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  A smile edges her lips. “You like me,” she says in a singsong voice.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Gabriel Evans likes me!” she sings, throwing her arms in the air.

  And the damn goat starts jumping around her feet.

  “Did you hear that, Gucci? He likes me!”

  “You’re so fucking odd,” I say. But I’m smiling.

  She stops singing and grins. “And you’re an asshole.”

  I laugh, shaking my head, and I start moving toward the living room.

  “Gabe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like you, too.”

  That makes me pause, and something weird happens in my chest, spreading all throughout my body. A tingling sensation.

  Maybe I’m having a heart attack. The drinks and smokes have finally caught up to me.

  “Now, go sit your grumpy ass down, and I’ll bring you that drink.”

  She walks past me, but it takes me a long moment before I start moving again.

  Gabe

  Speedy brought her stuff up from her car, and it required two trips. God knows how she got so much stuff in that miniature car of hers. The alpha male in me was frustrated at not being able to bring her stuff up for her. Then, she disappeared off to the store. You know, ’cause, apparently, we needed more food even though the last trip she’d made could have fed an entire African village, but she didn’t have the ingredients she needed for tonight’s dinner.

  That meant, I was left alone with the goat.

  I shut it in the utility room, but all it did was make noise, so I let it out.

  I swear to God, the moment I opened the utility room door, she gave me a dirty look, head-butted my good leg, and then proceeded to run around the apartment like a lunatic, looking for Speedy.

  It was actually pretty funny. That goat is as crazy as Speedy is.

  When the goat realized that she wasn’t here, she came down into the living room where I was sitting, watching hockey on TV and enjoying a whiskey and a smoke—without any grief from Speedy—and she plopped herself down onto the rug. She hasn’t moved since.

  I look over at the goat, who seems to be fast asleep.

  She’s cute, I guess, for a goat.

  But I mean, who the fuck gets a goat for a pet? And calls it Gucci?

  Speedy—that’s who.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Her tinkling voice and laughter ring through the apartment.

  It’s like I just magicked her back by thinking of her.

  I’m surprised at how my body reacts to knowing she’s back. My cock twitches, my pulse picks up, and I start to feel warmer.

  Gucci the goat hops up from her spot on the rug and starts jumping around. Then, she bolts across the room. I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and finish off my drink.

  “Hey, baby girl!” she coos. “You miss Mama? I missed you, too.”

  The click of her heels on the floor has me turning my head.

  I suck in a breath.

  Fuck, she’s stunning.

  Nothing’s changed. She’s still wearing the same dress as she went out in, but her hair looks windblown, and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. Just how she’d look if I got my hands on her and my cock inside her.

  “You were at the store for, like, thirty minutes. How the hell did you miss your goat in that time?”

  “I didn’t miss you, if that makes it any better.” She grins. Then, she wafts her hand in front of her nose. “God, it stinks in here.”

  She puts the bag of groceries down on the coffee table, and she bends, so I get a spectacular view right down the front of her dress.

  Fuck, her tits are gorgeous. I bet her nipples are pink and perky.

  My mouth starts to water.

  “You really should open a window when you smoke.” She walks over to the window where she reaches up and opens it.

  And, now, I’m staring at her ass, and my cock is starting to get a chub on.

  “And, not to be a pain, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t smoke around Gucci.”

  She turns around, catching me staring, so I raise a brow.

  “You’re asking me not to smoke around the goat?”

  “I’m asking you not to give my baby girl lung cancer.”

  “She’s a goat. And can goats even get lung cancer?”

  “She breathes, doesn’t she? Therefore, she has lungs.” She folds her arms over her tits, which pushes them up.

  And, of course, my eyes go to them.

  How can I not look at them? They’re magnificent.

  And then my mind starts to imagine just what I’d do with those luscious tits of hers.

  I’d start at the base of her neck. I’d lick my way down to them, and then I’d take one in my hand and the other in my mouth. I’d tease her nipple, licking and biting it—

  “Seriously, Gabe! Will you stop staring at my boobs?”

  I blink myself free of their hypnotizing hold. “I’m sorry.” A laugh bursts from me. “I don’t mean to stare.”

  “Sure you don’t. God, you’re such a pig! Do you always stare at women’s breasts like you do mine? Because you should really consider not doing it. It’s really insulting.”

  “I’m not trying to insult you. Actually, it’s a compliment in an ass-backward kind of way. And, no, I don’t always stare at women’s tits. I’m not a total asshole. I’m just a tit man, and, Speedy…you have the best rack I’ve ever seen in my life. Seriously.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  She doesn’t look as angry as she did a moment ago, so I think I’ve managed to smooth things over. But she’s right. I really need to stop staring at her tits. If not for my own sanity, then for the sake of my cock because he keeps getting all excited, thinking he’s gonna get some action, only to be left disappointed when nothing happens.

  Speedy picks up the grocery bag from the coffee table, and I keep my eyes averted from her tits.

  “Why’d you let Gucci out of the utility room anyway?” she asks.

