I guess she was right but she didn’t understand that taking things to the next level involved working in a team. The very word “team” made me shudder. Teams are pretty high up on my list of stuff that I wanted to avoid in this life.
It wasn’t like she was actually supporting me either since I’d put in about 20 hours a week between doing housework and admin stuff for their business.
I worked on my current project until late in the night, losing track of the time. I’d run into a particularly buggy bit where the graphic wouldn’t display like I wanted it to. Graphics were not my forte. If I were going to do the team thing, the first thing I’d bring on board would be someone to do that side of things. I knew people online who were graphics whizzes but I could never ask them to get involved in my shit. That would be the way to ruin a friendship and cause huge nightmares.
Instead, I pushed on. Things might not look pretty but I got them to work.
I only stopped when I heard a noise in the kitchen. I figured it was just the old man so I ignored it. Then I heard a massive crash, like plates and things being thrown on the floor. Maybe it was a burglar. A desperate burglar because the house did not look like it’d have anything worth robbing. Then I remembered the paintings in the other rooms. I knew nothing about paintings but maybe they were valuable.
When I thought about it, who knew what kind of valuables were laying around? And old people, they do dumb things like store money under their mattresses.
Hell, I’d left my phone in the kitchen when I’d been working. I’d turned off my music when I went to lunch and then, after reading Grumpy’s note, I hadn’t turned it back on to remind myself.
It was a shit phone but it’d be worth a few bucks at some dodgy pawn shop or for the robber to ring his drug lord connections. No way could I lose that phone. It had important shit on it.
Still, the old man had said to keep out of his way. Just waiting would be my best option. It might a ghost. I’d only jokingly thought the place was haunted but it might be true. Just because there was no actual proof that ghosts existed, didn’t mean this house wasn’t haunted. Ghosts, at least, didn’t steal stuff.
Then I heard an almighty clang, like something being overturned.
If it wasn’t burglars, the old man might be dead. He might’ve had a heart attack and fallen down.
I grabbed a weapon to protect myself and rushed out. Okay, it was only a pencil but that could cause some serious damage if you stabbed someone in the eye. And it was the only thing close at hand.
I threw my door open, hoping it was nothing.
A man stood in the middle of the kitchen who most definitely had to be a burglar. He wore a hoodie and stubble covered half his face. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in a while. He wasn’t a ghost but he was scary.
“Stop right there, buddy,” I said.
I tried to sound tough but my heart pounded like a wild thing. He had a look of desperate danger in his eyes and looked like he hadn’t been outside much. Maybe because he’d been in prison.
He really did seem like he might have killed a man once. Maybe more than once. Bits of broken crockery splayed around his feet – those plates I’d spent all day cleaning.
I lunged at him, even shocking myself with my bravery. I was the head bitch of this house and no low life was stepping on my turf. I’d spent the day cleaning that kitchen and he was NOT going to trash it. The rush of adrenalin overruled my brain. He obviously wasn’t a guy to be messed with but he was near my phone. I had some pretty damn personal stuff on that phone. No way was he stealing it.
As I got close to him, he grabbed my hand and twisted the pencil out of it, then he backed me up against the bench, pressing his body against mine. He had me pinned tight.
I struggled but couldn’t get loose. He hadn’t looked that strong but he had some power in his grip. His body felt like steel against mine, harsh and unyielding. And he towered over me.
I’d die there in that kitchen and no one would even find out until I was just bare bones.
I didn’t know what was going on with his hands. My skin buzzed in a most disturbing way where he touched me. Was it a chemical thing?
I swung my foot and I kicked him really hard in the ankle. He didn’t loosen his grip. He didn’t even react. I was screwed.
Maybe it was really inappropriate in the circumstances but I noticed that despite his ragged, unwashed appearance, he smelt really good. The smell of him tantalised my nose and stirred some of those nerve endings that never, ever stirred in my body. It just wouldn’t do. It might’ve been an age since I’d been that close to a man but I sure as hell wasn’t desperate enough to get turned on by a manky house robber.
