Page 7 of Fake Maid

“I missed you too, Coral.”

“It’s Miss Walsh,” she grits out. She spins on her heel, turning her back to me and swabbing awkwardly at the tiles. I can’t pretend that I’m an expert in mopping—not many tech moguls are—but I stride over and pluck the handle out of her hands.

“Hey!”

I offer it back. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to do this part yourself?”

Her mouth twitches, and I fight back a grin. If I can make her laugh, really laugh, I’ll die happy. And when she raises her chin, fixing those emerald green eyes on me in challenge, my cock hardens in my jeans.

“No. No, you’re right. I’d like nothing more than to watch you try to mop, Mr. Koven.”

“Have you no faith in me? I’m wounded.”

She smirks. “None at all.”

Coral hasn’t stepped away. She’s close enough that I could reach out and touch. I could rake my fingers through her red hair; I could run my thumb over her plump bottom lip. She watches me wide-eyed, breath hitching in her lungs.

Instead, I swab at the tiles, inhaling deeply through my nose, but the pool chemicals are too strong. I can’t smell her, can’t get a hint of her shampoo or perfume.

It’s another thing to add to the list. Another detail I desperately need.

“Why pay your staff if you’d rather do it all yourself?”

I grin at her. “For the company, I suppose.”

I’m joking of course, but I’m surprised to hear a ring of truth to my words. I have plenty of friends, an army’s worth of employees, but since exchanging a few words with Coral in the library, I’ve felt oddly lonely whenever she’s out of my sight.

This is a big mansion to live in alone. It never bothered me before.

Now I don’t want her to leave.

Not even to go home at the end of her shift. I want her to finish work, change out of her tunic, and stay with me. Laughing and teasing and undressing me with her eyes the way she does when she thinks I’m not looking.

Wait. Scratch that. I don’t want her to work a shift then stick around. I don’t want her to work here at all.

I want her to live here. To eat breakfast at the kitchen bar; to slip into this pool in a skimpy bikini.

I want her in my bed. On my balcony. Perched on my lap in my office.

God. What is happening to me?

“Mr. Koven?”

Coral frowns at me, concerned. Apparently I’ve been staring at her in wide-eyed horror. I clear my throat, rubbing my cast over my chest, and swab harder at the tiles.

“Call me Eli. Do you like working here, Coral?”

Is it just me, or does she shrink inside herself when I call her that? Does she honestly prefer being called Miss Walsh?

She nods, plucking at her tunic.

“Yes. Very much.”

“And did you… always… want to be a maid?”

Shit, what a weird question to ask. And I said it so awkwardly, she’ll think I’m insulting her. I’m not judging her—far from it. I fully believe that this young woman could be anything she chose. The world must offer itself up to her.

She snorts, amused, and my shoulders relax. I swab a new section, relishing the ache in my muscles. It’s been too long already since I moved my body.

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