“The job has its ups and downs, but we've been getting along well enough.” I glanced over at the stairs, expecting to see Smith coming down, but Cassie and I were still alone.
Cassie said, “Has he … you know. Made any moves on you?”
I crossed my arms, then uncrossed them and poured more tea. “Why do you ask? Does he do that with you or your sisters?”
She twisted her lips to the side in a funny frown. “I wish. Handsome rich guy like that? It's almost enough to turn a girl straight.”
“Oh. So you're ...”
“Available.” She gave me a smile that was so sweet and fetching, I actually considered her offer. Her big, blue eyes and black hair reminded me of someone else who was adorable.
“Is Callum your brother?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you like him. All the cool girls go for Callum. Just my luck.”
Just then, Smith came down the stairs.
“I thought I heard the sound of beauty!” he said.
I had an awkward moment, first blushing from the flattery, then blushing from embarrassment when I realized he was speaking to Cassie, not me.
She jumped up and gave him a big hug. “Smithykins!”
I coughed into my hand. “Smithykins?”
Smith held Cassie out at arm's length. “You are so ravishing. Utter perfection. Have you reconsidered my offer of marriage?”
She laughed and pinched his cheeks. “You are too cute! What about Tori, here? She seems like she could handle a big naughty boy like you.”
He looked up and down Cassie's body appreciatively. She wore tiny blue shorts, revealing miles of leg, and a blouse tied above her navel.
“Tori and I are all business,” he said. “Enough boring stuff. Tell me what you've been up to. Have you written any more short stories? You've got to stop being so shy and share them with people. Like me.”
“Oh, I couldn't possibly,” she squealed.
The scones felt like a pound of dough in my stomach. I pushed my chair back, stood, and muttered something about needing a shower. Neither of them seemed to notice me disappearing to my room and bathroom.
Cassie would be there most of the day, cleaning the house and doing Smith's laundry and ironing. She offered to do mine, but I wasn't comfortable with another woman seeing my dirty underwear.
Even though the girl was a lesbian and therefore not interested in Smith, I was still insanely, irrationally jealous of her. Not only was she adorable, with not a speck of cellulite on those enviable legs, but Smith kept carrying on about her creativity.
“She let me read part of a short story once,” he said. “Some people have a gift, you know. All writers can improve, but if you don't have that spark, there's no point in tending a garden full of common dandelions.”
I was sitting at the keyboard, waiting for story narration, waiting to get to work.
“Some people love dandelions,” I said tersely.
“No, they don't,” he said. “Don't be silly. I blame the way your generation was raised, with prizes for every kid, prizes for participation. You know what life doesn't care about? Participation.”
I didn't answer him, but typed on the screen: Detective Smith Dunham yammered on and on about dandelions and a bunch of shit that Sheri didn't care about.
“Good point,” Smith said. “We should get to work. Read me back the last three and a half paragraphs from yesterday.”
“Three and a half?”
“Fine, read all four, though there's always a danger in me reviewing my work. I become so impressed by my previous work that I get performance anxiety about topping it.”
My face pulled up in a you're-kidding-me expression, and I was glad I had my back to Smith.
I read the four paragraphs as he paced behind me, then he said, “Perfection. And now you see what I mean. How can I top myself?”
“You're a megalomaniac, do you know that?”
He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed my tense neck muscles. “Megalomaniac, you say? Tell me, Tori, how moist are your little panties right now? Calling me names already … tsk tsk.”
“Did you ever have Cassie or one of her sisters type for you?”
“No. I like to keep people in their assigned roles.”
“How convenient and tidy for you.”
He kept massaging my shoulders, then leaned forward and swept his fingertips down the front of my V-neck shirt, caressing the valley between my br**sts.
He growled, “I can't stop thinking about your milky-white tits.”
I pushed his hand away. “Don't say tits.”
He stuck his hand back down, reaching into my bra cup to handle my breast.
“Your lovely white lady lumps,” he said, his breath hot at my ear.
I giggled and tilted my head as he nuzzled my neck.
He continued, “Your white chocolate cupcakes. I want to put frosting all over them.”
“Ugh, you're so gross.”
He nibbled on my earlobe. “You love it. You want my creamy frosting. Say you do.”
“Fine. I want you to come all over my tits.”
Someone coughed. Cassie. She said, “Here to collect your dirty dishes. Just, uh, hand me those cups.”
I put my face in my hands and prayed she hadn't heard what I said. Smith handed her the stray tea cups and snack plates from around the desk.
She said, “Did this bed see any action?”
Smith sounded guilty. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if I should change out the sheets. Laundry day, remember?”
“May as well, if you're doing that sort of thing.”
I kept absolutely quiet, staring straight ahead at the screen.
Cassie stripped the bed and left. Smith came straight back to where he'd been, stuffing his grabby hands down my shirt.
I moaned and let him fondle my br**sts for a moment, then pushed him away.
“We should get some work done,” I said.
“You're no fun.”
“I'm plenty of fun and you know it. Now do your work.”
He sprawled out on the bare mattress behind me, face down. “You write the story. Get started without me.”
“Sure.”
I typed half of a sentence then stopped. I hit the Backspace key and deleted the words, then tried again. Ten minutes later, I'd almost managed to finish the sentence.
Smith got up from the bed and leaned over my shoulder, chuckling. “Better stop there, or I'll have to give you a co-writer credit.”
I reached for the Backspace key again, but he caught my wrist in his hand. “That sentence is just fine,” he said. “We're not writing for the Pullitzer, so don't sweat it. That's a perfectly serviceable sentence.”