Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (20 page)

She spots me on the sofa and pauses in her steps, her Marc Jacobs’ purse clutched in one hand, her lit-up iPhone in the other. One perfectly groomed eyebrow arches at me. “Well, aren’t you comfortable for a housekeeper? Are you even allowed out here when off duty? Don’t you have a box for a help-quarters or something?”

‘Bitch!’
Reckless Lotty spits.

Instead of giving Sienna the satisfaction of being vexed, I roll onto my back, draw my legs up, and cross one ankle over a knee, indolently tapping the remote on my bare inner thigh.

“Hmm, yes, I have a quarter,” I reply. “But I wouldn’t exactly call it a
box
. Let’s see, there’s a king-size bed with a remote-controlled mattress that massages my back after a long day. An
amazing
walk-in closet. A spectacular city view from my floor-to-ceiling windows. A splendid bathroom with a double-sink vanity, a rain shower
and
a jetted bath tub.”

With delight, I watch as Sienna’s lips tighten, her glare glacial.

“Yep, I
can
watch the flat-screen in my uber-comfy room if I want. But I prefer it out here. I mean, I wouldn’t want to miss out on glimpsing Mr. Van Der Wells with his pajamas hanging off those cut, narrow hips.” As her nostrils flare, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand and giggle like a naughty school girl. “Oops, did I just say that out loud? Damn the dirty little slut in me.”

If looks could kill, I would be stiff, dead, and rotting with maggots on that couch. Sienna is so brassed off I’m barely keeping it together.

Marching up to me, she jabs a finger at my knee. “You listen to me, little miss
nobody
. I warned you before, and I won’t warn you again: Noah. Is. Mine. Spread your legs for him and I’ll rip your head off like the useless little doll you are. I don’t know what he was thinking putting you in that room, but I’m going to make damn sure you are where you belong by morning.
In a box
. You need to know your place, your boundaries, and you need to learn to
respect
me whenever you see me. I’m his
woman
.”

She doesn’t wait for my retort; maybe she’s afraid of what else might come out of my mouth. With attitude and swaying hips, she stomps off, muttering under her breath as she, unladylike, takes the stairs two at a time.

I’m going to be in deep trouble with Noah because he warned to be nice to his guests no matter who they are. But hell and damnation, I can’t help myself. Sienna thinks her shit doesn’t stink and that men and women alike should bow before her, so I find great pleasure in ticking her off. A little
nobody
like me.

Moments later, I hear a shriek from upstairs. Hitting ‘play’ on the remote, I turn up the volume. The last thing I want to do is listen to Noah and his bitch of an ex-wife fornicate.

After about ten minutes of forcing myself to get back into the episode but can’t because my blood is irrationally boiling at the thought of Noah’s narrow hips pumping between Sienna’s legs, at the thought of her touching his chest when I can’t, at the thought of him making her come, her making him come…I hear barks discording with the shrieks.

Okay. Either they like it rough, role playing and all, or they’re quarreling.

Soon the shrieks turn into pleading.

Again, I press pause on the remote.

More barking. More pleading.

A door slams.

Bare feet slap against wooden floors.

Clicking and clacking of heels scurrying behind.

“Noah, please—”

“I won’t ask you to leave again, Sienna.”

Propping up on my pillow, I crane my head to take in the drama.

Sienna is still fully dressed and perfect—thank God—while Noah is in a wife-beater and burgundy sweatpants and…
yum…
his hair is insanely tousled from being in bed all day, a temporary sleep-line along his jaw.

Guess they
hadn’t
been fornicating then.

Reckless Lotty sags in relief. But Rational Lotty remains unconvinced.

Noah, who appears more irritated than angry despite his barks, marches toward me, and I brace myself. Oh no, he’s about to bite my head off for being rude to Sienna.

Thinking fast, I shift onto my back again, strategically fixing one arm across my chest—well not exactly across my chest, more like under my breasts, applying subtle pressure so they are thrust up and spilling out of my tank. Maybe he’ll get distracted by my big, luscious girls and forget he’s mad at me.

I sense his pause by the sofa handle, where my head is propped on a pillow.

