Page 11 of The Wages of Sin

“Don’t try to tell me you can’t work alone,” he said. “I’ve already spoken with Jane, and I know that’s not one of her rules.”

“It’s not that, sir.”

“Then turn around and tell me what it is.”

I let go of the sponge and turned around, keeping my chin tucked tightly against my chest and my eyes firmly focused on the stone tile beneath my feet.

“It’s—“

“Look at me, Mary.”

Shit. Not again.

Even though Jane’s rules could be a pain in the ass sometimes, I suddenly appreciated how much easier they made these kinds of interactions. Work was so much simpler without talking, or eye contact, or messy social contact.

I could have argued, but somehow, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, there was no use pretending it wasn’t what I wanted anyway.

I lifted my face, and the moment my gaze met his jewel-blue eyes, my heart started pounding.

At least he had clothes on this time—a form-fitting black T-shirt and dark blue jeans. That should have made it easier to look him in the eye, but damn, if the man wasn’t just as sexy dressed as he was naked.

“Good,” he said after a beat had passed. “Now tell me the problem.”

“This apartment has to be at least three thousand square feet.”

“Three thousand, two hundred and forty-five,” he answered without hesitation. “How is that an issue?”

I shook my head. “I can’t possibly clean that much real estate in just two hours, sir.”

“Then take all the time you need,” he said. “I have no appointments until this evening.”

“But I do,” I countered. “You aren’t my only client. I have three more scheduled after you, back to back.”

“I see.” His expression didn’t change as he gave a sharp nod, so it was impossible to tell exactly what those two little words were meant to express. Frustration? Understanding? Defeat? “Give me a moment.”

I couldn’t do anything but blink as he turned and walked out of the kitchen. But working alone, I couldn’t afford to waste time staring after him. So I picked up the sponge and got back to work.

A few minutes later, I’d finished with the stove and back counter and was starting on the island when I spotted the client coming back toward the kitchen. I quickly dipped my head down again.

“All taken care of,” he said, his big hands propping up on the counter and forcing me to stop mid-swipe. “Your schedule for the rest of the day is cleared.”

“What?” Before I could think better of it, my head snapped up, my eyes so wide I was almost afraid they would pop out of my head. “What did you do?”

It had to be shock. Nothing else could explain why I’d be reckless enough to talk to a client so bluntly.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem the least bit phased. His expression remained as stoic as ever. “I called Jane and explained that, from this point on, I would be claiming all of your available time on Tuesdays.”

My mouth fell open. “You can’t do that.”

“I already did,” he said simply. “Starting today, Jane will send substitutes to your former clients. I will cover the cost of your lost wages, and you’ll no longer have to worry about time constraints. All problems solved.”

The hell they were.

“Oh God,” I muttered, my stomach plummeting all the way down the floor. “Jane’s going to fire me.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s going to think I’m… that we…” Red-hot shame stopped me short. Surely, he could put the pieces of the puzzle together for himself, but his flat, silent stare gave nothing away. “…that you’re paying me for sex.”

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