Page 30 of Casita Casanova
Chapter Nine
Ridge
Women just can’t say no to me.
Sure, I had to grovel a bit, and telling my new landlord some of my truth felt weirdly…right—even though I tend to keep my cards pretty close to my chest—but she agreed to give me another shot.
Because of course she did. I’m Cassius Ridgeway Westcott. Womenadoreme.
I just have to mind my manners until she forgets about my comments earlier and we’ll be good to go. I’ll stay away from the daughter because hooking up with nineteen-year-olds is apparently frowned upon, and I’ll just pray she’s not as hot as her mom because if she is, I’m fucked.
How the fuck did she manage to make overalls sexy? They do nothing for a woman’s figure, but the crop top underneath and the way she accidentally gave me an eyeful of her hip and the lace of her panties when she bent to pet the dog… holy fuck.
Shaking my head, I push the image away.
She’s off limits. Beth was firm about that.
And it sounds like she’s still pretty fresh from divorce, and, judging by the way her house looks, she only just moved in here. She probably needs timeawayfrom men, not beneath them.
Or on top.
Reverse cowgirl.
With a groan, I plop back onto the bed and throw my arm over my eyes. Six months of this, huh? Bethany must really want to torture me.
I pat the pockets of my jeans for my phone. Beth isn’t going to get out of this without at least hearing me bitch about the situation.
My pockets are empty.
My eyes fly open as I remember setting my cellphone on the seat of the car after the last conversation with my head of PR.
“Fuck!” I stand quickly, searching the surfaces in the small room even though I remember exactly where I left my phone with perfect clarity. Right there in the center of the backseat. Then I got out of the car, the driver grabbed my shit for me and shut the door, then the asshole sped away.
The door to the main house opens with a loud creak, pulling me back to the here and now. Maybe I can use Maryn’s phone. It takes me one whole step to reach the doorway of my shed.
Maryn hurries down the steps of her porch, tossing her purse over her shoulder, then stopping abruptly when she sees me. “Oh, hey, I have to run out, but I left the door unlocked.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder, watching me warily. “I need to get a key made for you, but for now…” She pauses, brows furrowing. “I guess you can help yourself to whatever you need.”
She has a white piece of paper in her left hand, and curiosity never killed this cat. “What’s that?”
“This?” She holds it up and I swear she looks embarrassed.
I step toward her and her eyes lock on mine while I take the paper from her hand and turn it toward me, scanning it quickly.
Fast Lane Brewing.
“A job application?”
She nods.
I grin. “Perfect. I’ll go with you.”
“Wh-what?” she stammers.
I surprised even myself with that one. But Idoneed a job since Beth is forcing me toblend in, and the bitch froze my accounts, so why not work somewhere where I can be entertained by driving my new landlord crazy? “I need a job, too.”
Her gaze drops to my feet and she gets this deep crease between her brows. Can she tell the boots are Valentino?
“No.” She takes the application back and holds it against her chest like it’s something far more precious than a job application for a brewery.