“You’ll want to bugger off, buddy. My husband is in the other room and you won’t want to mess with him.” I figured, if he thought there was another man in the house, it might scare him off. Not likely but it was worth a shot. He might not know that I was alone in this house in the middle of nowhere with no one but a feeble old man.
The man chuckled and let go of my arms. For a moment, his face softened and his eyes wrinkled into a smile – just for a split second – until he put the tough guy face back on.
That smile disarmed me, like the zap of an electric fence that makes the fillings in your mouth zing and your body hairs stand on end. He really was one of your better-looking robbers. He had a chiselled face and well-defined jawline. Not to mention, strong eyebrows. He leaned against the bench like he owned the place. I guess robbers could be disarmingly good-looking with a huge measure of arrogance thrown in.
“I’m not kidding.”
I gave him my killer look. The one that was known to make grown men tremble. I hoped. If only I could distract him, I could grab my phone and run. Run where, I had no idea, but I could get away and ring the cops. I wasn’t some hopeless bimbo who’d let him destroy me without a fight.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” He looked me over.
“Huh?”
“I’m your boss and it’d be better in future if you acted more like a housekeeper and less like a pit bull.”
He stepped back and I was suddenly totally aware that I was dressed like a street urchin myself. I hadn’t bothered to get out of my housekeeping sweats and I probably reeked from my hard work.
“You can’t be. He’s 100 years old and crusty. Well… crustier…”
Then it dawned on me. He’d not actually said he was old or decrepit. I’d just assumed that from his emails and the look of the house. I mean, he wrote emails like an old person did. He didn’t even use emoticons.
Well, that explained him acting like he owned the place. Guys like him don’t hole up in rundown old houses though. They are out cruising nightclubs for equally hot chicks to take home and bone. Hot guys are just arrogant jerks who think they can put their dick anywhere they want. Well, not-hot guys are like that too, it’s just that hot guys are more successful at it.
“I can assure you, I am your boss and I am not 100 years old. More like 31. Anyway, you’re supposed to be a middle-aged widow.”
That smile of his threatened to come back but I looked away. I wasn’t ready for that bone marrow-melting zap again.
“We can pretend I am.” I backed away from him.
His hotness wouldn’t work on me. Those startling blue eyes could stare at me all he liked but I was impervious to his panty-wetting hotness. I mean, the hotness that would wet other girl’s panties. My panties were totally dry and unaffected by him…
“What does my age have to do with it anyway?” I asked.
“I don’t want some young redhead who’s all tits and arse doing my housework.” He gave me a suspicious look. “Why did you take this job anyway?”
“What do my looks have to do with my housekeeping ability? I needed a job where I could have peace and quiet. I told you all that in the emails. And I’d rather you ignored my breasts and other parts.”
I assumed he meant I was fat. Which I wasn’t. I just had a l
ot of curves to fit into my tiny frame. I hated people even mentioning my butt. It was soft and cushiony and did everything a butt should do.
I wondered if I should ask him for ID to prove he was my boss. It’d be a good ruse if he was robbing the place. But then how would a random burglar know I’d just started housekeeping?
“Since you defied my orders to stay out of my sight, you can at least tell me where the glasses are. I can’t find them and nearly killed myself looking for them without turning the light on.”
“I threw them out. They were gross.”
He glared at me. “You threw them out? All of them?”
Hell, it wasn’t like they were gold plated or anything. They’d all been so foul, they’d taken manky to a new level. And I’d ordered some more with the groceries. The ones with Nutella inside them.
“They had weird life forms growing on them.”
“They were still good.” He folded his arms.
“They weren’t still good. They would make you sick if you used them.” I folded my arms, mirroring his stance. “Even if I sterilised them and scrubbed the heck out of them. They had those little grooves where the muck gets in and you can’t fully get that out. How the hell did this house get so foul anyway? If you aren’t old and decrepit, you could’ve washed a glass or plate once in a while.”
