Clancy’s lips finally tilt into a grin. She rolls her eyes, stands up, and gives me a little wave. “I’ll see you later.”
“Stay out of trouble, Clancy.”
Her eyes just sparkle in response. Grant and Fiona will have their hands full for at least a few years with that girl. When the door closes and I’m alone again, I turn back to the explosion of clothes in my living room. With a deep sigh, I get to work.
Might as well get this over with and send most of this stuff to charity. Time to let go.
As I put my old evening gowns into big bags, saying goodbye to each of them, my thoughts drift to Wesley. His family is probably the same type of people as Nate’s. I’m glad I’m just the maid, because I don’t ever want to feel the way I did when I was Nate’s wife—like I wasn’t my own person, like all my worth was derived from Nate’s success.
Everything will be fine. It’s just a week at Wes’s house with him and his family. I can stay out of the way, silent and smiling with a feather duster in hand. A week in the lion’s den. I was married to Nate for eleven years—I can do seven days.
Right?
4
Wesley
Simone glances up and down the street before hurrying out her door, hauling a huge box of cleaning supplies into the bed of my truck.
I arch a brow. “Are you that worried someone will see you?”
“I never told the girls how I convinced you to let us use the café space. I don’t intend to tell them now.”
“Why not?”
“Fiona would feel guilty. I’d never hear the end of it.” She rushes over to the passenger door and slides in. She slumps down in the seat, glancing in the side mirror before scanning the street. You’d think she was going into witness protection.
“You’re that worried about Fiona feeling bad?” I start the car and listen to Simone let out a relieved breath as I drive onto a side street.
“Fiona needed a fresh start. She came here and found happiness, and if she knew I’d made this ridiculous deal with you, I wouldn’t be able to handle the look on her face. She deserves to be happy, and I don’t want to saddle her with any guilt. Her ex-husband did enough damage. Plus, word would get out and someone in town would definitely slip up and tell your uncle all about this little arrangement. How would your uncle react if he knew you didn’t actually have staff? I’m sure he’d think less of you.”
I chew my lip. She’s withholding information from Fiona in order to save her friend from guilt. Simone has a big heart—I wonder what I’d have to do to earn that kind of loyalty from her. “Don’t you think lying to Fiona would cause just as much damage, though?”
“You know what? Take your logic and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
My lips tug into a grin and I drive toward the coast. In order to get to my property by car, I need to do a large loop around Heart’s Cove. As soon as we get away from the busy parts of town, Simone relaxes and sits up in her seat. We drive in silence until I pass the driveway leading to my grandfather’s cabin, where Simone and I first met.
“You missed it.” Simone points to the driveway behind us.
“We’re going to my parents’ house.”
“There’s another house?” She leans forward, searching the thick forest.
“Did you really think my uncle, his girlfriend, and I would be sleeping in that one-bedroom cabin?”
Simone doesn’t answer.
I take the next turn. The drive to my childhood home is winding, the gravel road snaking around trees big enough it’d take two people to reach all the way around their trunks. Old growth. Old memories. I haven’t driven here in months. The last time I was here was after my father’s funeral. Dorothy organized a caterer and had everyone come over to the house, and I just sat in the corner, catatonic. After everyone left, Dorothy and Margaret cleaned up and fawned over me like I was their son, then they too walked out the door. I got in my truck and drove to the cabin.
Being in that house is too painful. I lost both my parents within six months of each other, and I never got to tell them the truth about myself. I never admitted to all my failures, and they went to the grave thinking I was someone I’m not. I regret it every day. I don’t deserve this house. I don’t deserve the money in the trust. I don’t deserve any of it, and I just want to savor this year and a half before I get what I do deserve—nothing.
Simone sucks in a breath when the house comes into view. It’s not huge, but it sits so naturally in a small clearing it looks like it sprouted from the ground. Deep, forest-green siding and a cedar shingle roof, an A-frame design, and windows large enough to see straight through the house to the ocean.
“Wesley Byron,” Simone whispers, eyes wide. “This place is like a woodland fairy castle. You grew up here?”
I grunt. My throat is too tight to say anything.
Parking the truck, I grab Simone’s cleaning supplies and lead her to the front door.
Simone’s eyes are glued to the huge windows on the far end of the house. She weaves through the living room, past the huge stone fireplace, through the massive kitchen, over to the dining area on the far end of the house. She stands in front of the windows that look out on the patio, watching the sun setting over the ocean, her face the picture of awe.
Turning to face me, she arches her brows. “I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Why your uncle would want this place. Why you’re so sad about giving it up.”
I freeze. She could tell how much this place meant to me from the two or three sentences I said about it?
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “My room is upstairs. My uncle will be staying down here.” I point to the guest bedroom near the front of the house. It has its own bathroom and enough privacy that I won’t have to hear him and his girlfriend doing anything…private. “No one’s staying in the master. No need for you to clean it or go in there at all.” It’s full of my parents’ things, and I don’t want anyone setting foot in there. Judging by the nod Simone gives me, she understands that without me having to say it.
