done some digging and what Josh was saying was consistent with everything he’d heard about the Cleaning Crew. They both looked up as Sadie came out of the apartment. She hurried down the stairs. Those luscious lips were pressed together in a tight line and he could see the tension in her shoulders. He wanted to touch her. “You were doing great up there,” he said.
“Thanks. Do you want the job?”
“Yes. Unless I have to bury the cat. I’d have to negotiate a bonus.”
He smiled when she laughed and her shoulders relaxed. Yes, those lips looked much better loose and smiling.
“There’s still testing to do before a final offer.” She turned to Josh. “Take him back and tell Molly to get started on the paperwork. I’m taking the cat to her vet so they can arrange a cremation. Oh, and have someone take Jack out.”
She held out a hand and smiled up at him. He shook her hand. His fingers tightened against hers for a second at the pleasant jolt of the touch.
“Welcome aboard,” she said.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
If only he wasn’t lying about everything. He was starting to feel bad about it.
* * *
SADIE PULLED INTO the parking lot and rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment. She’d delivered the cat to the vet. Freaking out the whole way, worried she’d get a ticket and have to explain why she had a dead cat in the car. She’d never had a pet until Jack, and it had taken everything she had to touch the too-still body of poor little Rosie. But one thing she understood quite well was the pain of being left alone. She had gone back to check on Heidi afterward. Found her tearful but coping. She wouldn’t go long without a cat. By tomorrow, she’d be looking at adoptable cats on the SPCA website.
She climbed out of the car and as she did, her eyes passed over the brick facade of the building. She still had trouble believing she owned the place. It wasn’t fancy, just a cracker box–style brick house, but it was hers. She’d bought the house six years ago after running the business out of her apartment for three years. The two-story brick building had been empty and neglected for several years. The stretch of Savannah Highway it sat upon was a short ride to downtown Charleston and the location—and price—had been perfect. She’d converted the second floor into an apartment where she lived and the downstairs was the Crew’s office.
A warm sense of pride and accomplishment filled her. She’d built this. Starting with her first job as a housekeeper, she’d put aside money and cultivated a customer base, hoping to one day work for herself. To be running the most successful, most sought-after maid service in Charleston blew her mind. And terrified her. Didn’t they know that every day she was winging it?
Jack barked happily when she let herself in the front door. He skidded down the hall and crashed into her. Eighty pounds of shaggy fur, lolling tongue and stupid. She grabbed his head between her hands. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best boy?”
His entire body wagged out his answer. Molly laughed from her desk. “And you wonder why he won’t behave for you. You encourage bad behavior. Jack. Sit.”
And he sat, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and his tail swishing across the floor. Sadie leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I think you’re the best boy,” she told him. “Granny Molly is just a meanie.”
“Your new hire is still in the back, taking the personality tests. I called his references, they check out. Told them to expect a call from you.”
Sadie took the handful of mail Molly held out to her. “Anything else?”
“Deanna Carter—”
“No.”
“—asked if you’d reconsider.”
“No.”
“Says she was under stress and is—”
“No.”
“—taking medication and has her issues under control.”
“Don’t care if God Himself writes her an excuse. She groped one of my guys. No.”
Molly held up her hands in surrender. “Only relaying the message. Don’t get mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m still mad at her.”
She bit back several colorful words. There was a new hire in the back. A new hire she wasn’t sure she should hire. He was too...too much. She went to her office and tossed the mail on the desk. Get it together. You can’t deny a man a job because he makes you remember you’re a woman. You’re an adult. You’re a professional. Deal with it. She pulled the band out of her hair and shook out the curls, running her fingers over her scalp, trying to ease the brewing headache. An unfamiliar creak on a hallway floorboard was the only warning she got before Wyatt appeared in her open doorway. He stood with an easy, relaxed confidence and it made her wonder what it would take to rile him up a bit. And the thought sent a delicious little wave of pleasure through her. She tossed the hair band on her desk and squared her shoulders. “All done?”
“I think so. Hope so. My eyes are about to fall out of my skull. Not used to staring at a computer for so long.”
He turned as she approached the door so she brushed lightly against his arm when she passed. Apparently all he had to do was stand there to rile her up. She shook her head as she walked down the hall. He followed and she swore she could feel his gaze on her back. She did what she always did when flustered—reverted to business mode.
“Have a seat,” she said, waving at one of the tables set up as desks. She remained standing until he sat. Only then did she sit across from him. “There’s a reason we do so much testing. The results will be calculated and I’ll get a report.”
“Seems to be pretty standard with any job application these days,” he said.
“True. It’s for everyone’s protection. My business model is a bit odd, some might say. So I make sure everyone, employees and customers alike, are on the same page about the services provided.”
He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table and distracting her with those tanned, muscled forearms, lightly dusted with sun-bleached blond hair. “And those services are?”
She snapped her eyes back to his. “We clean. Period. The end.”
“I understand you perfectly. Do the customers? I recently got custody of my eight-year-old niece. I’m her only living relative. I can’t afford any kind of accusation.”
It took a moment for her to answer. Eight years old. Only living relative. Her heart raced and she drew in a slow breath. She clasped her hands together, staring down at her fingers. She cleared her throat and forced the corners of her mouth up into a smile.
“A lot of our clients have been with me since before the Cleaning Crew existed. New customers come primarily from referrals. All new clients have a sit-down interview with me and they have to sign a behavior agreement as part of their contract. Employees sign one also.”
He rocked back in his seat. “That’s pretty thorough.”
