Page 3 of On Your Knees

“Okay, gigantor, step back.”

The man moves back with a smirk as I sit up.

Looking down, I see I’m now dressed in a white button-up shirt. I know I’m tiny; I stopped growing at a solid five foot one when puberty hit. But in my ass-kicking boots, I’m at least two to three inches taller.

“I’m not that tall. I’m only six foot four. And it’s Zeland, actually.”

With a snort, I stand from the lounge chair.

“Maybe you’re just short,” he adds.

“No shit, Sherlock, you solved the case. Yes, I’m short, but I can still cause major bodily harm. Now where am I?”

“You’re at my house. I redirected the car because, well, you threw up everywhere and now I have to get itdetailed. If it goes back to headquarters, it will lock up for the night.”

I shake my head. “So let me get this straight—you sent a car for a hookup, but were sending the poor bitch to your headquarters and not to your house.”

“I don’t need them getting any ideas; women can be crazy.”

My eyes widen, and rage pulses through my veins. “Women are not all crazy! Men are just fucking assholes with no clue.”

His eyes roam over my body, and I wrap my arms around my waist.

“Maybe. But when you have money, you need to separate your real life from the women you fuck. However, I wasn’t hooking up, I was interviewing her for a job. I don’t shit where I eat.”

I raise a brow; I don’t believe a word. “It was nice meeting you, but if you could point me in the direction of my clothes and bag, I will get out of your hair.”

“The housekeeper is washing your clothes—you vomited on everything. It reminded me of my thirteenth birthday and the epic goon bag?—”

“Goon bag?”

He sighs. “Never mind, it’s an Australian thing. Your clothes should be done soon, and then you can leave. Would you like something to eat or drink while you wait?”

“Yes, actually I would. After the shit show of a day I have had, I am hungry, thirsty, and fucking horny, andthere is fuck all I can do about them on my own except the last one.”

His eyes go wide and then laughter echoes through the room. This place is massive and decorated minimally. Who would want to live in a house where you can hear an echo when you talk?

“I can help you with all three, but how about we start with something to eat?”

I narrow my eyes at him. As if Mr. Rich and Fancy had any chance of getting into my pants—well, if I was wearing any. His shirt falls to my damn knees, but the material is the softest I have ever felt in my life.

“That sounds great—the food, that is.”

Zeland leads me out of the living room, and I try to keep up with his longer stride. Not that I’m complaining about being behind him because he has a fantastic ass. The man is gorgeous, impeccably put together, his blond hair longer at the top and clipped neatly around the sides. He turns back, smirking at me, and the twinkle in his blue eyes screams he is trouble with a capital T.

We reach the kitchen, and he pulls out a stool at the kitchen island. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” I shrug. “Because there really isn’t much to tell.”

“Your name would be a good start, and how you ended up in my car a close second.”

His smile is contagious, and it’s the only explanation why I smile back. “My name is Aspen. I got kicked out of my share house today. And while I was telling myroommate that her boyfriend has herpes, I jumped into your death trap. And... well, you know the rest.”

“You got kicked out of your house? Why?”

I snort. “Many reasons, but mainly they didn’t like how I punched one of their boyfriends in the nose because he touched my ass.”

“Sounds like he deserved it,” Zeland replies as he opens the fridge and grabs out a plate, putting it into the microwave. “So what are your plans now?”

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