“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I fire back at him. “Or is this the part where you pretend to sound superior, knowledgeable, and like some stupid wise owl?” Liam grins, showing his vibrantly white teeth as he hoists himself up onto the kitchen table. “Do you have a loose screw or something?”
His lips pucker into the form of an “o” as his dark brows cast a shadow over his sharp emerald eyes. “Is that all you got?”
“What’s your problem?” I snap, throwing my hands down by my side. The paper I’ve been holding crinkles in my grip, and I realize how enraged I am when I loosen my fingers and the balled-up note drops to the ground.
“The last nanny made it ten days. The one before, six, and the one before that, eight,” he says.
“Well,” I say, flapping my hand at him. “I’m sure I can understand why, seeing as you were most likely a complete asshole to them too.” My head falls to the side, and I cross my arms over my chest, giving Liam a long, hard look. What could he say now?
“You don’t understand anything,” he snickers and hops down from the table.
“So you hang around all day, clean the house, fold laundry, and cook meals, right?”
He nudges me out of the way as he takes over the counter space I was leaning against and grabs the muffin tin. “That’s all I do. I prance around this house in a maid’s uniform with a feather duster,” he scoffs. “God, you’re all the same.”
I create some space between us, moving over to the kitchen table. “Ohhh, okay, I get it. You were in love with one of the nannies and she left you high and dry, breaking your poor weak heart. Is that it?” The first half of my question came out cynically, but as I came to the end of my assumption, I assured myself I hit a nerve. I’m totally right.
Except, who am I to judge a weak heart? I’ve written off men for the past year because of what Andy did to me. Lousy son of a bitch.
Liam didn’t take another jab at me like I assumed he would, which is worse because now I just feel like a jerk.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, painfully.
“For what?” he rebuts quickly.
“What I just said?” I’m looking at his back as if he has two heads. I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m apologizing for, so I can assume he just wants me to grovel now. Nope.
“Whatever,” he says, turning the sink on high.
“And for your information, I plan to last longer than ten days, so you better get used to me being here.”
“Great, well then, there’s one thing I should make real clear right now.”
He turns the sink off, twists around, and leans back against the counter. “You clean up after yourself. I don’t do your dishes, your laundry, or make your bed. Got it?” It’s not like I asked for this or insinuated it. Why would he assume I’d expect something like that? Unless the previous nannies did. Maybe that’s what has his feathers so ruffled. I almost laugh at my own joke, but he still looks pretty ticked off, so I keep it to myself.
“Fine, got it. So, you’re not my manservant, you’re only Samantha’s. Point made.”
Liam’s eyes widen. Actually, they look like they might pop out of his head. “Excuse me?” I shrug and prance out of the kitchen. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” I don’t plan to stop as I head back up the stairs toward my room. “Did you just call me a manservant?”
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairwell, yelling up to me. As much as I’d like to encourage his anger, I continue walking until I reach my room. “Yes, that is what I called you,” I say as I close my door. Ha! I had the final word. That’s what you get for being a jerk. He is kind of a manservant. I believe it’s the male terminology for maid, and well, men still call women cleaners maids. So, there you go.
As I sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed, I realize my bags are all in my car, and I’m going to have to lug them up here one by one, past the manservant who is probably trying to find a way to get me fired as I sit here. I’m going to ignore him. I’m a grown woman, and I know how to ignore annoying men, no matter how unpleasant looking they are with their stupid, messy, light caramel hair and piercing eyes. Not to mention that gross tan and those big, ugly muscles that are about to tear through his tight t-shirt the next time he gets mad. God, he’s a mess.
I’m not sure how long I can tap my foot against the side of the bed before I pull up my big girl pants and head back out there. Maybe he’s gone.
I open the door slowly, hoping to avoid any noise. I don’t hear anything downstairs, so maybe I’ve lucked out and he left.
Jogging down the steps, I keep my focus pinned on the front door. Why do I care what he could say to me? It’s not like I know him. He’s the one being an asshole, so where’s my self-confidence? I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl.
I’m four steps from the bottom when his voice booms from the open living room that looks up at the stairwell. “Forget something?” he asks.
Being that I was so focused on the door and retrieving my belongings, he scared the shit out of me, and I stumble down three steps, landing directly on my butt. Shit. I hit the last step so hard; the wind in my lungs feels like it’s been sucked out of my body.
I’m just going to pretend my ankle isn’t throbbing and my ass bone doesn’t feel broken. I grip the railing to pull myself up, but shockingly, Liam grabs my arm and helps me up. He’s laughing, which is a real jackass move considering he doesn’t know if I’m okay, and it was kinda his fault that I fell, but it’s not like I should have expected much else from him. I’m surprised he’s even helping me up. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get back to whatever dishes he was washing.
“Crap.” A dull pain shoots through my ankle, forcing me to drop back down to the step I was sitting on.
“Like you care?”
“Fine.” He releases his grip from my arm and leaves the room without another word.
I just wanted an easy summer job…
That didn’t happen. Now, I’m in a living nightmare as I work alongside this monster of a man with mesmerizing emerald eyes that look at me inappropriately every time I see him. To add insult to injury, he has a tan I just want to lick, and a butt worth drooling over every time he purposefully walks by me. But, he's an asshat, and looks are everything. I mean, aren't. LOOKS. ARE. NOT. EVERYTHING. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this?
His job is to clean, cook, and tend to the house we work in. That's why I call him the manservant. Oh, and because it drives him nuts. That's what he gets for torturing me.
This is a story of little restraint, too much desire, questionable actions, no strength whatsoever, and the best sex I've ever had.
The question is: Do I fall for this crude manservant whose idea of a fun time is to tie people up and do obscene things, or do I give him a taste of his own medicine?
All I'm going to say is . . . Things get weird, then hot, then weird again, and—you get my drift.
Go ahead and laugh. It might not be so funny if it happened to you.
When Shari isn’t writing, she can usually be found cleaning toys up off the floor.
To learn more, visit her at, www.sharijryan.com.