Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Deciding to start in the kitchen, I head there and wipe down the appliances and the counters. They’re already spotless, but I do it anyway. A few minutes later, Foster comes back downstairs, and we make eye contact. He nods once, then disappears into the garage.
His condo isn’t small by any means—it would eat my one-bedroom apartment for a snack—so it takes me a couple of hours to get through the first floor, before moving on to the second. I’m meticulous with dusting and all the other duties that I complete, no matter what. Even if they look dust free. That’s what keeps the homes I clean looking fresh, and that’s what’s kept me in a job for the last seven years.
Upstairs, I take care of the bathroom before moving to the spare bedrooms. One is a workout room, so I use disinfectant spray to clean the machines. Finally, it’s time for his room. My headphones are in, and I’ve been rocking out to Koe Wetzel. He just dropped a new album that’s fire. With Koe singing in my ears, I push open his bedroom door and freeze.
The room smells like him. Something masculine and woodsy that I can’t name but wish I could so that I could bottle it up and take it home with me. I’m aware that makes me sound like a creeper, but I’m okay with it. The room smells that good.
Moving to the bed, I strip the sheets. I just changed them on Wednesday, but today is Friday, and I won’t be back until Monday. That’s not terrible, but I don’t know if he has a lady friend coming over, and well, he’s going to want fresh sheets for that, I’m sure. Something sharp twists in my gut at the thought. I bet whoever she is, she’s gorgeous and looks like she belongs on his arm.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I work on remaking the bed. I dust and clean the bathroom, leaving the floors for last. By the time I’m finished, I’m sweating my ass off, and I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I’m disheveled, but I’m not here for a fashion show. I’m here to work. It’s never bothered me before now. What is it about Foster Vaughn that makes me care all of a sudden?
Grabbing my bag of cleaning supplies, I head back downstairs and store them in the closet. Quickly, I slip into the half bath, splash some water on my face, wipe off my neck, and refresh my ponytail. That’s as good as I’m going to get. When I step out of the bathroom, I run into a hard chest.
“Whoa,” Foster says, his hands gripping my waist.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Vaughn.” Heat races up my neck, coating my cheeks. Great second-day impression, Eden.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home.”
“It’s fine, Eden,” he says, and I melt.
Why does hearing him say my name in that sexy-as-sin voice of his turn me on so much? This is bad. So bad. I have to stop this. This is my job, my livelihood. No way am I willing to do anything to jeopardize that. I need to get my shit together.
“Thank you for saving me,” I whisper. He nods, drops his hands from my waist, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch, so I skirt around him and rush down the hall and into the kitchen. I have two hours left, so I need to keep myself busy. Digging through the pantry, I don’t see any of the ingredients I need to bake, so I decide to make him something for dinner. He’s got a box of Bisquick, canned chicken, and chicken broth. Chicken and dumplings, it is. I’m sure it’s not something he would typically eat, but it’s a comfort food for me, one that’s cheap to make, and I can eat it for several days. Maybe this will hold him through the weekend.
A flash of him and his gorgeous, nameless, faceless lady friend rolls through my mind, but I shut it down. I don’t even know if she exists. But I’m certain that a man like Foster is not at a loss for female companionship. Female companionship that can never be me.
Such is life.
I get lost in my task. I enjoy cooking. Growing up, my foster families gave us chores, and almost every one of them gave me the task of cooking. I didn’t mind it, and I liked seeing people enjoy my food. I once thought that I would go to culinary school or open my own bakery, but those were just dreams of a naïve girl. When I turned eighteen, I had two weeks of school left before graduation. My current foster family allowed me to stay through graduation, but then I had to go. Luckily for me, my last family was nicer than the others. I lived with them for two years, my junior and senior years of high school. As long as my chores were done and my grades were good, they allowed me to babysit for the family next door, and I didn’t have to share my money with them. I saved every penny I made. I even did some landscaping, like mulching and weeding flower beds. Anything I could think of that would get me out of the house and put money in my old coffee tin.