Page 23 of Hired Help

I still, my entire body calming, expecting a rush of guilt that never arrives. Instead, I bask in the appreciation of his gaze, feeling beautiful where it’s usually just another label I ignore.

With a sleepy smile, I ask, “Did I pass your interview, then?”

He cocks an eyebrow and I get another delicious rush of tingles spreading from my core.

“It was an informal chat at most.” I scrunch my face at him, and he laughs. “But sure, you passed with flying colours.”

“Does that mean I can book you again?” His face doesn’t change expression and a rush of nerves hits me at full speed, continuing even after I drop my eyes. Like he knows I’m hiding something. “I don’t really know how it works.”

“Yes, you can book me again.” He puts out his hand, resting it on my knee and I cover it with mine. “Did you want to talk about that now or get in contact later?”

I frown at the window. Now the euphoria of the moment is fading, other thoughts press into my mind.

Like wondering how many other people he has appointments with today, or this week.

Wondering if he has someone special at home, waiting.

He must do. Of course, he does. I grip his hand against my knee a little harder, feeling the first purr of possessiveness inside me. A purr that might soon turn into a roar.

The emotion fills me with despair. I can’t get attached to anyone, not so soon. Maybe not ever again. I certainly can’t get attached to a sex worker, to Harrison’sdad. That’s just ridiculous.

But the idea for the dance is still there, shimmering like a jewel in the back of my mind.

An evening where Harrison is the butt of the joke. Where our fellow students will point and laugh at him for a change. Maybe a few jokes about becoming his new stepmother and sending him to bed early.

That I can handle.

Making use of his dad’s services until that built-in end date? Yes, please. And if I get attached, it’s a problem that will sort itself, because once he discovers why I’ve asked him to the dance, this man—this gentle, sexy man—will never want to see me again.

“Could I book you exclusively?” When his brow knits together, I hurriedly explain, “I’ll pay you for anyone you need to turn down. Just… I’m not used to this. I know you must take care of your health, but I’d just feel easier if I…”

My words falter, face reddening, but he’s there with a reassurance. “I budget for six appointments per week. You’re welcome to book them all if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Yes, thank you,” I gush, all smiles again, my treacherous mind still wondering if there’s someone else. Not that it matters. It’s no business of mine.

Which means I’m horrified when my mouth spills out, “If you’re sure your partner won’t get jealous.”

He appears mildly amused, but I don’t care because he also says, “There’s nothing to worry about on that score.”

“I guess they’d be on board with what you do if there was someone.”

His expression relaxes a little more. “Sure. Nobody’s going to key your car for stealing their man if that’s your worry.”

I struggle to believe he doesn’t have someone in his life, but he could be between girlfriends. Maybe he gets by with a few booty calls on the side. Maybe he hasn’t told me the truth because it’s none of my damn business.

Or this line of thought could be a tangent distracting me from the final question I want to ask. The important question.

One deep breath, and I force out, “Can I ask you for something special? It’s all right if you say no because it’s kind of weird.”

“Ask away.”

I put a hand on my midriff, the muscles underneath tensing into stone. “There’s a social event coming up in just under a month and I wondered…” I frown into the middle distance for a second, stalling, then blurt, “Would you take me to prom?”

CHAPTERSEVEN

DAEGAN

The moment Brookepushes open the hotel room door with her shoulder, I leap to my feet, striding over to hold it ajar for her. She has a coffee tray in one hand and a paper bakery bag in the other.

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