Page 29 of House of Lies

Low. Fucking. Blow.

“So just because I’m cleaning your house, you assume I don’t have my own McMansion with a Lamborghini parked in the drive?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.

I might be a tad bit biased against rich people. After all, my mom’s parents kicked her out of the house and left her with nothing, just because they were too snobby to accept that she’d fallen in love with a ‘peasant’. Rebecca might not have spoken ill of them, but she didn’t have to. What they did was cruel.

Wealth corrupts, and I refuse to change my mind on the subject until I’ve seen proof otherwise.

“Aston Martin,” he corrects with a growl. “And unless you want me to send you back to your McMansion in the morning, I suggest you watch your tone.”

Instead of retreating meekly like the meek little maid I’m supposed to meekly be, my hackles rise and my lips peel back from my teeth.

It’s not a smile.

It’s a fucking snarl.

“You pay me to clean. Which I’ve done. Groveling on my knees is extra, Sir.”

I understand the glint of anger in his gray eyes. What I don’t understand is why his hand inches toward his belt.

His eyes track mine, and he grabs his buckle with a white-knuckled hand as if to stop himself.

From doing what, exactly?

Fear prickles over my skin as I slowly back away.

He growls, “Get out of my sight.”

Chapter 11

Ethan

I slam my bedroom door so hard that it rattles in the frame.

“Un-fucking-believable,” I mutter like a curse.

The nerve of that girl. Where the hell does she come off, speaking to me like that? Janice is going to get an ear full from me tomorrow morning. I’m in half a mind to insist on a replacement. Which won’t happen, because Janice made it clear Olivia was the only person available on such short notice.

That’s what happens when you fucking procrastinate.

I was busy today.

Not just with all the house stuff. I have a ton of cataloging to do before the move, something I’ve been putting off for months.

Then there’s checking my inbox every few minutes for Parker’s document, and responding to all my old clients expressing their dismay at the official retirement announcement I sent out last week. Angelo’s been relentless with his messages, too. Which of us is going to run out of patience first?

I told my ex-business partner I was quitting months ago, but he seems in denial. Messaging me about new clients, old clients, begging me not to shut everything down. We were coining it, but it was never about the money for me.

I did it because I loved it.

Then my world fell apart and I could barely muster the enthusiasm to crawl out of bed. If he’d just shut up about all the money he’s losing on renting an office?—

I cut off the thought. It’s a dangerous route to take late at night when I’m feeling this tired, this aggravated. It might just end with me going to fetch a bottle of whiskey.

This is her fault. Prying into my personal affairs.

My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts.

I stare at the screen.

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