Page 2 of His Toughest Case

“Yes,” I reply quickly. “Yes, of course.”

I reach for my handbag, then drop my duffel bag on the ground for easier access. I start to fumble around in my handbag for my ID card, hoping to God that I didn't forget it in my rush to leave the hell I called home. My heart leaps triumphantly when my hand suddenly closes around the card.

“I'm sorry. Here's the…”

I suddenly trip over my duffel bag as I start to walk towards him. I gasp loudly, grasping desperately at the air as I tumble forward. Strong arms shoot out to catch me, instantly pulling me against an equally strong body. I let out a soft breath of relief... before it dawns on me that I'm in Curt Farrell's arms, and my heart starts to beat at an impossibly fast pace.

I look up into his incredibly handsome face. He's looking at me too, his gaze unwavering as he searches my eyes.

“Are you always so clumsy, Miss Monroe?” he asks, his full, sensual lips tilted in the barest hint of amusement.

His scent crowds my head, manly yet soft, preventing me from forming a coherent thought. I swallow nervously, trying to recall his question even as I drown in the endless, dazzling pool of his eyes.

“I- I'm sorry,” I manage to mumble, my face flushing unbearably hot.

He lets me go then and steps back. His movements are graceful, with an ease that hints at years of keeping fit. I bite down on my lower lip, barely fighting the urge to fan my face.

I must look like an overripe tomato right now.

“Care for coffee, Miss Monroe?”

“No sir,” I reply quickly.Too quickly.

I’m too nervous to control my coordination; I'd probably spill the coffee all over him and embarrass myself further.

He stares contemplatively at me for a second but doesn't say anything. Then he goes to sit on one of the plush-looking sofas and gestures for me to do the same.

I lower myself to the couch opposite his, keeping my back rigidly straight as if that will somehow lend me some courage.

"Your duties are mainly to cook and attend to me whenever I'm home," he says evenly, like that awkward moment didn't just happen. "As for cleaning, you don't have to do much, because a cleaning company comes in once every week."

“Yes, sir,” I mumble, nodding jerkily.

Something crosses his eyes, a fluttering yet potent emotion that has my stomach knotting up with nerves.

"Anyway, I expect you to begin your work by 8 AM every day and clock out by 6 PM, is that clear?"

I shake my head, blinking at him in confusion. “N-no. I'm supposed to work here as a live-in maid.”

He pauses to blink at me, glances down at my bag like he's just seeing it for the first time, then look back at my face with an impassive stare.

“What do you mean?”

“I was employed as live-in help,” I repeat, trying to keep the stutter from my voice.

“By whom?”

Just when I start wondering how to answer his question, the door is suddenly pushed open, and in walks my tall, gorgeous, fabulous best friend. Her striking gray eyes, so similar to Curt's, sparkle with life and laughter. As usual, the room instantly lights up the moment Amelia Farrell walks in.

She walks over and wraps her arms around me in a quick hug, then smiles brightly at Curt, who gives her an affectionate scowl.

“Hello, brother.”

I let out an inaudible breath, letting my body sag slightly against Amelia’s.

Right on time.

Chapter Two

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