She, the Kingdom (She #1)(12)

I slid into my seat, and Max reached above me, and then handed me my coffee cup. “Don’t forget this.”

“Thank you,” I snapped.

His eyes scanned the inside of the Taurus, and then he leaned back, looking at the outside. “This can’t be safe for your children.”

“I might have bought a new one if I still had a job.”

“Not on your salary.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you hadn’t, yet.”

I sighed. “Have a good day, Mr. Kingston.”

“Max. Have you reconsidered my offer?”

I craned my neck to look at him. If I said no, I’d be lying. I might’ve done it for free the night before if he hadn’t so gallantly shut the door in my face. That thought made me sink back against my seat. He was married. I was an *.

“Sophie upped the ante last night.”

“She did.”

“Do you agree to that?”

“Ten thousand a month and a car?” he asked. I waited, and exhaustion returned to his face. “If that’s what it takes, yes.”

“You mentioned an agreement.”

“I can bring it by at lunch.”

“I’m not saying yes. But bring it by.”

He arched an eyebrow, and shot me another ridiculously sexy side-grin. “You’ve just made my day, Ms. Clarke.”

He pushed my door shut, and I twisted the ignition. The Taurus whirred and sputtered, and then the engine finally ignited. I put my coffee in the cup holder and reached for my seatbelt, pulling it across my chest and pushing it in the buckle until it clicked.

Max shoved his free hand in the pocket of his sweats, making the waistband fall even further past his waist. I caught a glimpse of his bronze abdomen and a section of the V I’d envisioned he had several times the night before as I’d attempted to fall asleep. As I pulled away, he held up his coffee cup to say goodbye, looking victorious.

I wasn’t sure if that meant I’d lost.

*

I’d spent the rest of the morning cleaning house, showering, and willing my hangover to go away. The house was immaculate, and I sat on the couch wearing a floral racerback tank dress, drinking the last of my cold coffee. I’d considered running to the store and buying a new coffee pot, but I wasn’t sure if I could go through with what Max had offered, and penny counted.

At exactly noon, my doorbell rang. The chime continued to sing as I padded across the carpet in bare feet to the short hall that led to the front door. I twisted the knob and pulled, seeing Max in my doorway, holding a file. The dark circles were still evident under his eyes, but he was alert and smiling.

“Good afternoon, Morgan,” he said, extending the cup of coffee in his hand. “Your large, triple, half-sweet, non-fat caramel macchiato.”

“Th-thank you,” I said, opening the door.

He slipped past me, looking around as he walked to the square, pine table I’d bought at the thrift store. The round, solid oak antique we’d used at meal times since we married belonged to his mother, and she wasn’t about to let me keep it. Max sat with perfect posture despite his fatigue, and I sat across from him.

“Ms. Clarke,” Max said, opening the file. He pulled a pair of rimless glasses from his jacket pocket and placed them on his face. He might have thought they made him appear more intellectual, but the general effect made me cross my legs and bite my lip. “Contained herein is a binding contract, not one which obligates you to continue services, but that you will complete the services you’re paid to do in the manner in which I expect.” He licked his thumb, and turned the cover page. “You can terminate this agreement at any time, as can I.”

I nodded, taking a sip of the coffee he’d brought me.

“You’ll receive a signing bonus in the amount of three-thousand dollars, and your first month’s payment will begin on the first day of services.”

“The entire ten-thousand?” I asked, surprised.

“A total of thirteen-thousand. And the car.”

My eyebrows lifted, and I swallowed, failing miserably at not seeming impressed. I could potentially pay off most of my bills by the next week.

He grinned to himself, reading. “You are you and I am me, blah, blah, blah,” he said, scanning down the page. “Ah, yes. The services will take place at ten PM. on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights, and will complete at five-thirty AM. I trust that time is well before your children wake?”

I nodded again. “Sophie is okay with five nights a week?”

“She recommended it. At least for the first six months.”

“Why?”

“We’ve been married for several years. She’s requested a break.”

“Oh.”

He continued reading, “You will, with the credit card provided, keep yourself well-groomed, including a full Brazilian wax, daily showering, smooth legs, and a weekly pedicure.”

“A credit card?” I asked.

Max looked up, meeting my gaze. “Yes. Strictly for business use.” He returned his attention to the contract. “For the length of this contract, you are to refrain from any intimate relationships.”

I exhaled, suddenly depressed. “Not an issue.” I hadn’t had a date since the divorce. Most men in our town were either married or worthless. Those who didn’t fall into that category were twice divorced, barely able to support the three or four children they already had. I was already struggling. I’d rather concentrate on my own kids and my own problems.