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“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I gush, dropping my basket, the contents scattering on the floor.

“My fault,” she whispers. “I forgot to put in the new shampoo in Mr. Smith’s shower when I cleaned, and I’ve been hovering here in the hall, trying to figure out how I correct the mistake. Thank goodness you’re still here.”

I blink at her in confusion before I realize, I am one of the few people who has an all-day pass to his bedroom. It’s my job to bring the shampoo to him.

Me. The woman who just scurried from his room. But if I don’t go back in…

She looks at me anxiously and I know I have to go back in. I can’t be making enemies on my first day of work and I need to do my job. “I’ll take it.”

“Thank you,” she gushes, pressing the bottle into my hand. “I’ll pick up the spilled basket while you bring it in. I’ll leave it here in the hall for you.”

I turn back to his door, drawing in a deep, fortifying breath. Triston is surely about to take a shower and then he’ll notice there is no shampoo. Not to mention he’ll be naked.

The idea of him with no clothing makes a flash of heat run down my body even as I knock on the open door.

No one answers.

Shoot.

Is he in the shower already? He said I had access whenever I wanted but this…it feels like I’m intruding. “Triston?”

He doesn’t answer.

I step into the room. “Triston?”

“Honeyeh?” he calls from in the bathroom.

“It’s me. I have, umm, shampoo for you.”

The bathroom door swings open and Triston appears, a crisp white towel draped low on his hips.

My mouth falls open as I take him in. The rippling muscle, the washboard abs, the strong cords of his neck.

I freeze in my spot, halfway to the bathroom.

He’s got one hand over the knot of the towel as he opens the door wider.

Behind him, I can hear the shower running, steam already filling the room. It makes my mouth dry as my tongue darts out to lick my lips.

He sees it, his eyes narrowing as he steps out of the bathroom, stalking toward me.

That’s when I realize, I’m clutching the shampoo to my chest, just like I did the duster.

I thrust my hand out, like a barrier between us. He stops, muscles flexing, as he reaches for the shampoo. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I breathe, my voice breaking as I try to maintain control. I can’t help myself. My gaze travels down him again.

His fingers dance over mine as he takes the bottle from my hand.

For one second, I revel in the touch before I scurry away, practically running from the room.

Because I am in way, way, way over my head.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Honeyeh

The restof week passes more quietly than my first two days.