“Don’t apologize.” He turns to us. “Jodie will be here for a few hours every day to keep things clean for us. But don’t make her job hard. Use the dishwasher and keep your desk tidy.”
“I’ll go start in the kitchen,” she mutters.
Without looking at me, she wheels her cleaning cart out of the room, and the door swings shut behind her.
For the first time in eighteen months, deep in my belly, I feel a small flicker of hope.
4
JODIE
Holy shitballs. Kieren is working here.
The man who’s been haunting my dreams, the man I never thought I’d see again is actually here in the same building as me.
In the long eighteen months since we met, I’ve imagined this moment many times. And in every scenario, I was cool as a cucumber and looking fabulous. I imagined thanking him for his service and then saying something smart and witty and dismissive before turning away.
In no scenario was I on my first cleaning job, looking like a hot mess from Layla keeping me up all night, and pushing a cleaning trolly.
My pulse is racing like it’s in the Kentucky Derby as I push my cleaning trolling into the kitchen. Gripping the sides of the counter, I try to get my weak knees under control.
Damn that man. He looks as good as I remember. My body is heated all over, and there’s a dampness pooling in my panties.
Grabbing a glass, I run a cool drink of water and gulp it down. But it does nothing to quench the heat between my legs.
“Jodie.”
Kieren’s deep rumbling voice from the kitchen door makes my body tremble, and my knees almost give in.
With a deep breath, I turn around slowly, hoping he can’t see the effect he’s having on me.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says.
On closer inspection, Kieren looks rough. The thick hair I remember running my hands through is shaggy and peppered with silver. There’re dark circles under his eyes, and he stinks like a brewery.
He’s obviously still spending his nights drinking in bars and picking up women.
A prickle of disappointment starts at the base of my spine. I swallow it down, annoyed with myself.
What did I expect from a guy who I met in a bar?
I shrug my shoulders and hold my arms out.
“Here I am.”
Kieren stares at me, his eyes unashamedly roving over my body, drinking me in. He looks as thirsty as a man lost in the desert.
“You left without leaving a note.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to the last morning of our hookup.
We spent an amazing weekend together, and on the final night, we slept together. It was my first time—my only time—though Kieren doesn’t know that.
How could I tell a guy who picks women up at a bar that it meant so much more to me than the casual fling we agreed on? I got scared of my feelings for a man who was so obviously a player, so I left before he could leave me, leaving a scribbled note and no phone number.
But I can’t tell him any of this.
I just shrug again. “It was a fling, Kieren. I barely remember it.”