He stared at me for a moment, then harrumphed and turned away. I noticed he had a tattoo on the inside of his wrist – “Julie” and some numbers that looked like a date.
“I’m not sure if you are going to work out. I might have to rethink this arrangement.”
“Fine. But I want a month’s pay in lieu of notice.” I silently congratulated myself for that one. He couldn’t just chuck me out. I had nowhere to live. My parents would be on that plane to the tropics by now and some stranger was probably sleeping in my bed. My bottom lip trembled a little at the thought of that. Also, I’d pretty much done a month’s worth of cleaning in the one day I’d been there.
“My god, are you getting all teary? I most definitely don’t need a mawkish housekeeper. I bet you are one of those types who think you are all emo and introverted but can’t handle a whole day of your own company. This is definitely not going to work.”
Screw him.
“Fine. You can sack me but good luck getting someone else to agree to live in this backwater. It took me an hour to get here on the bus. It’s not such a good deal that you can get just anyone to take over. And look at this kitchen, will you? I’ve worked like a slave. Who the hell do you think you are, buddy? If you’d not been smashing around down here in the middle of the night, I’d have never come out of my room. I think you’re the one who needs company. Poor little lonely guy.”
The dangerous look came back to his eyes. Maybe I’d stepped on his toes a little. Well, fine. If he was going to get rid of me, I might as well speak my mind. He looked ready to challenge me. If he wanted to have a “who is the most reclusive” competition, he could try. I’d once gone for a full six months only communicating online. If it wasn’t for Mum not answering my emails about the lack of toilet paper, it would’ve been longer.
I had my hands on my hips and I fronted up to him, ready to challenge whatever comeback he had.
He stared back for a moment, fire flashing in his eyes. Then he stepped back as though he decided it wasn’t worth the fight.
“You really had no idea who I was?”
“How could I? It’s not like you attached a picture to your ad. What, you expected to get someone swooning over your good looks? Not going to happen.”
Hell, I’d pretty much just said he was good-looking. Damn it. I mean, he was good-looking but it never did to tell guys you thought that.
He scratched his chin and looked like he was weighing me up.
“You can stay for the moment but, from now on, I don’t want to see you. Okay?”
He stormed off but I went to my room and slammed the door anyway.
If he wanted to keep to himself, he could. I had no longing to ever talk to him again. Jerk.
But, when I tried to sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Even in his anger, his voice had been smooth as honey, rolling over me like a massaging touch. Jerk. And his eyes that flashed and shone. Jerk. Man, I hated good-looking guys. I hated men who had long eyelashes. I really hated men who had cute dimples when they laughed. And nostrils that twitched when they were angry. I hated everything about that man.
He never wanted to see me again? Good. I’d be like a ghost.
O’Malley meant nothing to me when he was a crusty old man and now I realised he wasn’t, my feelings hadn’t changed one iota.
CHAPTER THREE
The front rooms of the house must have been gorgeous once. The house had obviously been renovated in the not too distant past but now the cobwebs and dust threatened to take over. It looked like no one had used those rooms in years. I swept a ton of dead bugs off the floor. As I cleaned, I wondered who’d decorated the house. It couldn’t have been Mr “not so old but still crusty” O’Malley because the house sure didn’t look crusty-style.
Someone had tried to make this place a home, for sure. The furniture was modern but in keeping with the older style of the house. Most of it was still in good condition. Had he been married? Maybe the ex-Mrs O’Malley had run away because she couldn’t put up with his craziness. I wouldn’t have blamed her. He was more than little nuts. Maybe she was the Julie of the wrist tattoo.
From the bay window, I watched the ocean. In the far distance, I could make out a lighthouse. I bet that lighthouse was less isolated than this house. A bench had been built around the window that would make the perfect spot for curling up with a book, especially on a miserable day like this. I wanted to try it out but, when I pushed back the curtain, a cloud of dust rained down on me sending me into a coughing fit.
