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The redhead presses her lips together as though she’s holding back a retort, struggling not to say anything more.
Five minutes later, she appears at the bathroom door wearing jeans and a white tank top. Barefoot, with no makeup and her hair loose, she no longer looks like the seductive woman I saw a moment ago—she seems more like a girl.
“Where is he?” I ask again, although a voice in the back of my head warns me I may have made a mistake.
Even so, I stick to asking about my father because my reaction to this young woman—now that my anger has eased—is completely absurd. Women barely out of their teens, which is what I assume she is, probably in her early twenties, have never turned me on, but maybe because I know what’s hidden beneath her cheap-looking clothes, my body is reacting in a way that makes me even angrier.
I watch her draw in a deep breath, and that movement makes her breasts push against the thin fabric of her top.
“I don’t know what your issue is with Mr. Marshallthe Third,” she says, a faint tinge of sardonicism in the way she numbers my father, “but I have no idea where he is. My name is Taylor Jarvis. I work for your grandmother—orworked, because I’m going to see her right now to quit.”
“What?” I ask, mostly to buy myself time because I heard her perfectly.
Fuck, Maryann will lose her mind when she finds out I confused her employee with one of my father’s lovers. In my defense, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s messed around in my grandmother’s house. The incident that nearly ended my parents’ marriage a few years ago happened right here at a Christmas party, when he thought it’d be a great idea to fuck one of my mother’s friend’s daughters in the wine cellar.
“You heard me, Mr. Marshall. I adore your grandmother, and this was my dream job, but I refuse to stay here another minute.”
“You were naked in my bathroom,” I insist.
“I was, because . . .” she starts, as if ready to explain further, but then seems to decide I’m not worth it. “Excuse me.” She heads toward the door leading to the hallway.
“No.”
“No what?”
“I’m not letting you leave until you explain what you were doing here.”
I see her clench her tiny fist, and only then do I notice she’s carrying a dusty bundle of clothes and a backpack in her other hand.
“You’re not one of my father’s lovers,” I say, finally admitting my mistake.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t her defiant stare.
“Are you sure?” she asks, sarcastically.
“You’re not, or you’d already be hitting on me. That’s what they always do.”
She looks stunned. “So they move from father to son?”
“Theytry. I’ve never been interested.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally formed a positive opinion of me, Mr. William Marshallthe Fourth,” she says, every bit as sarcastic as before, “but I still haven’t heard an apology.”
I stare at her, hardly believing she said that. But she doesn’t even blink. She exudes dignity from every inch of her body.
I’m a bastard in many ways, but I’ve never been called rude by a woman before.
“I misunderstood, Miss . . .What’s your last name again?”
“Jarvis.”
“German?”
“Yes. Go on. You were getting close to earning my forgiveness.”
I focus on her face to see if she’s joking, but in a couple of seconds, I realize she isn’t. Taylor Jarvis really wants me to apologize.
“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”