  “She was making noise, so I let her out, and she quieted down.”

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s probably just because it’s a new place, and she’s not used to it.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll just put these groceries in the kitchen, and then I’ll take her down to the garden for some fresh air. I’ll start dinner when I get back up.”

  “I’ll come with you. I could do with some air.” I grab my smokes and put them in my pocket, and then using my crutches, I get up.

  “Sure. Great. I’ll just be a sec.”

  She disappears into the kitchen and reappears a few minutes later with a pink diamanté harness and lead in her hand along with what looks to be a pink leopard-print dog coat.

  For fuck’s sake. That poor goat.

  “Are you putting that on the goat?”

  “Of course I am.” She crouches down and starts putting the collar onto Gucci. “It’s a new area for her; she’s not familiar with it. And I don’t feel comfortable letting her roam free.”

  “I was talking about the hideous dog coat.”

  Speedy frowns up at me. “It’s a goat coat. I bought it especially for her, and she loves it.”

  “She tell you that?”

  She gives me a look. “She did as a matter of fact.”

  “Okay, Dr. Dolittle. But you do realize that we live in LA where it’s pretty much hot as fuck all the time.”

  “It’s actually a little chilly out today. I don’t want her to catch a cold.” She gets to her feet.

  “Speedy, the only thing that goat is going to catch is a ribbing from its goat friends.”

  “God, you’re annoying.” She shakes her head, irritated, and then spins on her heel.

  “Hey, that’s my line!” I call to her.

  She puts her hand behind her back and flips me off.

  I laugh.

  I fucking love winding her up. It’s become my new favorite pastime. />
  Smiling to myself, I follow them to the elevator, get inside, and press the button for the ground floor.

  Ava

  I’m feeling a little nervous, cooking for Gabe. I know I’ve cooked for him already, but that was just a straightforward soup and some pancakes.

  I want to make this nice because I want to thank him for what he’s doing for me and Gucci—hiring me to take care of him and letting us stay here.

  He doesn’t have to do that.

  Not that I really do that much, apart from getting him drinks when he wants them and feeding him. Oh, and helping him out of the bath, which I had to do again before I started dinner.

  And, dear God, it’s hard to stop myself from taking a peek at his cock to see how big it actually is.

  I can’t exactly give him shit for staring at my boobs and then go and look at his cock without his permission.

  And is it bad of me that I actually kind of like it when he stares at the girls?

  I know it’s not very feminist of me, but I like the fact that he thinks I have great breasts. Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

  It’s just, he’s Gabriel Evans, hottest guy in the world, lusted after by millions, who’s probably seen lots of girls’ boobs—famous models’ and actresses’ boobs—and he thinks that I, and I quote, “have the best rack” he’s ever seen in his life.

  Hell yeah!

  But, anyway, I don’t really feel like I’m earning my money, and it doesn’t sit well with me, so I’m going to ask him if there are more jobs that I can do around the house.

  Dinner’s almost ready, so I call out from the kitchen to Gabe, “Where do you want to eat dinner? At the table or in the living room?”

  “Living room’s fine,” he calls back. “You need me to do anything?”

  “No, I got it.”

  I serve up the jerk-seasoned pulled pork that I just made into a dish. Then, I turn the heat off the stove and dish out the spicy-jerk prawns with mango into another waiting bowl. I get a tray from the cupboard and put the pulled pork, jerk prawns, tortillas, banana salsa, and coconut dressing that I made earlier on it. I grab the prepackaged salad from the fridge and empty it into another dish. I put it on the tray, which is looking pretty full.

  I’ll have to come back for the plates.

  I pick up the tray and carry it through to the living room. Gabe is on the sofa, foot up on the footstool, watching TV. Gucci is laid out on the rug, fast asleep, but then her head perks up at the smell of food.

  I put the tray on the coffee table.

  “I’ll just grab the plates, and I’ll be back. You want anything to drink?” I grab the two empty beer bottles off the coffee table.

  “Do you want wine with dinner?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “There are some bottles in the wine cooler. Take your pick.”

  “Okay.” I go back in the kitchen and drop the beer bottles in the recycling bin.

  I get another tray and put two plates on it along with some serving cutlery. We don’t need any other utensils, as this is finger food. Then, I get two wine glasses and pick out a nice Riesling, which will nicely accompany the food. I remove the cork and then carry everything into the living room.

  When I get there, Gabe is sitting on the rug near the coffee table, his leg stretched out on the floor.

  “You okay sitting there?” I ask, putting the other tray down.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I thought it’d be easier to sit here, and then I can get to the food.”

  “I would have made you a plate,” I tell him as I kneel on the rug across from him and next to Gucci.

  She moves up and rests her head against my leg, so I give her head a scratch.

  She baaahhhs softly.

  And Gabe laughs.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “Just thinking of when I first heard that noise, and I thought she was a fucking sheep.”

  “Now, that would have been crazy, if I had a sheep as a pet.” I laugh.

  “Yeah, about as crazy as having a goat as one.”