The curtains would need to be taken down and washed. Good thing I wasn’t asthmatic.
In the study, the walls were lined with bookcases. Sweet, I could get an insight into the mystery that was O’Malley. I ran the duster along the shelves; I’d take the books out later and dust it properly. Most of the titles were classics, the sort of thing you’d study in a literature degree. I wasn’t sure if he was big on that stuff or if it was all for show — like a generic library for display purposes. There were even poetry collections. He probably had all his girlie mags hidden away somewhere. Yep, he definitely seemed more like a girlie magazine kind of guy than someone who seriously read stuff like Percy Shelley. Although maybe broody poets fuelled his angst.
I’d set the alarm on my phone for 12.45. I wasn’t going to risk running into that man again. If it meant I had an extra-long lunch break then that was all the better for me. I packed away all the cleaning stuff and went to my room. Since I didn’t want to get started on any projects that would consume me to the point where I would forget to get back to work, I just surfed the net for a while.
I’d actually had a few downloads of my apps. That made me grin. I might not make a lot of money but the few people who actually found my stuff really loved it and left great reviews. That was the best. Much better than stinky money, but then you couldn’t buy food or pay rent with reviews. That was the problem with this world, I guess.
I had an email from Mum telling me they’d arrived safely in Bali and that she had uploaded a bunch of photos to Facebook. I hated Facebook so much that I didn’t have an account. I mean, what’s the point of it? Just so people would send me invitations to play Candy Crush or do stupid quizzes. Well, okay, the stupid quizzes might be fun and I had to play Candy Crush, mostly for research purposes. But people from high school and other traumatic life events could hunt you down and try to send you friend requests. I didn’t like people just getting in touch with me out of the blue. If I’d wanted to keep in touch, I would. There weren’t many people from any of my high schools I wanted to hear from ever again and I sure as hell didn’t want to connect with them just so they could boost their friend num
bers.
Mum’s photos weren’t locked though and I could get on and see them without an account. Which was totally irresponsible of her since there were pics of her in her bikini! Did she realise that any pervert freak on the internet could download those photos and add them to his spank bank? I’d have to warn her about that. Shit, there was even one with Dad in Speedos in the background. My parents were not right.
I’d not had time to check all my usual sites when I heard a knock on the kitchen door. It had to be the grocery delivery. I’d told them to come to the back door since it’d be easier to let them in and the guy wouldn’t have to lug bags all through the house. No one else would be coming to the house anyway. I must’ve lost track of the time despite my best efforts. Damnation.
I jumped up to let the delivery guy in, excited about the arrival of food. Mainly about the snack foods.
The guy gave me a look when I opened the door. I wanted to explain that the decay and bad smells weren’t caused by me and I was doing my best to eradicate them but I didn’t feel like I owed him any kind of justification.
“Just leave the stuff near the fridge,” I said.
I left the room because I didn’t want to make idle chitchat with the man but, when I came back in, he hovered around.
“You need to sign,” he said.
Yeah, I did. I’d forgotten that. He handed me one of those gadgets with the stylus pen then printed off a receipt. I’d put that somewhere handy for Crankypants O’Malley so he could see I hadn’t ripped him off for the food. Sure, I’d ordered a bunch of stuff for myself, like some big packets of M&Ms and Tim Tams. I’d have to clarify if the room and board part of the deal included extras like that or how we’d deal with it. Maybe he could just take the money off my wage.
I ran to my room to get a highlighter pen so I could mark my personal items. Hell, what would I do when I needed to buy tampons and shit?
“What is going on here?”
That cranky voice echoed through the kitchen. I looked up to see O’Malley, still in the hoodie from the night before, looking as scruffy and burglar-like as ever. His face was gaunt but hell, he had the cheekbones to pull it off.
Rock You (Fallen Star Book 1) Page 2