Her eyes narrow, sharply watching my movements. Then, slowly, she spells out Della, punctuating each sign with irritated gestures.
“Della,” I say, enunciating her name which earns me a nod.
She points toward the plant and then does more of the signing—which I’m pretty sure she’s mocking me based on the sneer on her face—the letters C-A-T.
“If I get your cat, will you go back inside?”
She nods again, flashing me a devilish grin that I don’t believe for a second. No one warned me I’d be babysitting Satan’s little princess.
I grip her delicate shoulders and manhandle her out of the way. Then, I kneel down to grab the poor cat that doesn’t want anything to do with the evil brat. The cat meows in that creepy, leave me the fuck alone way, but I’ve already come this far. I curse when claws pop at my hand.
“Son of a bitch,” I growl under my breath. “We both know this kid isn’t giving up until she has you in her grip. May as well come willingly, heathen.”
The cat continues its low, warning rumbling sounds, but it does inch my way. When it’s close enough, I stroke a palm over its matted fur. Kind of strange for a cat to be in such a sad state when he appears to be the pet of one of the richest kids in the city. After some coaxing, the cat finally allows me to pull him into my arms.
“There you go. That’s a good boy,” I croon as I rise up on my feet.
The devil kid kicks me hard in the shin. Then she does that slow signing and spells out G-I-R-L. I roll my eyes and cuddle the cat closer. “You’re a mean little shit. You know that?”
Della cocks her head to the side, blinking furiously. I’d been mumbling when I said the words, so she probably missed what I’d said. Probably for the best.
“Inside,” I say sternly and pointing to her door, making sure she has no problem understanding that word.
She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin. The defiance rippling from her is powerful. Della may have come into this world at a disadvantage because of her hearing impairment, but she makes up for it by being a baby tyrant.
But, I know all about being a brat. Me and my brothers were the world’s worst at her age. Definitely takes one to know one. Takes one to be able to deal with one. With my free hand, I gently clutch the back of her neck and guide her alongside me. At first she resists, but then she gives in, walking willingly. We nearly run into a woman as she bursts out of the door.
“Della,” the woman exclaims, making sure to also sign the words. “You are in big trouble, missy.”
I take note that the devil spawn doesn’t shoot her mommy the bird. Though, as I take in this woman’s appearance, I don’t think she’s her mother at all. The woman is probably in her fifties, with dark hair streaked with some gray pulled into a no-nonsense bun. Her makeup is flawless. If it weren’t for the wrinkles between her brows from apparently a lifetime of excessive frowning and old lady hair, she could pass for younger.
“Thank you, young man, for finding her. This one is precocious. Most days, she drives me insane.” She studies me for a beat. “I’m Sandra Ellis. Mr. Croft hired me to manage the household. Are you the speech reader tutor?”
“That’s me. Ford Mann.” I glance down at the way I’m still gripping Della as though she might run off if I let go. “I’d shake your hand but…”
“I understand.” Her nose scrunches. “Please tell me that’s your cat and not hers. I’ve had to take the last three strays she found to be put down. Her father won’t allow her to have a pet and she knows it. Not sure why she keeps trying.”
Della stiffens, the muscles under my touch tightening. I decide to throw the kid a bone because Stepford Nanny here looks all too eager for another cat murder.
“Heathen’s mine.” I scratch the cat behind the ears. She growls in warning, like the little psychopath her real owner is. “It’s good therapy for the kids.” Whatever. It sounds legit.
Sandra purses her lips and nods slowly as though she doesn’t quite believe me. “If Mr. Croft has a problem with the animal, you’ll need to take it elsewhere. Understood?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent. Now, let’s go inside. Della can have her snack while I show you around.”
Sandra turns on her heel with robotic precision and glides into the penthouse. Creepy as hell if you ask me. I glance down at Della who glowers at the woman. When she catches me staring at her, Della looks up and smirks. Then, she flips off Sandra to her back.
Stifling a laugh, I guide Della through the door. The condo is lavish and expensive, nicer than any home I’ve ever been in. It has at least twenty-foot ceilings in the living room and glass for walls all along the far side. The view is pretty spectacular, I have to admit. Sandra closes the door behind us and then shoos Della off. The cat—Heathen, I guess is her name now—doesn’t try to escape but remains tense in my grip.
“Mr. Croft believes that it’s imperative for Della to improve her lip reading skills. Not everyone out there in the world will know ASL and he wants her to be able to effectively understand those around her,” Sandra explains as she shows me to a space set up like a classroom. “This is where Della takes her lessons. Your main point of contact will be myself, but in the event Della misbehaves or ignores you altogether, you may also seek assistance from her older sister. Landry is one of the few people she listens to.”
Noted.
An easy way to access Landry. Maybe this job won’t be so boring after all. Based on the way Della’s acted thus far, it’s obvious I’ll be calling on Landry at every turn.
“Any questions? If not, I’ll grab Della once she’s finished her snack and return her to you. Feel free to look around and make yourself at home.”
With those words, she pivots in one fluid motion like before and seems to float away like a goddamn ghost.
“If I set you down, you better behave,” I tell Heathen. “Don’t give that woman an excuse to put you down.”
Heathen growls in what sounds like defiance, but I set her down anyway. She scurries away and slips between a desk and the wall. Just in time, too. The door opens with a creak. I turn around, expecting to see Della demanding to know where her cat is.
Instead, I see her.
Landry Croft.
Silky blonde hair. Pouty pink lips. Wide, bright blue eyes.
The shock on her face is amusing. A thrill shoots through me. Though I hate most jobs Bryant sends us on, I feel as though I might find a tiny bit of satisfaction with this one. Sparrow understated how beautiful Landry was. He’d used the word fuckable, and while the curves of her body are tantalizing to look at, there’s something about her that is captivating.
“Ford?” she blurts out, a flush of pink stealing over her cheeks and throat. “What are you doing here?”
I flash her a wide grin. “It’s my job.”
“Your job?”
“I’m Della’s speechreading tutor.”
Her bewildered expression only makes her cuter.
This job just got a whole helluva lot better.
Chapter Seven
Landry
How?
How is Ford Mann in my home?