Page 82 of A Little Broken

“Where’d you go?” Paxton prods from the same chair as before.

“Had to get some stain remover for the shit spots on the toilet,” I announce. “Which is really gross, by the way.”

The man blanches. “I don’t have shit stains?—”

“No use denying it, boss. The proof is in the pudding, er, shit stain.” I give him a cheeky grin and reach for the edge of the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a click, I shut the bathroom door, then toss my keys onto the counter. If I’m doing this, I need to be quick. Opening the glass shower, I step inside and grab the shampoo bottle. I could always back down. Put the lid back on the shampoo and pretend this devious thought neversparked in the first place. Or, I could let it take hold and possibly get fired. But what a way to go. With a Cheshire grin, I pour the green dye into the bottle, give it a shake, and set it back in its place on the shelf like it never left.

See? Easy, peasy lemon squeezy. Maybe. I wonder what happens if dye gets into eyes? Will it dye his junk green, too, if he’s lazy and uses shampoo for all his body parts instead of switching from shampoo to soap or body wash like a normal person? Oh my hell, that would be hilarious. And honestly, for the view alone, I might break my ban on sleeping with the asshole just to see if it left a mark.

Or maybe it’ll push him over the edge, and he’ll call my employer, who will fire me, thus confirming Rory’s reason for hesitating when it came to being my reference for the job in the first place.

Yeah, this was definitely a bad idea.

I reach for the shampoo bottle again, when thetap tapagainst the door makes me flinch in surprise. The dye bottle slips from my fingers and tumbles to the black marble like a prop in a horror film. I’m so screwed. Biting back my shriek, I pick it up as the door squeaks open, and my heart jackhammers out of my chest.

“What are you doing?” Paxton asks.

I twist to face him, hiding the bottle behind my back. “Cleaning.”

“There are shit stains in the shower?” he challenges.

“Depends. Do you shit in the shower?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not a no,” I point out.

“I’m offended you think I’d shit in the shower, let alone leave stains on the toilet.” He crosses his arms, his biceps bulging. “Why are you being sneaky?”

“I think it’s offensive that you think I’m being sneaky.”

“Tatum,” he warns.

“I’m trying to clean, and you’re distracting me.” I wave him off. “Go away.”

“I would, but I figured I should probably showerbeforeyou clean. Don’t you think?”

Oh. The man makes a good point.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I concede.

With a grin that could melt the panties off a nun, Pax asks, “Did you just agree that I’m right about something?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” I return before wrinkling my nose. “No offense, but you kind of stink from your workout.”

Refusing to move from the doorway, he points out, “You know, saying no offense before saying something offensive doesn’t make it less offensive.”

I bat my lashes back at him. “Would you prefer I say, ‘Definitely take offense to this: you stink?’”

He doesn’t. He actually smells amazing, which makes zero sense since the guy’s still sweaty from his workout or…whatever. I part my lips and breathe through my mouth instead, determined to get out of here before I cave and fall to my knees to see if he tastes as good as I remember.

“Sure you don’t like your men dirty?” he asks. He’s closer now. Or maybe the bathroom’s shrinking. Considering the lack of oxygen thanks to the bastard’s pheromones tainting all logic, a shrinking bathroom is a real possibility. Hell, his broad shoulders practically take up every inch of the shower door.

What are we talking about again?

“Well, I’ll…leave you to it.” I start to move past him, pat his chest on instinct, then freeze.

Hello, pectorals.

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