Chapter 17
The sodden lawn slops under my boots as I track up the back steps. I peek into the kitchen window and see Sammie at the table, hard at work. She’s wearing a floral blouse and navy blue slacks. Her hair is pinned up, away from her face and she has on those nerdy glasses that make her look super smart.
She was serious about treating this gig professionally.
I’m no psychologist but the girl has a serious type A personality. Organizing receipts and creating spreadsheets seem to be her aphrodisiac. The way she slides her tongue across her lips as she concentrates on the documents in front of her, it’s foreplay and she doesn’t even know it.
And who am I to get in the way of her bliss? Hell, that’s why I’m here to bring her yet another box of receipts.
“Knock, knock,” I say as I push the sliding door open and kick off my boots on the mat. She glances up at me and she almost smiles. Almost.
We’re making progress.
She holds up an index finger and glances quickly at the clock on the stove before scribbling a note into her time sheet.
Yes, she’s using a time sheet.
She waves a credit card statement in my direction. “This is your business credit card? There’s tons of personal expenses on it.”
I set the teeming banker’s box down on the floor and take the statement from her hands. Sure enough there are charges to clothing stores and nightclubs and even a damned casino on the statement. I scrub my palm over the back of my neck. “I’ll have to talk to Maxwell about this.”
One of her eyebrows darts up judgmentally. “For someone who own a business, you really don’t know very much about its operations,” she remarks.
It sucks to have her thinking that I’ve been lackadaisical about my business but I can’t tell her the truth. The reason my business got so out of control is because I spent the past three years rotting away behind bars thanks to a no-good woman who betrayed me.
Whoa. Why the hell did Rhys just pop into my head right now?
It must be my subconscious trying to remind me that I need to stamp out these feelings I’m feeling for Sammie. As much as I want to shove all these papers off of the table and bend her over, doggy-style, I can’t do that. I can’t fuck my best friend’s little sister. I gave Daniel my word. And besides, I have too much baggage. My life is too messy to drag Sammie into the middle of it.
She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Okay, since you’re here, I might as well give you a list of questions that you’re going to have to ask Maxwell so that I can prepare the balance sheet.” She shoves a pen and a pad out to me and nods toward the empty chair across from her.
She’s bossy. And I think I like it.
She starts talking a mile a minute and I’m struggling to keep up as my pen moves feverishly across the paper. She's so fucking smart. It’s hot. Sitting here listening to her talk about p&l statements and ROIs and gross sales is getting me hard as nails...
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I still haven’t gotten laid. My body literally wants nothing to do with any woman other than Sammie Trotten.
Shit – I’m so screwed.
When she’s finished listing her questions, I pick up my notes and pad over to the door. “I’ll call Maxwell for answers right away.”
“Okay,” she says aloofly, her eyes glued to the spreadsheet in front of her.
I stand there for a moment, just to admire her, just to appreciate the woman she’s become. She's strong and she's mouthy and I respect that and I'm starting to realize that I wouldn't change her if I could.
She gives me a quick, sidelong glimpse, her focus still on the spreadsheet. “Anything else?”
I feel one corner of my mouth tilt up. “Nah. Nothing else,” I say as I step out into the drizzle. “Have a nice day, Sammie.”