2
SENNA
A blastingsound drills into my ears.
“Damned thing,” I mumble before cursing under my breath again. “Give me a second,” I bark into my headset.
I grab my laptop, sweep the coffee mug off the kitchen counter, and head outside.
“What was that?”
Harper’s voice chimes in my ear, a sweet hum, nothing like the bellowing machine.
“Wait... I can’t hear you,” I shout.
The noise becomes a muffled buzz as I close the door behind me. Clad in a robe that barely covers my bikini, I stroll to the oval-shaped pool.
A soft wind blows through the leaves, making them rustle while the sound of chirping birds rolls in my ears.
This is better.
“It’s the housekeeper,” I say, shedding the robe and stretching on a lounge chair before briefly inspecting my bikini.
Laughter comes from the other end of the line.
“It’s not funny, Harper.”
“Isn’t she supposed to clean your place when you’re not home?”
“Yes, she is, but she’s traveling this week, so I've changed the cleaning day so she can leave tomorrow.”
“You have such a good heart,” she says, irony hovering over her words.
“Don’t push it, Harper,” I say, only half-jokingly.
I’m notoriously picky and demanding, and I don’t make it a secret, especially to people who work for me.
I’m the first one to admit I’m set in my ways. Silence, for instance, is one of the things I fundamentally need to function properly. Random drilling noises mess up my brain, scramble my focus and turn me into a nutcase.
The door opens briefly, the harsh noise wafting through the air as a young man slips outside. The noise dies out the moment he shuts the doors closed behind him.
“Now, we’re talking,” I mumble to myself, setting my laptop on my knees and stealing glances at him.
Oblivious to me, he saunters to the pool and starts to clean it, his bare arms flexing into a delicious tease.
“What’s that?”
“You’re a bit nosy, Harper.”
“Aha... There is something.”
“Yeah, there is... You’re bored out of your mind and stick your nose in my business. That’s what it is,” I say, secretly smiling.
Hands clap at the other end.
“Let me guess... Let me guess.”
“It’s not a fucking game,” I say, my fingers running across the keyboard.