Page 32 of Slumming It

"In front ofyou?"I scoffed. "No thanks."

He gave a scoff of his own. "Don't flatter yourself."

This was the second time he'd said this to me, and I appreciated it even less today than I had yesterday when Ihadn'tbeen his employee. The realization was the perfect reminder thatmy salary was still a mystery, which meant that he wasn't my employer just yet. My chin lifted. "And you're paying mehowmuch to do this?"

In reply, he reached into the pocket of his dress slacks and pulled out a couple of crumpled bills. He tossed both of them onto the bed and said, "That much."

Great.

Now I felt dirty. With the way the bills were crumpled, I couldn’t even see their amounts.

Regardless, the money was just lying there like sweaty cash paid for deeds done between grubby sheets.

I started to squirm even as I reminded myself that the sheets on the bed were perfectly clean – and so was the comforter that covered them. I knew this because I'd washed all of the bedding personally the day before Mister Billionaire Bigshot had checked in.

And yet, the dirty feeling grew and twisted as I stared at the cash. "How much is it?"

With obvious annoyance, he replied, "See for yourself."

I didn't want to. This whole scenario was beyond humiliating. And yet, I had to know.

If it was two twenties, I'd tell him to shove it.

But then I remembered something. I wasn't doing this for the money. I mean, yeah, the money was nice, and I would needsomemoney to pay Rosalie for assuming my hotel duties. But it's not like I was looking to make a profit.

I was still staring at the cash. What if was it was two fifties?

My stomach gave another lurch.Or two tens?

Heaven forbid.

I edged closer to the bed and snatched up the nearest bill. I straightened it just enough to reveal a number that was higher than I'd been expecting – a hundred.

I glanced at the remaining bill.Times two.

Maybe.

I looked back to Reese Murdock and asked, "Is the other one a hundred, too?"

He looked annoyed by the question. "Youdorealize, you could've found out yourself in the time it took to ask."

I bit back a sharp reply as I studied his attire. Today, he was wearing black dress slacks similar to the ones he'd been wearing yesterday along with a sky-blue dress shirt, open at the neck.

No tie. No sportscoat either.

Still, it wasn't lost on me that even without a tie or jacket, he was dressed far more formally thanIwould be if I actually wore the outfit on the bed.

I gave his clothing another once-over before asking, "Is that whatyou'rewearing today?"

He frowned like I'd just asked if he wore boxers or briefs. "I'm not going naked if that's your other guess."

At that charged word –naked– a sudden image flashed in my mind. The image was more appealing than he deserved, and I shoved it from my thoughts as I turned once again to study the items he'd laid out for me.

They looked faded and used, the Daisy Dukes in particular. But of course I'd seen plenty of ripped and pseudo-aged denim on new clothing racks too, not that I did much shopping.

Still, I had to wonder where the clothes had come from. I saw no tags or any other signs that they were new. I glanced around, hoping to spot a stray shopping bag or crumpled receipt on the dresser.

I saw nothing.