Page 3 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)
I attacked the space with the laser focus of someone trying to distract themselves from imminent panic.
Fresh flowers arranged with what I hoped was artistic flair?
Check. Bedding so crisp you could bounce a quarter off it?
Check. Surfaces gleaming like they’d been polished by obsessive-compulsive elves? Double check.
By the time I moved to the bathroom, I’d lost track of time, which is probably why the universe decided it was the perfect moment to royally screw me over. I plugged in my earbuds and cranked up my music, nothing like some bass-heavy beats to soundtrack my descent into madness.
The bathroom was a masterpiece of luxury, all marble and glass with a shower big enough for a small orgy and a soaking tub that looked more like a small swimming pool.
I’d seen smaller apartments in Seattle. Chrome fixtures sparkled under recessed lighting, and the heated floors (because of course the floors were heated) felt warm against my feet through my sneakers.
I attacked the already-clean shower with determination, using the blue bottle solution that smelled faintly of lemons and something expensive, probably unicorn tears or liquified hundred-dollar bills.
The massive rainfall showerhead gleamed, but I knew it needed to be perfect.
I stretched up on my tiptoes, spraying cleaner and reaching with my cloth to wipe the chrome.
A delicate “yip” made me turn to find Princess, Sheena’s tiny Pomeranian, sitting in the doorway like a fluffy white cloud with a pink bow.
She tilted her head at me, her tail wagging expectantly.
For a dog with a social media account following larger than the population of some small countries, she looked remarkably unimpressed with my cleaning skills.
“No, Princess,” I warned, trying to look stern. “This is not playtime. I’m working.”
She responded by trotting into the bathroom, her perfectly groomed fur bouncing with each step. For a dog who usually refused to walk on anything less prestigious than Persian rugs, she seemed determined to join my cleaning adventure.
“Your mom will kill me if you get dirty,” I told her, but she just sat primly by my feet, watching my every move with adoring eyes. “And stop looking at me like that. I’m immune to your cuteness.”
I wasn’t, of course. No one was immune to Princess’ charm, though she reserved her true affection for a select few. The fact that I ranked higher on her list than most of Sheena’s celebrity friends was a source of endless amusement in the household.
The shower was so large I had to step inside to reach properly, my sneakers squeaking against the marble tile. That’s when disaster struck, because apparently the universe hadn’t finished having its fun with me.
My foot slipped on the wet marble—a graceful move I like to call “The Dying Swan on Ice.” I grabbed for the nearest support, which happened to be the flexible shower attachment.
It came loose in my hand as I fell, triggering the water system.
Suddenly, I was being drenched by ice-cold water at full pressure, directly in the face, like the world’s most aggressive impromptu baptism.
“SHIT!” I sputtered, fumbling blindly for the controls while trying not to crack my skull open on the marble.
The water pressure was intense, soaking me completely in seconds.
I finally managed to twist the knob, cutting off the impromptu deluge, but the damage was done.
I stood there, dripping and shivering, my black t-shirt now completely soaked and plastered to my skin like a second, very cold, very uncomfortable layer of epidermis.
Princess, who had wisely retreated to the doorway at the first sign of water, let out a concerned whimper at my bedraggled state. Her own pristine fur remained perfectly dry, proving she had more sense than I did. Even the dog was judging me now.
“Don’t you dare tell Sheena about this,” I warned her, wringing out my shirt. She just wagged her tail, looking far too amused for a dog who spent two hours at the groomer every week. I swore she was laughing at me.
“Perfect,” I muttered, pushing wet hair out of my eyes. “Absolutely perfect. ‘Use the blue bottle, Eli.’ ‘You have an eye for detail, Eli.’ Well, now I have an eye for not drowning in the shower I’m supposed to be cleaning.”
I peeled off my soaked t-shirt, wringing it out over the drain.
Water puddled around my feet as I considered my options, which ranged from bad to catastrophic.
I couldn’t exactly walk through the main house looking like I’d gone swimming fully clothed.
Mom would have a conniption if I dripped all over the hardwood floors. I’d never hear the end of it.
The bathroom had a heated rack with fluffy white towels.
I grabbed one, drying my hair and torso while trying not to think about how this would look if someone walked in—the housekeeper’s son, half-naked in Jace Carmichael’s bathroom, using the guest towels.
That would be a fun one to explain at the unemployment office.
“He’s not arriving for at least another half hour,” I reminded myself. “Plenty of time to dry off, clean up this mess, and find replacement clothes.”
I draped my sopping t-shirt over the heated towel rack, hoping it would dry enough to be wearable soon.
In the meantime, I’d just have to finish cleaning shirtless.
Not ideal, but at least no one would see me.
It’s not like Jace Carmichael was going to suddenly materialize in his own bathroom while I was half-naked and dripping wet.
That would be absurd. The universe couldn’t possibly hate me that much.
I grabbed the mop from my cleaning supplies and started soaking up the small lake I’d created on the bathroom floor.
My jeans were still uncomfortably wet, stuck to my legs like a clingy ex who doesn’t understand the concept of “it’s not you, it’s me.
” At least my upper half was drying in the warm bathroom air.
Princess, who had been keeping me company from her safe, dry spot by the door, suddenly perked up. Her ears twitched forward and her tail started wagging frantically. Without warning, she spun around and darted out of the bathroom, her excited “yips” fading down the hall.
“And now I’m being abandoned by a Pomeranian,” I muttered to myself. “Thanks for the solidarity, Princess. Et tu, Brute?”
I’d been mopping for about ten minutes, but the marble floor was taking forever to dry completely.
I’d managed to soak up most of the standing water, but the surface was still slick and dangerous.
Just a few more minutes and I could finish up and get out of here before anyone discovered me half-naked in Jace Carmichael’s bathroom.
That would be the most mortifying thing to ever happen to me, and I once accidentally called my high school math teacher “Mom.”
The music in my earbuds shifted to a new track, the bass thumping so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else.
I was bent over, mopping under the vanity, when a strange prickling sensation crawled up my spine, that feeling of being watched that triggers every human’s primitive “don’t get eaten by a saber-toothed tiger” instinct.
I straightened slowly, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape the impending humiliation. Through the steam-fogged mirror, I saw the bathroom door was open. And reflected in that mirror, standing in the doorway, was a man.
Not just any man.
Jace Carmichael.
Completely, gloriously naked.