Page 14 of The Way I Hate Him
“For how long? Because, you know, I have better things to do than clean upyourmess.”
“Do you?” I ask as I lean against the doorframe. “Please enlighten me.”
Her lips purse as she narrows her eyes. “Uh, like . . .” She pauses as she tries to come up with something more important, but I think we both know at this point, she’s mine for the taking. “You know what? It’s none of your business.”
“That’s what I thought.” I push off the doorframe and head down the hallway back to the kitchen. “I’ll pay you one thousand dollars a week in cash.”
“One thousand dollars?” she shouts after me. “Matt was making way more than that, and he was the one who stole the Grammy.”
I pick up my coffee and take a sip. “Matt was doing a lot more than just cleaning up my shit as you like to put it, so unless you want to field the pussy that comes knocking on my door, take my phone calls, schedule my life, and deal with all my brands, you’ll take one thousand dollars a week and be happy with it, or else I can just call it community service and leave it at that.”
“Is this how you’re going to be the entire time? An unrelenting ass?”
I turn toward her as she approaches, her young face both irritated and scared at the same time. I can’t remember the age difference between her and Ryland, but I do know she’s the youngest in her family, and there’s a big gap. It’s evident in her naive eyes.
I sip my coffee and meet her gaze. “Yes.”
“Great.” She tosses her hands as if she gives up.
“You can start tomorrow. Seven in the morning, sharp.”
“Seven?” Her eyes nearly bug out. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not arriving at seven.”
“If you arrive at seven, you can make my morning coffee for me.”
She glances at the mug in my hand and then back at me. “You can fuck off with that. Make your own damn coffee. Unless you want to pay me fifteen hundred dollars, then sure, I’ll be here at seven.”
“That’s a one-hundred-dollar cup of coffee a day.”
“That’s what I’m worth.”
“Fine,” I say, calling her bluff. “Fifteen hundred a week, you’re here at seven making me my coffee . . . and protein shake.” I hold my hand out to her. “Deal?”
ChapterThree
HATTIE
What the hell am I actually doing, and how did returning a box of items to someone turn into a job with the devil?
Oh, I’ll tell you how.
Hayes Farrow.
That’s how he works. There’s always an angle with him, and this angle seems to have taken me down within a matter of seconds. Do I truly believe he’d report me to the police so I’d get into a shit ton of trouble? Yes, absolutely. The feud between him and Ryland runs deep, so for Hayes to consider throwing another Rowley under the bus to spite Ryland, yup, I one hundred percent believe that could happen.
“I asked you if it was a deal,” he says, still holding his hand out.
His large, calloused hand.
I glance up into his light-gray eyes. There’s barely a drop of color in his irises, yet they’re rimmed in black, a unique color that only adds to the obsession people have with him. Little do they know the devil that rests behind them.
And that devil has me by the uterus.
What option do I really have?
Create more trouble in my family that doesn’t need it right now? It’s not like I have something to offer, even showing up at their doorstep. He’s right. I failed out of this semester. I have no job, no money—no place to crash while I try to figure out what to do—meaning, I’m out of luck, and shaking hands with the devil himself might be my only option.
I also don’t want to admit it, but fifteen hundred a week is more than I could get somewhere else, and I could desperately use the money.
