Page 10 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

His gaze darted to mine in the rearview mirror again. “The Midas Touch kid?”

Not exactly a “kid” anymore, but I guess when you made your first billion by twenty-two, the nickname stuck.

“He pays me five grand an hour to pretend to be his boss and spit on him while he scrubs toilets. Gets off on it.”

It took a second for my words to register. When they did, his eyes widened with wholehearteddelight, his face splitting into a toothy grin. “No shit, eh?”

“Yup. Easiest money I’ve ever made.” I threw the door open as we finally slowed to a stop. “Make sure to tell all your friends, customers, and anyone else who might be interested! Literally anyone. He pays a generous premium for men over fifty and has a raging Mrs. Doubtfire fetish.”

I stepped out, frowning up at the striking Mediterranean-style mansion Dominic had built to compensate for the personality he didn’t have.

It was gorgeous, I’d give him that. Soft cream stucco walls, flat roof made from brown clay tiles, large French windows, and accented double doors with tastefully elaborate hand carvings.

He was still a piece of shit, though, which really tainted the regal, moonlit beauty of the place.

Such a waste.

I dipped the toilet-brush bouquet into the Spanish fountain on my way to the arched grand entrance, my heels clicking in harmony with the chirping crickets.

I took a second to run a hand over my blazer, smooth out my hair, and straighten my posture. Then, after a deep, calming breath, I began ringing the doorbell as fast and aggressively as I possibly could, as though every video game I’d ever played had been in preparation for this moment.

I envisioned him jolting upright in bed, disoriented and confused by the chaotic dings ricocheting off his walls. Maybe it would even scare him.

Fueled by the thought of having instilled fear into the Antichrist, my thumb moved faster, burning with the expended effort. Until, finally, the front door tore open.

And there he was. Fresh out of bed, according to the careless ruffle of his hair and savage scowl I was being fixed. The set of his broad shoulders was nothing short of hostile, his nostrils flaring with rage as he towered over me, too close for comfort.

Did I mention that Dominic was not a morning person? Because Dominic wasreallynot a morning person. There was a reason he’d scheduled our meeting for 10:00 a.m.

I dazzled him with a practiced, professional smile. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Prince of Dorkness himself. Morning, sunshine. I’m surprised you still open your own doors.”

Before he could unlock his maw and swallow me whole, I thrust my soaked housewarming gift at his chest. Water sprinkled all over his face and neck, wetting his white T-shirt. “From me to you. A housewarming gift.”

He let the bouquet fall to the floor. Rather rude of him, if you asked me.

“What.” The word sniped out from between his clenched teeth, sharp and menacing. “What. Just.”

See? Not a morning person. The communication center of his brain wasn’t set to initialize for another four hours.

“The words you’re looking for are ‘hello,’ ‘welcome,’ and ‘come inside.’ Preferably in that order.”

His hand twitched toward me in what I could only imagine was the dark desire to wrap around my neck andsqueeeeeeze.

“You should set up your gate access preferences,” I offered helpfully, shouldering past him and through the doors. “Pop alock on there so random people can’t just walk in. Could you imagine if I were unhinged?”

I glanced around the dark grand foyer, crossing my arms. It was empty. Not a single piece of furniture or decorative item in sight. No heart. No soul. “Lovewhat you’ve done with the space,” I mused with dry enthusiasm. “It’s so… you.”

He was still frozen by the door, staring at me like he couldn’t quite understand my face or why it infuriated him. His crippling aversion to early mornings gave me too big an advantage. Guy couldn’t even talk yet.

“I’m here for our interview,” I said. “I showed up early to indicate to you, my potential new boss, that I’m a punctual, reliable, and dedicated potential new employee. Not to tell you how to doyourjob, but it would only be polite if you acknowledged, out loud, your appreciation for said punctuality, reliability, and dedication.”

He took a graceless step toward me, then another, seemingly forgetting about the door he’d left wide open. Without a word, he nudged at my arm and dragged his feet down the hall.

It was early-morning-Dom speak for “follow me.”

He led us to what I assumed was supposed to be the great room. High, spacious ceilings; exposed wooden beams; tall, curved windows with stone moldings. Gorgeous. Genuinely. Especially with all the moonlight illuminating the space.

It was also empty, save for the small end table and two upholstered armchairs he’d set up beside a window.