Page 19 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
“About what?”
“About you going on your knees on a more consistent basis.”
Her complexion turns as red as a boiled lobster. If we didn’t have an audience, I’m sure she’d slap me.
And for some strange reason, that amuses me a great deal. I let go and leave, whistling. But as soon as I’m inside an elevator, my merriment fizzles. I have things to do.
Chapter Nine
Annabelle
I shake all day long. It’s impossible to be calm and collected when the sexiest man I’ve ever met behaves so horribly toward me.
I’d much rather drink a cocktail of bleach and ammonia than face him after my shift is over, but I just started this job. As a matter of fact, today is my first day. And I’m practical enough to know that if the choice is me or him, management is going to choose him. He’s rich and obviously important. I’m just a cleaning girl.
And those are a dime a dozen. It’s infuriating.
As soon as I can, I’m getting a college degree and making something of myself. Nobody, no matter how rich or powerful or important, will ever look at me and assume that I’m for sale or to be toyed with for their amusement.
Five o’clock comes sooner than I want. I change into my street clothes: a white T-shirt and denim skirt I bought from Walmart on sale. The skirt hangs a bit loose around my waist, but the price was too good to pass up. I grab my bag from the locker.
Although Elliot didn’t say where his car would be waiting, I presume it’s going to be at the main entrance. And sure enough, a black Rolls-Royce is idling with a driver standing on the curb. He’s slim, only moderately tall. But he has sharp dark eyes and even darker hair. I don’t even try to guess his nationality. I’m horrible at figuring that kind of stuff out about Asians.
“Miss Annabelle Key?” he says when he sees me.
“Yes.”
He opens the rear door, and I climb inside. The leather is so smooth it almost feels silky. He shuts the door and gets behind the wheel. “Are you comfortable?”
“Fine.”
He raises the partition between us and starts driving. I surreptitiously study the interior. Everything looks expensive. It even smells expensive.
I don’t know why Elliot sent me something like this. He can’t mean to impress me with his wealth. He already knows money won’t do it.
Our progress is painfully slow. I nibble on my lower lip and text Nonny. Bad traffic, think I’m going to be late. But I left you some salad and enchiladas. Just microwave. Will be home ASAP. Love you.
A few minutes later, she texts me back. No prob. Love you to.
Too.
It’s autocorrect.
I grin. Whenever she makes an error she blames her phone.
Traffic crawls and it takes almost ninety minutes to reach our destination. The luxury residential condo building isn’t that far from the OWM building. I probably could’ve walked here in less time.
A uniformed doorman opens the door, gesturing me toward the concierge desk. If the clerk is shocked by my shabby appearance, he doesn’t comment. He just makes a quick note in his computer and sends me up to the same penthouse where I jumped out of the cake. Last time I rode the service elevator. This time I get to ride the one the people who live here use.
Moving up in the world, Annabelle.
I
look at the numbers rising on the digital display and drag in a fortifying breath. If Elliot keeps being obnoxious, what do I do? Threaten to sue him for harassment? Most people would back away, but I’m not sure he would. His reactions to things so far haven’t been what I expected.
The elevator dings. Top floor. I step out; there’s only one door, and it’s ajar.
I walk inside his penthouse. The view of the city is breathtaking from this high up. I can even see the sun setting over the Pacific. Everything in the living room is pristine white with a glass-top coffee table for variation. I stop—and flush—as I realize I’m standing where the cake used to be. Elliot is sitting on one of the couches—the one he was sitting on before. I’m fairly certain that’s not a coincidence.
