He paused with a Subway sandwich bag in his hand. “I’ll have to go back tomorrow morning. I’ll get here on time and be back from the store by the time you finish your workout. I swear.”
“Uh-huh.” I pointed at the Subway bag. “And what is that?”
“My lunch?”
“Wha—” I was confused. I’d assumed he’d eat whatever he cooked for me. Was that not how this worked? Maybe not. And I didn’t want him thinking I was trying to be nice. Except, he’d already caught on to my confusion and had cocked his head. “I see,” I said. I chewed on several follow-up responses before snapping, “Well, it’s already almost one o’clock, and I need you to do all the other shit on that list before five. Don’t forget. And call me when lunch is ready. I’ll be in my room. Remember—you were the one who wanted to be paid extra for cooking.”
He sneered at me with genuine animosity and turned away.
You had to love a sexy-ass geek with an attitude.
Chapter Five
Noah
“I have five vehicles I need to be serviced, and I was really hoping I could get them all done by the end of the day.”
“End of the day? Not gonna happen.”
I paced the cavernous garage and cast an evil eye at the shining, and likely untouched, vehicles that were causing me so much trouble. I’d avoided the garage for the last few days, mostly because I hadn’t known where to start, but it was already the end of the first week of my probationary period and it would be a major fail if I ignored the task.
“What about if we start today and finish tomorrow? My boss wants them done, like yesterday, and I don’t even know how I’m transporting them all to you.”
“Drive them back and forth. How else?” The guy on the other end of the line sounded amused. “Does he have a driver? Housekeeper?”
“No. Just me.”
“Huh.” Given the amount of mystification in the mechanic’s tone, it was clear he was used to having filthy-rich clients with a number of house staff. “All right, what are we looking at?”
I rattled off the makes and models of each vehicle, cringed when he told me he didn’t work with motorcycles, but internally cheered when I realized the Phantom and Wrangler hadn’t been driven often enough to need servicing. I pleaded for twenty minutes before he exasperatedly told me he could try to get three vehicles done by the end of the day, and told me to start with the Maybach. My relief lasted for all of five minutes. Then I realized this involved me driving an extremely expensive car into town on the congested highway.
Chewing on my lower lip, I stared at the Maybach for more time than I had before speed-walking across the enormous property to find Gavin where I’d last seen him. The pool. He was still swimming laps when I got there, wearing nothing but a teeny tiny pair of briefs. His huge arms cut giant swaths through the crystal blue water with each stroke.
“What are you still doing here?”
Lost in the reverie of my panicked thoughts, I’d totally missed that Gavin had climbed out of the pool. He towered above me, dripping all over the stone walkway.
“Um, are you supposed to submerge that thing in water for long periods of time?” I asked, pointing at his ankle monitor. “Because . . .”
“It’s waterproof.”
“Like, shower waterproof or . . . swim-around-in-your-Olympic-sized-pool waterproof?”
Gavin pushed wet hair out of his face. “I’ve worn it while falling asleep in the bath. It’s fine. If it malfunctioned, it’d show up as me fucking with it and the cops would rock up to my gate.”
“Oh.” I stared at it, paranoid. “Are you—”
“What do you want?”
“God, sorry. I just wanted to tell you that I’m about to take the Maybach to get serviced.”
“Okay . . . ?”
“Look, I’m worried about driving it. What if I get in a wreck?”
“I have insurance,” he said, looking at me oddly. “And why would you get in a wreck?”
“Because I’ve never driven a Maybach.”
“It’s just a car. You drove the Altima without a problem, other than apparently pumping molasses into it, if I go by how long you take to come back whenever I send you to do something.”
I ground my teeth together. “The Altima is one thing. I’m just not the most experienced driver, and—”
“You have a license. You told me you could drive.”
“Look, I’m a born-and-raised New Yorker. We don’t really drive. I can get from Point A to Point B, and you’re—”
“So, you’re saying I should hire someone who doesn’t piss themselves at the thought of driving.” At my silence, Gavin ran a hand through his wet hair while pinning me with an impatient death stare. “Right? That’s what you’re saying?”
“No,” I spat out, still gritting my teeth. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Good. Then get it done. And I need some grooming.” Gavin squeezed water out of his hair. “Get a barber to come around.”
“Who—”
“Just find someone.”
We stared at each other, and I wondered if my visible panic was causing me to lose every ounce of credibility I’d struggled to gain in the past few days. Not that I’d gained much. I’d been late every morning, and he’d been giving me his icy glares ever since. I knew he’d ride my ass even harder if he knew the thought of making decisions about the types of people who would enter his house and touch anything from his grass to his hair was giving me an ulcer.
But considering the hostility in his gaze the longer I kept him from his swim, it seemed like a bad time to double-check. Again.
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
Gavin turned away with a mutter, and I retreated to the garage. With no small amount of trepidation, I grabbed the keys to the Maybach and slipped inside. Despite the higher mileage, the interior still smelled like leather. I was almost certain I was the first person to drive it since it’d last been detailed, which meant he had three vehicles he barely drove. Did he just buy this stuff because it was in the Professional-Athlete-and-Newly-Minted-Millionaire manual? Considering he acted like his every belonging was a huge inconvenience, I suspected he had.
I drove to Bianchi’s Imports & Auto Care at a speed of fifteen miles per hour. It was good to see that even amid the land of rich and famous, people were not too hoity-toity to flip me off. No less than four people snarled at me through their windows. I couldn’t hear the cursing, but it was easy enough to read their lips. I did us both the favor of not responding. And when I say “both” I’m referring to me and the poor car. It was a beautiful machine and I was completely unworthy when it came to driving it.
It was almost one in the afternoon once I’d crawled my way through the traffic, and Bianchi’s was packed with import cars. I’d expected a sleek shop with marble floors and mechanics in designer uniforms, so tattooed guys and girls with grease-stained clothes were a welcome sight.
Normal people. My people.
I felt unselfconscious as I staggered into the office with windblown hair, an unkempt button-down—I’d shoved up the sleeves and undone the top couple of buttons hours ago—and an undershirt that was fairly saturated with sweat.