Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Way to go, Eden. You just messed up a good thing.
The drive home is quiet. I don’t turn on the radio, not that I could hear it over my thoughts. I trudge up to my apartment, kick off my shoes, and land face-first on the couch. I expect that call to come in any minute, and then I’ll get myself together and look for another position.
This isn’t the first curveball life has tossed my way, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I’ll figure it out on my own, just like I always do.
Chapter Three
Foster
* * *
I recheck my phone, for the ten millionth time since Eden walked out of here on Friday. I expected to get a call from the agency telling me I was getting a new cleaner again, or worse, that my rudeness led them to cancel my client status. Then I remembered what I pay them each month, and that I received zero notice or communication when Tiffany left. I should call and complain, but this agency vets their employees, which is why they cost so much.
Besides, I’m an easy guy, or usually, I am.
Anyway, that’s why I’m up and dressed for the day, sipping on a protein shake, waiting for the new cleaner to arrive. I’m sure Eden asked to be moved. My stomach twists. I shouldn’t have dismissed her like that, but hearing her story, talking about growing up in the system, the same as me, it affected me in ways I don’t want to think about. I was an ass, and I should probably get her number from the agency and at least apologize. I’ll do that as soon as the new person gets here.
I felt so guilty for our interaction on Friday that I spent the entire weekend thinking about it. About her. I couldn’t have slept in even if I wanted to today. My conscience wouldn’t let me.
At ten minutes until eight, the door handle moves, and my eyes go to the door, waiting to see who enters. When it’s Eden that I see, with her long black hair pulled up in a messy knot, my breath hitches.
Her big blue eyes are cautious as she notices me. “Good morning, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Foster,” I correct her. “Good morning, Eden,” I reply. She looks stunned at my words, and I’m once again mentally kicking myself in the ass. I open my mouth to apologize immediately, but she beats me to it.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I was out of line. I never should have talked to you that way.” She breaks eye contact and gazes down at her feet.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and her eyes pop to mine. “I’m sorry that I dismissed you the way that I did,” I tell her. “I don’t talk about my past much, and even the little bit that slipped on Friday was more than I wanted to deal with. I took that out on you. I was wrong.”
Her eyes widen, as if she can’t believe I would apologize to her. My mind instantly goes to what kind of men she’s been hanging around, if she’s not used to an apology.
She nods once. “Is there anything you’d like me to do today, outside of the normal routine?”
“Have you had breakfast?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head.
“I was going to make some eggs and toast. Sit and eat with me.” I nod toward one of the stools at the island. It’s a lie. I wasn’t going to make breakfast; I just drank mine, but something about her diving right into work after our shared apology doesn’t sit right with me.
“Oh, no, I’m okay,” she says, her words rushed.
“I insist. This is what I’d like for you to do today, outside of the normal routine.” I busy myself pulling eggs out of the fridge and a skillet out of the cabinet, giving her time to decide.
“I really should get to work.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the next.
I make her nervous.
“We both know my house is clean and that there’s nothing pressing for you to get started on. Sit down and eat.”
This time, I hold her stare until she slips off her shoes, places her bag on the floor, and pads toward me in nothing but her sock-covered feet. Something about that has my chest tightening. Probably because she’s the only woman ever to be here, outside of Tiffany, the guys’ wives, and well, Hope, Coach’s wife. They’ve visited a few times—just friends, family, and staff. No woman has been here just for me, intimately, and watching Eden in my home, shoeless, that’s exactly how it feels.
Intimate.
It might also be because the last woman I cooked this exact meal for was my ex-girlfriend back in college. Either way, the invitation is out there, and I find myself wanting her to sit and eat with me. It’s the right thing to do, right? To show her I’m not a troll. That’s what I’m telling myself as I ignore the flutter in my chest while she hops up onto the stool.