There’s a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation, a moment of
something
, which makes me tilt my head back, only to have my eyes clashing with his. He stares down at me. I stare up at him, feigning innocence.

Green eyes flick to my manipulated boobs, and a shade of annoyance crosses his face. Uh-oh.

Said eyes return to mine. I hold them. Unyielding. 

Until well-manicured fingers curl around his bicep, accompanied with a, “Baby…”

Noah brushes her off without a word, reaching down to pick up the house-phone—my cellphone—from the side table right by my head. He punches in a number, waits, and then the barking resumes. “Adams, this is your last strike. If you go against my orders one more time and give my ex-wife access to my apartment, you are done. Do you hear me? Done.” Pauses. Listens. “I don’t care what she told you! I’m your boss. You listen to
me
, not her. She can’t do anything to you. You want to keep your job, you follow
my
orders. Not my
ex
-wife’s. ”

He presses off the call, tosses the phone down, and turns to face Sienna. “For the last goddamn time, woman, stop showing up here unannounced. I don’t belong to you anymore. If I have a feel for you, I’ll call you. And at the moment, I don’t. So, please,
leave
.”

“You’ve never had a problem with me showing up unannounced before. You used to like it. What’s changed all of a sudden?”

Noah rubs both his temples. Maybe he still has a headache? Or is Sienna bringing on a new one? This makes me want to grab her by the hair and haul her out myself, but not at the risk of getting sacked.

Pushing up on my elbows, I twist around to see better. The movement must’ve reminded Sienna of my presence because she swivels her head to me, and the confusion in her eyes morphs into rage. They narrow, almost to a squint, and she jabs a finger in my direction, asking Noah, “Is it her? Are you acting like I’m not your
everything
all of sudden because of
her
?”

Hands falling from his temples, Noah just stares at her, like the very implication is the single most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Is it, though? Is it so ridiculous for him to want me? It’s a hot-damn-sexy dream for me. So, why is it inconceivable for him?

In exasperation, Sienna throws her hands up. “Fine! You want to screw the little slut, then go ahead. Screw her brains out. Get her out of your system. Then fire her. Or I can do it for you.” She steps into him, her voice dropping to a soft, caressing drawl, as her delicate hands move to cup his face. “But you will come back to me. You always do. You know we’re meant to be together. We’ve been best friends since the third grade. Don’t let this money-hungry nobody come between us.” Tipping up, she presses her lips to his, parting with a triumphant smile when she realizes he didn’t block it. “I’ll give you a few weeks. Do what you need to do to get your head straight. Love you.”

Turning from him, she glares at me, dripping venom. “Fantastic dick, power tongue, magical fingers.
Choke on it.
” And then she saunters right out.

Hearing the elevator doors close, I sigh into the residual silence. “That woman is
loco
.”

But the silence prolongs as Noah wordlessly strolls by me, straight into the kitchen. Not surprising he’s not in the talking mood after that drama. Or maybe he’s still mad at me. Not because he kicked Sienna out does it mean I get a free pass for being a bitch to a bitch.

After a few minutes of listening to him bang around in the kitchen, and the ending beep of the microwave, I hit play on the remote control again.

Focusing on the show is much easier now that Sienna is g-o-n-e and I’m certain the shrieks hadn’t been from mad, passionate, like-it-rough sex.

Some minutes later, when I’m lost and engrossed in the plot, I hear a harrumph. Reluctantly dragging my attention from the television, Noah’s standing at the other end of the sofa where my feet are. Hands holding a tray of two of the Cornish hens I baked for dinner, a bowl of potato chips with avocado dip, and a box of OJ.

Although I’m baffled as to why he wants to sit here, considering there’s a recliner, two sofa-chairs, and another circular luxury sofa in the room that he can use, I scoot up a bit to make space for him.

Before my feet are properly tucked under me, he crashes down and promptly begins ripping the wings off the hen.

Swinging my attention back to the television, I try to regain focus, as hard as it is with Noah sitting there, his body emanating some serious sexual waves. Hot damn, when I say this man is eons different from the one I knew three years ago, I mean he’s
different.
He’s right: Nate
is
dead.

