All day long at the office, I found myself chugging water and excusing myself to refill my glass. Could feeling this bothered all day really dehydrate me that badly, or was it psychosomatic? Maybe it is the latter, but tell that to my damp, flimsy undies.
Now, looking around my home, it appears so spotless that it looks like things are missing.
Luke standing there shirtless might not be a problem for a normal person, but for me, a woman who’s been entertaining wicked thoughts all day, it’s a big problem. A big, rugged, sweet and ridiculously sexy problem. And then there’s the fact that his sweatpants have fallen slightly lower than what might be considered decent. I can see the shadow right above where his ass crack begins.
Dammit this man is going to make my knees buckle if he gets any hotter.
As I approach, I see Luke is at the linen closet next to the doors that lead to the backyard. He’s reorganizing my beach towels.
He turns when he hears my heels on the tile.
“Hi! Welcome home. I know I’m not supposed to still be here, but I just got in the zone and, well, I just thought I’d help you streamline a few things.”
“It’s ten o’clock at night,” I say breathlessly.
My eyes pop wide when I see the inside of the linen closet. Gone is my backup stash of unopened makeup. All I see are beach towels, sunscreens and all things pool related.
“Where’s my makeup? And where did you get that basket?” I ask, pointing to a reed basket that looks like the one I keep next to my bed.
“Oh,” he says, smiling, not yet picking up on the annoyance in my voice. “I put away those shoes in your upstairs closet and I put the basket down here.”
I nod, not smiling. “To streamline it,” I say.
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“You’re not happy with me, are you?”
I bite my lip, worrying what other damage he may have done to my methodical madness. “I’m not unhappy. I’m cautiously optimistic and curious.”
He closes the linen closet door and says, “Why don’t you take off those shoes, and I’ll make you some tea. Then I’ll show you what else I did.”
Again, he’s being assertive with me. Once again, I do not hate it.
Moments later, we’re sitting down for tea and he explains. “I know you’re not going to like this, but the truth is, I got tired of moving all your stuff around to clean, so I decided you need a system.”
I gape at him. He moved my things. “I have a system. Books are the system.”
“A lot of books. But also a lot of clothes, shoes, paper. So much paper.”
I shift uneasily in my chair. “Like I said, I have a system, and I don’t need an organizer. I just need someone to clean my house.”
Luke shakes his head and removes his ball cap. He has a line in his dark curly hair, giving me the urge to reach over and run my fingers through it until he doesn’t have hat head anymore. “You do need an organizer.”
I grin as I lift my teacup to my lips. “That’s not what I'm paying you to do. I’m paying you to clean.”
“I will do it for free. And all I ask from you is a good reference.”
This makes zero sense. “Why would you want to reorganize my entire house for free? That would take days.”
“Weeks.”
“Very funny.”
Luke arches an eyebrow at me and I can’t tell if he’s serious or if he’s joking.
I draw myself up to my fullest height. “I couldn’t possibly allow someone to work for me for free. It’s immoral and also makes for really bad optics. I didn’t get to where I am by mistreating my workers.”
He laughs. And now I’m annoyed. “Fine,” he says. “Then look at it as a housekeeper who comes every day. I could do a better job of that if this place were organized. And frankly I think you’d be a lot happier and at peace—”
“At peace?”
He nods. “Mentally calm. Relaxed. If you had a tidier space.”
We stare at each other for a second, and I can’t tell if I’m still into him or if he’s now just become my mortal enemy by touching all my shit.
“I have my own ways of relaxing,” I say in a breathy voice. My heart races thinking about what I’m going to do to relax as soon as he leaves, to help get that body and those thick thighs of his out of my head.
“I have no doubt about that,” he replies with a mischievous grin.
“Wait, you didn’t go through my bedroom drawers, did you?” Panic grips me for a brief moment.
He shakes his head and puts up his hands. “God, no. I’m not a creep. I was talking about your library, with its stacks of books haphazardly thrown everywhere. Your tea cabinet looked like a spider monkey had been in it—there’s no separation of breakfast teas and herbal tea. Your lap blankets and slippers were askew all over the floor and the fireplace looks like it’s been dormant for 100 years. That is chaos, not a recipe for relaxation. Follow me.”
I don’t bother to point out that it’s southern California; obviously the fireplace isn’t used all that often. Instead I silently follow Luke to the line of custom cabinets. Where boxes used to be stacked on top of each other with no rhyme or reason—not that it bothered me before—now the boxes are sorted with clear delineations, which Luke eagerly explains. “Here are the black, white and green teas. And over here are the herbal remedies.”
“Where’s my Sleepytime?”
He points to an entire section of teas with chamomile and lavender.
I acquiesce grudgingly, my arms again crossing under my breasts. “Thank you. That…does seem easier.”
My gratitude seems to bolster his upbeat mood even more.
“I mean, if you want me to organize your lingerie drawer, I can.”
“Sir!”
“I apologize,” he says with a hint of a crooked smile he’s trying and failing to contain. “I didn’t see anything; that was just an assumption. I have no reason to assume you don’t take care of your underthings.”
A laugh escapes me despite myself. How am I not firing him on the spot? “Can we talk about something not related to my underwear?”
He smiles. “Fine, let’s talk about donating some of your books, then.”
I don’t hesitate, I just point toward the front door. “Get out!”
Chapter Five
Luke
“Excuse me?”
“Here,” she says, reaching into her bag and taking out a wad of cash.
She’s mad. I can’t accept a tip. “That won’t be necessary. I can just go.”
She shakes her head and counts out the bills while muttering, “Please don’t make me short you just because I’m an emotional mess. I know you must be making only a little over minimum wage. And the house is clean, I’ll give you that.”
She hands it over. “So, thank you, Luke.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to go. “I feel like I’ve done the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. But it seems to me you don’t just need a housekeeper, you need a whole house organizer.”
Her lips twist. In a valiant attempt at sarcasm, she hollers, “Yes, please insult me while I’m tipping you! That’s a surefire way to get a good review online.” Still, it’s clear to me she’s not typically given to acerbic comebacks.