Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,4
chin, putting her at about five-two in her ballet flats. My mind quickly calculates how we’d fit together in bed, in the shower, against the wall. Complex calculations are more Connor’s thing, but this kind of assessment I can more than handle. It doesn’t take an actuary to figure out how fucking good it would be with her, wherever, whenever, however.
“So the richer the customer, the more you gouge him?” I ask. “Doesn’t sound like a smart business model.”
She glares at me like she can read my dirty thoughts. Which is impossible, of course. But even if she were the Long Island Medium, I’m not going to feel guilty. Any red-blooded male who found her in the middle of his living room on her hands and knees, her J.Lo booty undulating like she’s starring in a hip-hop video, would be thinking the same damn thing.
“I don’t gouge my customers, Mr. Lawson,” she says all stiff and formal, and fuck if that doesn’t turn me on even more. My filthy mind goes down a dom/sub wormhole, and I’m not sure which fantasy is hotter, her standing over me in leather and latex or me with her blindfolded and bound, at my mercy. It takes me a second to realize she’s still talking. “I’m good at what I do. I’m prompt, reliable and discrete when called for. My clients appreciate what I have to offer, and they’re willing to pay top dollar for it.”
She bends down to pick up the pot, which draws my eyes back to her butt. I’ve never considered myself an ass man—boobs have always been my personal kryptonite—but for this girl, I could change. Not that her tits are bad, either. From what I can see under her T-shirt, they’re pert perfect handfuls, not too big and not too small. Like in that bedtime story with the three bears—hers are just right.
She breezes past me to the kitchen area. Naturally, I follow, like she’s the Pied fucking Piper and I’m a rat, under her spell.
“I suppose you’ll expect extra for working after hours,” I say, leaning against the counter.
Christ. Why did every word out of my mouth sound like I was in a low-budget porno?
“No.” She dumps the soapy water into the sink and rinses the sponge. “My fee is negotiated up front. I never charge overtime unless agreed upon in advance. I only stopped by tonight because your sister texted me that your flight was delayed. She was worried about Roscoe being alone for so long. With good reason, it turned out. But now that you’re here, you can finish up.”
“Finish up?”
“Your dog peed on the rug. I soaked it up with paper towels and used dish soap to clean it. This should help neutralize the ammonia.”
She fills the pot with fresh water and adds a splash of vinegar. Where the hell did she find that? I feel a little violated knowing she’s been through my cabinets. Not that I’ve ever really been through them. It’s not like I do much cooking, and what little I do need my once-a-week housekeeper makes sure to stock.
“He’s not my...”
“Save it.” She cuts me off, tossing the sponge back into the pot and shoving the whole thing at my chest. I have no choice but to take it, warm water sloshing onto my Henley. “I know. He’s not your dog. But he’s your responsibility for the next three months. Which means you’re on cleanup duty.”
“I don’t know.” I scrub a hand through my hair and fight back a yawn. The adrenalin of walking in on my sexy pet sitter—correction, executive concierge—is starting to wear off and the fatigue of flight delays, a packed plane and what had to be the slowest Uber driver in the tristate area is settling in. “It seems to me if you had walked him like you were supposed to, he wouldn’t be peeing on my Persian rug. Which, in a way, makes it your responsibility.”
“Two times a day,” she says, holding up two fingers in case I’m a slow learner and need visual reinforcement. “That was my agreement with your sister. I walked him this morning at eight and this afternoon at four.”
“Hey, I couldn’t help it if my flight had mechanical trouble.”
“I know.” She grabs a denim jacket from one of the high-backed stools flanking the kitchen island and shrugs it on. “That’s why I rushed over here when I got your sister’s text. This was your one freebie. In the future, I’d appreciate