Page 2 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid

Carefully, I made my way through the field of junk. Tangled wires snaked across the floor like jungle vines waiting to trip me. The air smelled of burnt coffee and ozone, the sharp and metallic scent of electronics and computers. A robotic vacuum whirred past, bumping into a stack of engineering manuals and sending them crashing to the floor in an avalanche of paper.

"Let me guess," Jenkins continued, his tone dripping with mockery. "You're here to clean up this disaster zone."

I set my bag down, surveying the mess with a mix of determination and disbelief. "Something like that."

"Fresh optimism. Cute," he replied. "But don't say I didn't warn you when you find a robot head in the fridge."

Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. Jenkins's commentary was relentless, but oddly endearing.

"That's a prototype, not trash."

"Mr. Nightfang is very particular about his collection of antique computers."

By late afternoon, the living area was almost livable. I had cleared the maze of electronics, clearing them into organized piles at the edge of the room. All of the empty takeout containersand paper cups had been put into the trash, and dirty dishes were now in the dishwasher. Maybe this won't be so bad, I thought as I wiped my hands on my jeans. If I managed to survive this madhouse, I could survive anything.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the office door opened with a creak. The sound was sharp as a gunshot, cutting through the buzz of electronics that hummed throughout the penthouse. I froze. My breath caught in my throat as Dean Nightfang stepped into the room.

He was tall, so tall that he seemed to fill the doorway completely. His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the room behind him. He had rumpled dark hair that resembled a porcupine, probably from him endlessly raking his hands through it in frustration. The black T-shirt he wore was perfectly fitted, clinging to his frame to show the outline of his muscles. His jeans looked like they hadn't ever seen an iron. Still, I was willing to bet that his outfit cost many thousands of dollars and came from some bespoke shop that only took clients by invitation.

His hazel eyes met mine, pinning me in place from across the room. For a moment, I froze. Everything about him was overwhelming. Despite his rumpled appearance, power seemed to flow out from his form in waves, like pulses of electricity. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I had the overwhelming urge to take a step back.

"Who are you?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, forcing out each syllable with an edge of irritation.

I wiped my hands on my jeans, trying to ignore the way my heart was suddenly racing. "Nina. Your new housekeeper."

His gaze swept the room, starting from the tidied desk, then down to the vacuumed floor. He paused on the absence of coffee rings on the edges of the cleaned bookshelf. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"I know," I said, forcing a smile even as my pulse fluttered. "But I thought it might help."

For the next three seconds, which seemed like they went on forever, he just stared at me with an unreadable expression. I fought the urge to fidget or to fill the silence with nervous chatter, somehow, I had a feeling that would irritate him even more. My palms grew sweaty and slick, but I held his gaze.

Just when the silence grew unbearable, he turned without a word and slammed the door behind him.

I let out a breath of relief, and my shoulders sagged as the adrenaline faded. My hands trembled slightly as I wiped them on my jeans.

Jenkins let out a low, amused hum. "See? And that was just the greeting."

I rolled my eyes, wiping my palms down my thighs. "So he's not an afternoon person. I can work with that."

Jenkins's mechanical chuckle was drier than the abandoned coffee stains. "Oh, sunshine, Mr. Nightfang isn't an any-time-of-day person. And trust me, coffee won't fix that."

I blew a loose strand of hair out of my face, surveying the room.

Game on, Nightfang.

Because no messy billionaire, however intimidating he was, was going to scare me off that easily.

Chapter 2

DEAN

The sound of her humming tickled my ears like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch. I glared at the door to my office, willing the noise to stop.

It didn't.

The changes began subtly, so subtle I barely noticed them at first. A hint of lemon in the air where there had only been the sterile scent of metal and ozone. A warmth in the penthouse that hadn't existed before her arrival, magazines and manuals that were now neatly stacked and organized, tabletops that were free of dust, and windows that now gleamed spotlessly as they displayed the skyline of downtown Huntington Harbor. Her presence was everywhere, invasive and inescapable, like a thread I couldn't pull free from the fabric of my life.

She'd been living here for three days now. Three days. I'd agreed to it without thinking. The recruiter, Gladys, made it sound so convincing. She had said something about convenience, efficiency, and productivity. It was a mistake. A colossal mistake.

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