“The exterminator said it would be two days.”
Through his sexy specs, he looked down his nose at her. “I can stand here all day.”
She bit down on her lip, realizing that she had nothing left to lose. Her dignity was in shreds along with her clothes. Her sister was in rehab and she owed sixteen thousand dollars to an ass*ole
. She had ground her ass on her boss in a strip club, then invited him to screw her stupid. Her misery index was at an all-time low.
She walked over and with great care, extracted Kevin from Brody’s arms. Their fingers brushed, and while any other day that would have fired every neuron of her body in appreciation, right this minute, she felt the opposite of sexy.
Emma, you have redefined the meaning of loser.
Sitting down on an immaculate leather sofa in an immaculately furnished penthouse, facing an immaculately dressed billionaire, she pondered how best to phrase her fall.
“I lost my lease two days ago so I’ve been staying in that storeroom until I can find a new place.”
He sat in an armchair, concern bracketing his mouth. “Emma, how did this happen?”
“I’ve run into some money trouble and it just crept up on me. I promise I will be out of there today.” She held Kevin tighter. Do not cry, girl. “A friend has offered to let me stay with her for a while. I was planning to get my stuff together and move in by tonight.”
“And why didn’t you turn to this friend sooner?”
Heat flamed her cheeks. She had. Katerina was in the process of breaking up with her live-in shithead boyfriend so that safe haven was on hold.
“This is not your problem, Mr. Kane.”
“It’s Brody, Emma. My cock has been inside you and knows you really f*ck
ing well. I think you can call me Brody.”
A blush gathered force all over her body. He had the decency not to smirk about it.
“How much sleep have you been getting these last few weeks?”
“I’ve been at work on time and my duties haven’t suffered.” So Kevin cried constantly as if the weight of the entire world was on his little shoulders instead of Emma’s own. She hugged him tighter.
“Would you like something? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? I don’t think I have any oolio or whatever it’s called but I can probably rustle up something.”
She nodded, glad for any excuse to send him away. To get her bearings. Surely this was happening to someone else. She was vaguely aware of Brody leaving, his footsteps echoing in the large space until the sound became fainter and fainter. The kitchen was probably in the west wing, or maybe he was summoning a team of staff to boil water and apportion the perfect number of tea leaves.
A hysterical giggle escaped her mouth.
How had it come to this? She looked down at Kevin as if he could provide an answer. For once, her emotionally disturbed cat was still, having found some strange slice of peace in her arms on a beautiful white leather sofa in the penthouse of her employer.
Who thought she was a gambling-addicted, homeless, stripper cat lady. Who had given her the best orgasm of her life and was now making her tea.
Another hitch in her throat. God, she really needed to stop laughing, but by the time she realized that, the tears were already halfway down her cheeks. Blindly, she swiped at them. Not allowed.
Not. Allowed.
Her eyelids felt like stone weights and she closed them, the perfection of that simple motion radiating peace through her beaten-down body. Just five minutes and then she’d come up with a plan. Planning was what she did best.
In five minutes, she would figure it out.
Chapter Nine
Emma awoke to deadweight on her chest, though not the one that had been crushing her heart for the last three months. This was a physical burden. Kevin was sitting on her boobs, purring like a lawnmower.
“Not now, Kev.” Gently, she set him aside. The purring stopped and the enormity of the silence sank in as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. Where she’d slept was decidedly masculine with cool grays and green stripes. Not a guest room. His room.
His bed.
She had slept in his bed. Her loud groan echoed through acres of quiet privilege, her hands fisting with her embarrassment. These sheets…oh God, they must be at least ten thousand thread count because they were probably the softest bed linens she had ever touched.
She pulled back the covers. Hmm, just her underwear. Trying to recall the moment when she had stripped her clothes took too much energy. So many gaps. The last thing she remembered was sitting on Brody’s sofa, curled up with Kevin, as if protecting her cat could somehow shield her, while the emotion of her situation crashed over her.
Homeless. Destitute. Financially beholden to a shady businessman.