His frown deepens, and he goes as far as to wrinkle his nose. “Do it myself? Ugh, you’re such a ballbuster, Lenny. A good sister would just do it for me.”
I snort. “Never have I claimed to be a good sister. Now get your shit. Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m about ready to castrate my man-child of a big brother. “Oh. My. Freaking. God. What are you doing?” I yell as he picks up a bottle of bleach, unscrews the cap, and extends his arm to pour it where the washing detergent goes.
His big hand pauses, and he lifts his head to look at me. “What’d I do?”
“That’s bleach, you moron. You’ll strip the color from all your clothes if you put that in. You only use it on your whites,” I explain—again.
The crease that burrowed its way between his brows when I dragged him down here with me somehow deepens even farther. “But you put this in with yours.”
“Yeah, with my whites.” I rub my temples and pray for patience.
“I told you it’d be better if you just did it for me,” Bates mutters, and I shoot him a scowl.
“And I told you, you’re a grown-ass man who should be embarrassed he doesn’t know how to do his own laundry.”
He shrugs. “If doing laundry got me laid, I’d be better at it.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’ve been going about this all wrong. Plastering a serene smile on my face, I tell him, “Bates, women find domesticated men crazy-hot. If a woman saw you separating your colors from your whites and putting a load in the washer, she’d be all over you like white on rice.”
His brows rocket up his forehead. “For real?”
I nod. “Oh yeah.”
And just like that, his entire attitude to our task changes. Within the hour, he’s got it all figured out like the pro he is.
He smiles proudly as we sit in the plastic chairs, playing a round of Snap while we wait for the dryers to finish. “You should have led with ‘chicks dig dudes who do laundry,’ and I wouldn’t have bitched so much,” he says, looking at the cards in his hand.
“You’re right.” I nod. “I ought to have known everything is about your dick—even laundry.”
“Lennon, I’ve got Mary-Jane Curtis on line one for you,” Clay tells me through the intercom, and I push aside the contract I’ve been working on.
“Thanks, Clay,” I respond, a massive smile on my face. I’ve been courting this chick for months. She’s a young, up-and-coming tennis player who needs better representation, and I’m just the woman for the job.
I pick up the handset and click over to her call. “Mary-Jane, how’s it going, girl?”
“Hey, Lennon, not too bad. I missed a call from you,” she says.
“Yeah, what are you doing Friday night?” I ask.
She chuckles. “As in tomorrow?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the P.
“Umm, I don’t have any exciting plans. Why?”
I grin. “Because I have a party you need to be seen at. I’ll send a car for you. We’ll do a late lunch then go dress shopping and get ready at my place.” Taking a client to my apartment isn’t usually my M.O., but Mary-Jane and I have forged a friendship over the last few months, so I feel like I can be a little less formal with her.
“As amazing as that sounds, I can’t really afford a new dress right now. I just spent a ridiculous amount of money on training equipment,” she says.
“Oh, honey, no.” I frown. This is why she needs me. “You shouldn’t be buying your own gear. That’s what sponsors are for, babe. And tomorrow’s on me. I’m going to show you how your agent should be treating you, and what one is supposed to be doing for your career.”
She chokes. “Are you freaking serious?”
My grin widens. “I don’t speak because I like the sound of my own voice, MJ. Of course, I’m serious.”
“Umm, well, okay then,” she says. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll have the car pick you up at one.” I end the call then press the intercom button. “Clay, I need you to book a car to pick up Mary-Jane tomorrow at one, then make a reservation at Alberto’s for one-thirty. Oh, and please block the rest of that afternoon for me, too. I’ll be out of the office for the remainder of the day.”
I go back to the contract proposal I drafted for Mary-Jane and make a few notes. Her career has the potential to be huge, but she needs to be rubbing shoulders with the right people as well as keeping up her amazing winning streak.
Her current agent isn’t looking after her best interests, and that pisses me the hell off. I clench my jaw, annoyed that he made her fork out for her own training equipment when he should have had that all covered by a sponsor by now.
“Whoa, what’s with that face?” Archer’s voice hits my ears, and I straighten.
How does he keep doing that? Sneaking in here like a freaking ninja and scaring the crap out of me. I lift my gaze to him, careful to keep my expression neutral and not give away the fact that he looks mouthwateringly hot. “I don’t have you booked in today. What’s up?”
He drops into the chair across from me, spreading his jean-clad legs wide and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Not much.” He shrugs. “I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by and see if you’d eaten lunch yet?”
I shift my focus away from his killer biceps and back to his face. But that doesn’t help slow my racing pulse. Damnit, why does he have to be so attractive? His eyes are a pale shade of ice-blue and, I swear, can see right through me. I swallow then shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “Seeing as it’s almost five o’clock, I’m going to go ahead and say that’s not why you’re here,” I tell him with an arched brow.
His lips curve into a smirk, and he drops his hands from behind his head. “You’re right. That was a lame excuse, even for me.”
“So, what are you doing here, Arch?”
“I really was in the area. I had a meeting with my finance guy, Justin. Figured I’d stop in and see my little spitfire while I was here.” He shrugs.
My gut clenches at his nickname for me. I hate to admit it, but I really like it. It suits me, even if I do say so myself. Before I can stop it, my lips rise into a small smile. Shit. I drop it as fast as it appeared, but the knowing look in his eyes tells me he didn’t miss a thing. He’s too observant.
I push my loose hair out of my face and clear my throat. “Okay, well, you’ve seen me. Now you can leave.”
His gaze flits over my face then along my throat to the low cut of my white tank where it lingers far too long. He drags his bottom lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into the pillowy flesh. And damn him, I want to launch myself across this stupid desk and ravage him.
I slam my eyes closed as the memory of doing just that assaults me.
He’d come to see me because his girlfriend of three years was threatening to upload a sex tape he had no idea existed if he didn’t pay her half a million dollars. This came on the tail of him finding her boning down with one of his teammates.
He was understandably angry and upset. I’d never seen him so broken before. It killed me, seeing how much pain he was in. I wanted to cut her cold, black heart out and feed it to her with a rusty spoon. And I would have, metaphorically, but I couldn’t leave him, not with the desolate look in his haunted eyes.