“Got it.” Simone turns away from me, putting one hand on her waist and the other on her forehead. Yoga pants cling to her legs and ass, and her feet are clad in flat sandals with two white straps. Her toes are painted green.
I look away, cursing myself for noticing. This is a business arrangement. Who cares what she’s wearing or what color her toes are? She’s the maid.
We walk back through the kitchen, where Simone runs her fingers over the marble countertops, admiring the huge gas range and massive stainless steel fridge. This house might be small, but it’s packed with top-of-the-line finishes. My parents worked their whole life to build their wealth, and I’d hoped to do the same. I wanted to make something of myself. Do them proud.
That didn’t happen.
I walk ahead of Simone, leaving her cleaning supplies on the kitchen counter, and I gesture for her to follow me up the timber steps to the second floor. Ignoring the master bedroom to the left, I turn right. My room.
Simone steps through the door and glances around. Queen bed pushed into the corner, a two-seater couch on the other end of the room with an old TV on the opposite wall, small walk-in closet, bedside table, and a lamp. Just the way I left it when I moved out.
“Well, you certainly have a style.” Simone arches an eyebrow, grinning. “Utilitarian bachelor.” She sweeps her hands in an arc for emphasis.
I grunt, heading back downstairs. When we make it to the kitchen, I rap my knuckles on the countertop. “You can start doing a general clean. It’s pretty tidy, but we need to make it look like I’ve been living here the whole time. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
She tilts her head. “You don’t want your uncle to know you’ve been staying in the cabin? Why?”
Because he’ll gloat. He’ll tell me he doesn’t want to wait eighteen months. He’ll push and push until I either snap or let him move into this house early.
I jus
t need time. Time to come to terms with Mom and Dad’s death, time to say goodbye.
“I’ll go grab my things from the cabin.”
By the time I get my bag from the cabin and stop in town for groceries, I come back to see Simone wiping down the countertops in the kitchen. She has a bottle of wine open and two glasses poured.
“You’ve made yourself at home.” I put grocery bags on the counter, my side brushing against hers. My chest compresses, and I’m not sure why. Is it being here, or seeing someone else in this space?
“Perks of the job.” She gives me a mischievous smile. “Or were you not serious when you said to help myself to whatever I need?”
“You need wine?”
Simone frowns. “Is that a serious question?” She pats my bicep and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Silly boy.”
I stare at the touch, trying to ignore the heat of her hand through my shirt.
Simone doesn’t even seem to notice; she looks at the bags of food and starts unpacking the groceries. Opening the refrigerator and keeping it propped against her hip, she gets to work putting things away like she’s lived here for years.
That’s a good thing, I guess. It’ll make it easier for her to do her job.
Still, I curl my hands into fists and try to stop myself from saying something rude. All I want to do is leave this house, run away, lock it up, and never come back. Instead, I grab the wine and take a sip.
Simone glances at me over her shoulder and grins. “See? Better.”
I look at the glass in my hands and let my shoulders drop. “Better,” I agree.
Being in this house makes me want to peel my skin off. This is where I grew up. Where my parents tried to shape me into a man worthy of their love. It’s where I came back to care for them for the last few weeks of their lives, and didn’t have the guts to mention how I’d come up short of their expectations. I’m a dud. I failed. Couldn’t get my business off the ground, couldn’t convince my fiancée to marry me, couldn’t make anything of myself.
I’m almost glad they put that stupid clause on the trust. If I’d inherited all this, I would’ve felt like an even bigger ass for not telling them about my failures.
“Earth to Scowly McGrumperson,” Simone sing-songs, reaching for her wine. “You look like you’re about to hurl.”
I grab the non-perishables and start putting them in the pantry. “I was just thinking of my parents.”
“Here.” She extends the bottle of wine toward me and holds out her hand for my glass. “A top-up will help.”
Her fingers brush mine when I hand her the glass, and a pulse of heat rushes through my arm. First my bicep, now my fingers. Everywhere she touches almost burns. Taking the glass back to gulp down a swig of wine, I nod. “Yeah. Helps.”
Her grin electrifies me. She nods. “Right. Now, are you going to tell me what to expect from this week, or am I supposed to just go with the flow?” She tilts her face, the big messy bun of red hair like a live flame atop her head.
“My uncle is coming to visit. He’s bringing his girlfriend.”
“And I just smile with a feather duster in my hand?” She arches a brow.
“What else do you want to know?”
“How can I make this easier for you? Duh.” Simone shakes her head as if it’s obvious she’d want to help me.
I stare at her like she just sprouted another head. I hadn’t considered her helping me. I just thought she could clear the table and make sure the house stays tidy.
Simone takes a deep breath. “Right. Okay. What about his girlfriend?”
“What about her?”
“What’s her story?”
I shrug. “I’ve never met her. My uncle owns a chain of sporting goods stores. He did really well for himself, and he usually attracts younger women who like the finer things in life.”
“Gold diggers.”
I nod. “I don’t see why that would have changed, so I’m expecting someone who fits that mold.” My voice sounds bitter, even to my ears. Thinking of gold diggers inevitably reminds me of my ex-fiancée, Alina. She treated me like a king when I started my business. When investors signed on and things were looking promising, she fawned over me like no one had before. We were going to be rich together. She’d be by my side forever.
