“Are you that invested in me getting swole?”
He made a face. “Don’t say ‘swole.’ You sound like an asshole. And no. You’re good the way you are.”
I was good or I looked good? The difference in those two were endless.
“But we’ll have every night together soon. May as well put it to good use.”
Getting sweaty with Gavin every night for six months was not what I’d call good use if we were doing it in the weight room. And holy shit, I needed to stop lusting after him. STAT. Although, I’d spoken about this with Jasmine and we’d concluded it was okay if his hot-and-cold ass never caught on to the fact that I was superficial enough to ogle his abs.
“Speaking of nights, I just got off the phone with Joe. I read the contract.”
Gavin’s movements slowed as he dried himself. His face went serious. “You got a problem with it?”
“No. I agreed.”
“To staying here?”
“Yes. You knew I couldn’t say no to that bonus.”
“Yeah, I did know. Is that a problem?”
“No. I could use the money even if it means being trapped in this castle for the next six months. But we need some ground rules.”
He’d been giving me that ultra narrow-eyed side eye, but now his mouth twitched again. “You have some big balls on you. I threw thousands just to get your ass to not show up late, and you’re still trying to give me orders.”
My face grew warm, but I didn’t back down. “I guess you could say that after the experience with my last boss, I’m trying to make sure I protect myself. Even if that means hard-nosed bargaining with filthy rich athletes and their managers.”
He sobered. “Gotcha. Spit it out.”
“Okay. If I’m going to be staying here, I want you to know that my job still ends at a reasonable hour.”
“It says that in—”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you won’t start sending me out at, like, eleven o’clock for random items. Condoms, ice cream, I have no idea, Gavin. Also? No more harassing me about my personal life.”
“I told you. I’m not being serious.”
“You did, but if you start actually trying to intimidate me whenever you get into one of your moods, no amount of money in the world will make me stay. I already had reservations about this job after our first interview, and the way you got in my face. If that happens again, I’m out.”
His face was unreadable, but this time there was no immediate defense or denial.
“I need a verbal agreement,” I said. “I know you probably think I’m being dramatic, but I’ve been in shitty situations in the past, and you have a lot of power in this arrangement. Over me.” When he maintained his silence, I sighed. “Please, Gavin. I just want to feel safe.”
Gavin’s unflappable countenance shifted with a slight bowing of his brows and a press of those pillowy lips. “You are safe. I won’t lose my temper with you. I swear.” He cleared his throat, the twin golden rays of his eyes flicking away in a manner that was almost guilty. “And I’m not used to having power over myself, let alone anyone else, so I didn’t think about it that way before. I’m sorry.”
I nearly passed out. “Accepted. Oh, that reminds me—your therapist—”
“No.”
“—is coming at four o’clock. Do you want me to be here when she arrives or is there anything you need me to take care of before I go home? I need to pack.”
“I don’t want to deal with a therapist today, Noah.”
“Oh, well. It’s happening.” I pointed to my watch. “Do you need me here or to run any errands? If you forget something, I can ask Joe if he can come by. He has a key.”
Gavin crossed his arms over his chest and managed to look adorably petulant and stormy. “Do not send Joe over here. I’ll take care of myself if I need anything.”
“How?”
“Deliveries?”
Unconvinced, I nodded. Unless there was a secret database full of door-to-door delivery service for rich folks in the Hamptons, which there likely was, he was going to be without.
“Well if you forget something, make a list and I’ll get it first thing tomorrow. Just leave it on the counter with the cash.”
“I’ll leave my black card. I already had you added as an authorized user.”
My eyebrows flew up. “When did you do that?”
“I dunno. Last week?”
I pursed my lips, and wondered if I’d ever been on a probationary period, or if he’d been planning to hire me all along. The likely answer was that he’d probably just wanted to make me sweat for the past two weeks. And he had.
It was tempting to tell him what an ass he was, but given my contract and my bonus, my mouth stayed shut. If we were going to be holed up together for the next few months, I’d have to start learning how to hold my tongue.
I started for the door but Joe’s words came back to me, and I hesitated.
“Gavin?”
He’d already repositioned himself on the bench, but glanced over at me. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to tell you about something else Joe said. About what he wants me to do.”
Gavin leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “And what’s that?”
“He . . .”
Gavin waved an encouraging hand with a smartass look on his face. I scowled.
“He wanted me to let him know if you’re doing anything that might put your reputation at risk. Hanging out with shady people or something. I told him I wouldn’t spy on you, and he let it drop, so I think it really was out of concern but . . . yeah.”
Gavin didn’t move from his position, and his expression didn’t change. He didn’t even look surprised. After a beat, he shook his head and settled back on the bench with his muscular thighs spread.
“I appreciate you letting me know.”
I nearly fell over in relief and said, while hurrying towards the door, “No problem.”
“Noah.”
I paused midstep.
“Just so you know, there are cameras all over the house. I put them there just in case you’re an untrustworthy asshole.”
“And now you know I’m not?”
Gavin lifted a bar with more weight than I could ever lift.
“Something like that.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be exasperated, but it was a step in the right direction.
Chapter Eight
Noah
“Anyone ever tell you that you look like Clark Kent?”
The question was a reminder as to why I should have listened to my instincts and made tracks out the door as soon as Gavin had told me his “boys” would be spending their off day at the mansion. His boys being the quarterback and running back of the Barons—Simeon Boudreaux and Marcus Hendricks. They were so famous, even I knew their names. I’d bought Jasmine a limited-edition Hendricks “22” jersey for Christmas one year, for Chrissakes.
“C’mon,” Simeon cajoled. “Have they?”