim throat moves as she hastily swallows and mutters a quick “Sorry, Sir.”

Sir?

God, I need to come up with a better way for us to communicate.

Sign language?

Post-it notes?

Anything’s better than listening to her calling me Sir. Or, even worse, Master.

Maybe I should gag her.

Olivia’s plump little body barely reaches my shoulders. I could easily toss her into that mound of clothing. Plenty of things in there to subdue her with.

Neck ties for her ankles and wrists.

A pair of pants on that pile might still have a belt attached.

Oh…the things I could do to her with my belt.

“I should probably get to work, Sir.” She wouldn’t be blinking up so innocently at me if she had even an inkling of what was going through my mind right now.

Fuck, if she knew, she wouldn’t even be here anymore.

I have to clear my throat to get out my words. “Here’s everything you need,” I gesture roughly toward the cleaning supplies. “Start in the kitchen and work your way up. The basement and attic don’t need to be cleaned. Everything else must be spotless by Thursday afternoon.”

“Thursday? Afternoon?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

She flutters her dark green eyes at me. “No, of course not,” she says grudgingly, giving me that same forced smile. “A few days to clean this big ass mansion is plenty of time. Sir.”

My cock twitches at her sarcastic little purr.

Christ, I need to get laid. And I need to get the hell out of here before I do something I regret. I have a stack of work waiting for me…and a nasty email to send Janice. I don’t know what she was thinking, sending me this spiteful little girl instead of a trained professional, but I’ll have none of it. There’s a lot that needs to be done before the open house. Which reminds me…

“I need you to get my dry cleaning done before Friday.”

“So… I should just throw everything in the back of your Aston and take it to the cleaners?”

Now I’m imagining her in the back seat of my car, her bare, creamy flesh contrasting with the dark brown leather of my DB11’s bitter-chocolate–colored interior as I pin her to the seats and rut her like a wild animal.

I hurriedly clear my throat, force the image from my mind, and point to the wall phone inside the kitchen.

“Call them,” I grate out. “They’re on speed dial. They’ll come collect it.”

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