I’m getting lost in the show again when Noah announces through a full mouth, “Jon Snow dies in the end.”

Indignant, both at the unsolicited spoiler and that my favorite character will die, I jab my right foot to his side. The piece of meat he’s biting into flies from his hand. 

“Bastard!” I half-shout. “You just spoiled the whole thing!”

Leaning forward, Noah looks longingly down at the piece of hen on the ground, then shrugs, sits back and rips off a leg and begins chomping again. Being a foodie has never been sexier. “It’s not a spoiler. It’s just the only notable thing that happens in the whole boring season. Oh, and the scene where Cersei is forced to do the naked walk of shame through the streets. Yeah, she had that coming.”

My foot drives toward his side again, but as if he’s expecting it, he throws an arm out and blocks it. “Dude,
spoiler
!”

He’s unapologetic as he continues with his mouth full, “Also, I think Ayra goes bl—”

“Jerkhole!” I shriek. “Shutupshutupshutup!”

Calmly, he picks up the box of OJ and takes a sip, before looking over at me. “I don’t want to fire you. So that’s your punishment. Strike one.”

For a moment I pause, about to justify going against his orders earlier, but then decide it unwise to do so.

Sienna is a witch, true. But he, as the boss, had demanded I be courteous to
all
his guests, whether I like them or not. Not wanting to push my luck, I settle for glaring at him instead. He’s spouted the spoilers on purpose. ‘
That’s your punishment.’
What a jerk.

“Well played,” I mutter.

“Really, though, the season is boring,” he says. “More so than the previous season.”

“That’s because you’re not a true Throner.”

“I used to be.” He pauses to swallow his food. “But then: One, they kept killing off all the characters I actually like. And two, they only have like two or three—and three’s pushing it—good episodes per season. Ninety percent of the episodes are just people walking in gardens and plotting. It’s a wonder I got through this last one.”

Eye roll. “Like I said, you’re not a true Throner. Now shut up and let me enjoy the rest of the season.”

And he does. He doesn’t utter another word as I laugh and cry and curse through the last two episodes.

By the time I get to the end of the final episode, tears pooling in my eyes at the sight of Jon Snow’s beautifully lifeless face, his dark-red blood coloring a devastating path in the fresh white snow, Noah has long since finished eating, washed his dishes, and is now slumped lazily on the sofa with my feet in his lap, his thumb absently trailing circles around my anklebone.

Ask me how my feet ended up in his lap and I won’t be able to tell you. Too engrossed in the final episode to have been paying much attention to real life events.

As the credits roll, I peer over at Noah. His eyes are closed, but he isn’t sleeping.

When I poke him with my big toe, one eye pops open and stares right at me.

I ask, “What other series do you watch?”

As if deciding the topic is safe enough, his other eye pops open and he shrugs. “Not many. I like
Suits
. Uh,
House of Lies
.
Ray Donovan,
maybe
?
Oh,
Californication.
Definitely. Everything else I watch sporadically, not diligently. In my free time, if something’s on and it looks good, I watch it. Like
SOA
. That’s good, too, but I’m not crazy enough about it to keep up.”

“Hmm.” I nod. “I watch
Suits
for one reason and one reason only: Harvey Spector. Plus, I get to learn a bunch of legal stuff. The other three have
way
too much cursing for my liking. Every other sentence is an F-bomb. Kids and adults alike.”

He blinks at me as though shocked by this, and I hurl a throw-pillow at him. “Whatever. I know, I know, you weren’t expecting that from someone as feisty as me, but it’s true: An overkill of swearing in my TV shows or books turns me off. Too distracting.”  

“So, what are your favorites, then?”

My eyes sweep to the ceiling as I think about it. “Along with
GoT
and
Suits
, I love
The Vampire Dairies
,
The Originals
,
Pretty Little Liars,
Reign
,
Nashville,
and
White Collar
.”

He chuckles. “Never heard of any of those except
White Collar.
”

“That’s because you’re old,” I tease.

“Guess I am.” Relaxing further into the couch, head lolling on the back, his thumb continues to circle around my anklebone as he asks, “What about music? What kind of music do you like…?”