Live For Me (Blurred Lines #2)(13)
Author: Erin McCarthy

He paused. “They are?”

“Yes. Deathly. It can kill them. I read it online.”

“Oh. Jesus.” He looked down at Amelia. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t trying to murder you.” He petted her head, bending down to give her a kiss. “I missed you, by the way. Yes, I did. But I guess I’m an idiot. Thank God we have Tiffany, huh?”

I was blushing and he knew it. God, seriously? Like my social life wasn’t shitty enough? Now I had to act like a complete moron in front of my boss, Mr. Hot Shit? But first the weird envelope of pictures, then him showing up and scaring the crap out of me, had me thrown. I had been anticipating another night of being relaxed in a house I was starting to really feel comfortable in and now here he was, smiling at me and complimenting both my cupcakes and my common sense.

Besides, he looked so goddamn gorgeous, hair falling in his eyes, his beard scruff sexy and carefree. He looked like the men in movies who convinced a woman to f**k them in a restroom at a swanky restaurant. Hell, he probably didn’t just look like that guy. He was that guy. I imagined him tearing Brooke’s expensive dress off her lithe body and taking her against the nearest wall.

Ugh. I might not have any personal experience with that kind of lust, but I’d seen enough TV and movies to imagine it, and I was instantly sorry for the visual.

His presence definitely put me off balance. “I read it online,” I repeated, because it seemed like I should say something. Then I went back to frosting cupcakes, which I had also read about online. I had attempted the swirl technique but I was pretty much sucking hard at it. Since I wasn’t looking directly at him, I gathered the courage to ask, “So what’s the story with those pictures?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just some work stuff.”

Oh, bullshit. That was no work packet. Unless his work was stalking himself. But I couldn’t exactly press him on it. He was The Boss. A fact that seemed to keep hitting me over the head. He was from a totally different world, one of giving commands and demanding what he wanted. I was servant class. On the Titanic, I would have been on the lowest deck possible, and the first to drown.

But did he think I hadn’t seen the picture of myself? I couldn’t tell. He was hard to read.

“So what have you been doing since I was here last time?”

I shrugged, still frosting. “Reading, studying, cooking.”

“Are you in college?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not yet?”

“It’s not practical.” Meaning, I had no money.

“Have you talked to your grandmother?”

I paused, the unexpected reminder of my past making my stomach tighten. “No.” I was surprised I hadn’t, actually. I had thought she would get tired of doing things for herself, but apparently having to take care of the house solo was worth being rid of me. It did hurt, even though I didn’t want it to.

I was finished with the cupcakes, and not wanting to stand there and blink stupidly at him while he grilled me pointlessly, I started to fill the sink to wash dishes.

“You can just put those in the dishwasher,” he said.

“I don’t mind doing it.” I didn’t, because it allowed me to keep my back to him.

He didn’t offer to help. But he did move over to the laptop and turn off the French lesson. That was an indicator to me he wasn’t going to head to the master bedroom or to the family room any time soon.

“So you’re reading The Hobbit?”

Glancing back, I saw he’d picked my book up and was studying the back. “Yes. I’ve read it before, but I’m rereading it.”

“I read it in high school. A million years ago. I loved Tolkien, but I loved music more.”

“So you always wanted to be a producer?” I asked, sloshing my hand around in the hot water to get the suds going. I was curious about his path to success. I hadn’t found any evidence of him being music royalty, with family in the business before him. I’d briefly popped my head into his music studio at the back of the house upstairs but the equipment had been overwhelming and I’d been afraid to touch anything.

“That was something of an accident. I had visions of being a performer, but then it gradually became obvious that I am neither good-looking nor charming enough to be an onstage star. I’m much better behind the scenes.”

What world did he live in that he thought he wasn’t attractive?

I supposed a world of obscenely beautiful people. “Obviously it turned out all right for you.”

“I was lucky in that I had some help. I met Owen Creed when I was still an undergrad and he really opened some doors for me.”

Devin had also married his daughter. I wanted to ask him about that relationship but I knew that was crossing a line. Personal curiosity aside, he was my employer, not my friend. Though I was well aware of the fact that I wished he were. “I’m sure there was luck involved, but you should give yourself credit too. He wouldn’t have offered you his help if he didn’t think you deserved it.”

“More likely at first he did because I was dating his daughter and he was afraid we’d end up sponging off him for the next decade. He was determined to get me solvent.”

I turned in the middle of scrubbing the mixing bowl to study him. He was wearing a smirk and I wasn’t sure how serious he was. “I guess that’s possible.”

He laughed. “Well, there’s that honesty I asked for.”

“How does he feel now that you’re divorced?” I went back to scrubbing.

“I think he feels guilty that he encouraged our relationship.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Frowning, I turned the water on to rinse. What did that say about Kadence? Anything?

Without warning, Devin touched my arm. I jumped and turned. He had crossed the kitchen silently and was right behind me. “What?” I asked, panicked. He was crowding my space and I backed my butt up until it hit the cabinet.

“Stop with the dishes. It’s annoying. Come sit down in the family room with me.”

It was annoying? Was he serious? “Are they supposed to wash themselves then?”

“Put them in the dishwasher,” he said shortly. He reached over and yanked it open. Hard.

I stared at him, equal parts unnerved and pissed off. Diva.

But I’d spent enough years in obedience to purse my lips and keep my thoughts to myself. Nothing positive came from arguing. So I just started piling pots and a spatula into the dishwasher.