Then it all fell apart, and she dropped me so fast it took me weeks to realize it was really over.
That’s exactly the type of woman my uncle attracts. She’ll walk into this house and catalogue every square inch of it with a discerning eye, evaluating everything in here by some fucked-up parameters of wealth and status. I’m not looking forward to it.
Simone chews her lip. “My ex-husband was a successful businessman, too. I’ve traveled in those circles. I don’t envy you this week.” She gives me a sad smile.
She’s traveled in those circles? So…is that what she’s looking for in a man? Someone to provide?
“All right, give me a tour. I want to know where everything is so I can pretend to be a qualified employee of the house. This is my domain.” She sweeps her hands as she says the last words, dropping her voice as she does it. Then she giggles.
God, she’s cute.
Kill me now. This was a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.
My uncle won’t believe she’s a professional cleaner for a second. He’ll be like a shark scenting a drop of blood in the ocean and unravel this whole charade within minutes. He’ll see this place, see the cabin, and know I can’t even stand to be here. With my luck, he’ll weasel his way into my mind and convince me to give up my right to the trust before I even turn forty-five.
Simone hunts through the cupboards until she finds a feather duster. She whirls, brandishing it at me like a magic wand. “Ah-ha! Found it.” With a wine glass in one hand and the duster in the other, she starts moving through the living room. She leans down to look at a few photos of my childhood, dusts them, and moves on.
I didn’t expect Simone to be so…comfortable. I feel like I’m preparing for a week of daily root canals, but she just waltzed in here like she owns the place. Frustration winds through my core as Simone’s red hair disappears around a corner, and all I can do is grab my glass of wine and follow.
“This is the guest room for your uncle and his partner?” Simone looks around the room. It’s a good size with big windows looking out onto the forest. There’s an attached walk-in closet and en-suite bathroom. It smells a bit stale, but that’s to be expected from a house that’s been closed up for months.
I grunt.
Simone purses her lips. “We should freshen this place up. They’ll be judging me when they walk in here.”
“It’s my house.”
She waves a hand. “But it’ll be me they’ll judge. Trust me. The condition of the house will be a reflection of my suitability as your employee. Then, when they judge me, they’ll pass that judgment onto you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I didn’t say it made sense.” She drains her glass and extends her other hand.
I stare at it. “What?”
“Keys. I’ve only had one glass of wine, I’m fine to drive.”
“Where are you going?”
“I quit. I’m not doing this. I’m going to take your truck and drive myself home.”
I flinch as if she just slapped me across the face.
Simone just laughs. “I’m kidding. I’m going to buy some new sheets and bring some smelly candles. This place will look like a luxury hotel by the time I’m done.”
“The room is fine.”
“Wes, trust me. This isn’t good enough.” The way she says it makes me pause, and I find myself reaching into my pocket to take my keys out. She flashes a feral grin and plucks them from my fingers. “Good boy.”
Good boy? Anger flashes through me. “You seem very sure of yourself.”
“I’ve dealt with your kind of people for many years, Wes.”
“My kind of people?”
“Men with money. The kin
d who expect women to fawn over them just because they have a few zeroes in their bank accounts.” Her eyes meet mine, two shards of ice. Men like you, she seems to be saying.
“You seem to think you know me.” For some reason it bothers me that she’s painting me with the same brush as my uncle. Yeah, my family has money. But I’m not like that.
“I just know the type. I’ll be back in an hour. You should give that bathroom a clean while I’m gone.”
“Ordering me around now, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m starting to think I got the raw end of the deal. Working with you is going to be hell.”
“For, Simone. Working for me.”
“Potato, po-tah-to. Still think I got screwed here.”
“It’s only a week.”
“Time is relative, Wes.” She hands me her empty glass and glides toward the front door.
As she slings her purse over her shoulder, I watch her walk away, moving to the window to keep my eyes on her. I can’t help myself. That little purse bounces off the swell of her hips with every step. Her top is loose, but when she turns toward the truck, it snags in her strap and clings to every curve. I stand very, very still, watching Simone slide into my truck like she owns it. Her eyes gleam, that wild mane of hair not quite tamed in a messy bun.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Not in a rich heiress kind of way. Not in the perfectly groomed, nipped and tucked way of women I’ve been with before. Simone is barely contained energy. She’s wild and feral and she makes me want to tear every strip of clothing off her with my teeth, just to hear her gasp beneath me.
Being around her makes me think of sex. Sweaty, hot sex with someone who’d enjoy it as much as I would, who wouldn’t be worried about what she looks like or what I think, she’d just want and need and burn. It makes me think of nails carving red lines along my skin, of lips dropped open with silent screams. Simone doesn’t have a generic kind of beauty—objectively speaking, her eyes might be too big for her face, hair too wild, bottom lip a little too fun compared to the top one—but it’s the sum of all her features together that makes her stunning, almost otherworldly. She has sharp, intelligent eyes that miss nothing and promise mischief. Easy confidence with a sharp tongue. I can’t help but look at her and think of taking her to bed. Sex with Simone would be really, really good.
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 4