  “Ass.” I laugh again and then hand him a plate.

  “This looks great. Not to be ignorant, but what is it?”

  “That’s jerk pulled pork.” I point to it. “And that’s spicy-jerk prawns with mango.” I indicate the other dish. “There’s coconut dressing and banana salsa to dress them with.”

  “You made all of this?”

  “Yep.”

  I pour out two glasses of wine and put one in front of Gabe while he’s busy filling up a tortilla with the jerk prawns.

  I grab a tortilla and put some pork, salad, and banana salsa in it. Then, I wrap it up and take a bite.

  Gabe takes a bite of the taco. His eyes close on a moan.

  And my girlie bits come to life in response. My body lights up. And my nipples get embarrassingly hard.

  Please don’t show through my clothes.

  His eyes open, and he takes another bite. The taco is almost gone; his bites are that big.

  “Good?” I ask him.

  “So fucking good,” he groans around a mouthful. He chews and swallows it down. Then, he puts the last of the taco in his mouth. “Fuck, Speedy. My stomach thanks you.” He grabs another tortilla and starts loading that up.

  My cheeks heat at the compliment. “It’s no biggie.”

  “Maybe not to you since you come from a family of chefs. But, to a guy who lives on takeout, this is amazing. What kind of restaurant do your parents have?” he asks me.

  “New American cuisine. It’s a bar and restaurant.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s in New York.”

  “I’ll have to go next time I’m there. What’s it called?”

  “Simms. You know, our surname. Nothing original. Just let me know when you’re going to be there, and I’ll make sure you get the best table.”

  He takes a drink of his wine and then starts in on his taco. “Why didn’t you become a chef?”

  I put my food down on my plate. “Because I know firsthand how demanding the job is. I saw the hours my parents put into the restaurant—and still do—and, as much as I love cooking, I knew it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, to be honest, and after college, I just fell into working in wardrobe. I’ve always loved clothes, and it’s a fun job, so it works for me.”

  “And your brother? You said he’s a lawyer, right?”

  “Yeah, a corporate lawyer. It takes him all over the world.”

  “Where is he at the moment?”

  “Tokyo.”

  “Great city.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “A couple of times, promoting movies.”

  “Ah, right. I’d love to go. The farthest I’ve ever been is Hawaii on a family holiday when I was a kid.” I pick my glass up and take a sip. “So, I know what your brother does. But what do your parents do?”

  He doesn’t answer, so I glance over at him.

  He’s frozen still.

  “Gabe?”

  His eyes flicker back to life. “My parents are gone.” He picks his wine up and drains the glass.

  “Gone?”

  “Dead.”

  He picks the bottle up and refills his glass to the top.

  “God. I’m sorry, Gabe. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s fine.” He starts drinking again. His glass is half-empty. Then, it’s gone.

  I pick my own wine up and drink it. I feel terrible. I’ve made him uncomfortable, bringing up his parents. And we were having such a nice time.

  He pours more wine into his glass, but the bottle empties, only partially filling it.

  He starts to move.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “To get another bottle.”

  “I’ll go.” I move Gucci’s head off my leg, and I’m on my feet, heading for the kitchen.

  I get another bottle of the same wine and open it up before taking it back through with me. I pour some more into his gl
ass and then refill my own. I put the bottle on the table before sitting back down.

  The tension in the air is awful. It’s like a rain cloud on a perfectly nice evening.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry. I—”

  “Forget it. You didn’t know.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear. Then, I take a bite of my food. We eat in silence, the sound of the TV giving background noise, but the quiet between us is killing me.

  “So…I was thinking—”

  “Did it hurt?”

  And he’s back.

  I almost laugh with relief. “Jackass.”

  “Wench.”

  I look over at him, and the corners of his lips are curled up.

  “Anyway,” I continue on, “I feel like I’m not really earning the money that you’re paying me for taking care of you. All I do is feed you and help you out of the bath.”

  “And having you do that is worth every penny.”

  “Perv. And, now that I’m your employee, you do realize, with comments like that, I can sue you for sexual harassment.” I lick some sauce off my finger. I don’t miss the way his eyes follow the movement or the way they flare.

  And I can’t deny that I like having that effect on him.

  “I was talking about you feeding me, Speedy. Not getting me out of the bath. But good to know where your mind is.” He smirks.

  My cheeks flame. I quickly pick up my wine and take a big drink to cover it.

  “So, I was just wondering if there’s anything else I can do around here to help.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I could clean.”

  “I have cleaners who come in twice a week.”

  “What about laundry?”

  “They do that as well.”

  “Oh.”

  “You could help me run lines if you want? Donna, my PA, usually does it with me, but she’s on vacation at the moment.”

  “That sounds awesome.” I light up at the thought. “I don’t know how good I’ll be. I mean, I did drama in high school and was in some plays, and I was okay, but I haven’t done anything since then—”

  “Speedy.” He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “As long as you can read, you’re good.”

  “I can read,” I tell him. “So, when will we start?”

  “How’s tomorrow sound?”