Page 81 of A Little Broken

Mirth toys at the edge of his mouth. “How’s the bra?”

Bra?

Caught off guard, I look down at my chest. “Excuse me?”

“The white one,” he clarifies. “From the hot tub.”

My eyes thin. “You remember, huh?”

His gaze trails over me, making me feel more exposed than the half-naked man himself. “How could I forget?”

Refusing to play his game, I lift my chin a little higher. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, after leaving me with the view of your ass.” He pushes off from the doorjamb and saunters closer. “You asked me to zip up your dress.”

“And?”

“And, if memory serves me right, red silk and white lace don’t exactly mix well when wet.”

He’s not wrong. My bra’s ruined. And it was my best one, too. Now it’s all blotchy and gross and…it’s all his fault.

As he approaches, I try not to smack the guy as I glare up at him. “Seems like you know an awful lot about laundry for a guy who has a maid.”

“Hey, I don’t make you do my laundry…yet.” He smirks. “Although, now that I think about it?—”

“Are you going to let me work or are you going to keep yapping at me all day?”

“You’re right. If I gave you access to my clothes, you’d probably dye them all out of spite.” He bends closer, towering over me. Hell, he’s so close, I can practically taste the arrogance wafting off him, and even though I should find it disgusting, it’s annoyingly…hot as hell. My attention drifts to his mouth, and I swear he’s going to kiss me before he sidesteps me, spins around, and walks backward toward a chair near the window. “And now that I think about it, I should probably stay so I can keep an eye on you so you won’t sabotage anything else.”

“Are you serious right now?” I huff. “Pretty sure if I wanted to destroy your stuff, I’d do it off the clock.”

He lowers himself into the cushioned chair as if it’s a throne.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Sitting.”

“Pax,” I warn. “You’re not supposed to be home.”

“Is there a problem with me being here? In my own house? My own room?”

He wants me to say yes. Wants me to admit that his close proximity makes me uncomfortable, and not in a creepy stalker way, but in an I know what it feels like to have you inside of me kind of way. The reminder only makes my mouth drier.

Leaning back, he laces his hands behind his head as he relaxes, giving me the perfect view of his bulging biceps and rippling abs. “Do I…distract you?” he prods.

My attention drops to his lips again before I roll my eyes and give him my back. “I’ll start in the bathroom.”

With an angry flick of my finger, I turn the bathroom light on. It’s connected to his suite and is as masculinely beautiful as its owner. Stupid Paxton. And his stupid face. And his stupidmuscles, and his stupid hair, and his stupid comment about my laundry and his laundry, and?—

I stare at the shampoo bottle through the shower glass.

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. This is a very bad idea. A really, truly bad idea that could most definitely get me fired if Pax decided to lose his sense of humor which I don’t exactly deserve anymore after everything we’ve been through, but...

I twist my ring on my middle finger.

Yup. This is happening.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I make my way back through the bedroom, ignoring Paxton’s, “Where are you going?” question as I skip down the stairs and out to Rory’s car. Now, where is that thing? I search the backseat, blindly reaching under the front seat until my fingers touch something small and cylindrical. There it is. The unopened green dye I found in the garbage a couple weeks ago at a different client’s house. I figured it might be a fun alternative to cutting bangs the next time I was spiraling, but screwing with Pax feels like an even better alternative. Bottle in hand, I go back inside, keeping my fist closed around the tube’s label so Pax can’t see it in case he decides to go all nosy detective on me. I wouldn’t put it past him.

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