Page 58 of The Woman in the Garage

“What time are you usually done around here?”

“Seven-ish,” I told him.

“Seven?” he asked, brows pinching.

“I like to get a little cleaning up around here done when no one is around,” I told him. “But I can cut out earl—“

“No. It’s okay. Gives me a chance to get something good cooking,” he said.

“You’re going to cook for me?” I asked, my heart squeezing.

“Yep. Dessert and all. I’ll text you my address. Just drive over whenever you’re done here.”

With that, and a sexy little smile, he was gone.

Alone, I sank down on my office chair, sore in all the best places.

And excited for something for the first time in ages.

I just had to survive the rest of my workday.

A feat, as it would turn out, easier said than done.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dasha

I honestly wanted to scrap all my plans to spruce up the lobby.

But I’d already told Santo seven.

And I would be losing money on the industrial floor buffer I’d rented and had dropped off.

Given that money was not exactly flowing in, unless I wanted to become a drug dealer to pay for things, I had to keep making smart financial decisions.

So after all the guys clocked out and closed the bay doors, I made my way into the waiting room with the giant, clunky buffer while watching a video online on how to operate it.

Twenty minutes later, I was having a surprisingly good time swinging the buffer around and listening to some upbeat pop music in my headphones.

Watching something dirty get cleaned never failed to put me in a good, relaxed mood. And seeing decades of grime disappearing off the floors in the lobby was creating all sorts of feel-good vibes in me.

Yeah, the solid orgasms earlier weren’t hurting that good mood, either. Or the promise of a yummy home-cooked meal and more orgasms.

I’d never had a man cook for me before. Hell, I’d never had a man choose the restaurant for a date before. It was always ‘I dunno, what are you in the mood for?’

For you to take some initiative, that was what I was in the mood for.

Now? I had that.

I mean, fine, sure. Maybe I should have been more concerned over the fact that Santo was in the mafia. It wasn’t like I was just speculating that either; he’d admitted it.

But who the hell was I to judge?

I’d inherited a freaking drug empire.

Finished with the lobby, I decided to take the buffer into the bathroom.

I’d been attacking it with bleach and bleach wipes daily. Since, well, it was the only bathroom in the place. And guys could be pretty gross.

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