Maid for Each Other(23)
“What?”
I was instantly wide-awake and reaching for the lamp. Was he asking to stay in his condo with me?
“Relax,” he said calmly. “The choice is yours so no need to stress; if you say no, that seals it because we had a deal. But what I’m proposing is that you allow me to sleep in the guest room for the next two nights. I won’t get in your way, and the second the sun comes up each morning, I will exit the premises and you’ll have the place to yourself all day. I just need somewhere to sleep.”
Declan Powell was going to ruin the joy of my little retreat, but I couldn’t say no, could I? I mean, it was his place.
“Can’t you sleep in one of your cars?” I asked. “I mean, one must be a glamorous RV or someth—”
“Please,” he said, and the exhaustion in his voice got to me, especially when he added, “It’s one o’clock and I literally have nowhere to crash for the night.”
“Okay,” I said with a sigh. RIP, no-pants weekend.
“Okay?” He sounded surprised. “You…are all right with this?”
“I mean, you aren’t a creep or a murderer, are you?”
“I am not.”
Lauren will be the judge of that.
“And you’re not trying to, like…make a move on me, right?” I asked.
“Definitely not,” he said, sounding horrified.
“Don’t say it like that, like it’s a disgusting idea. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I think you’re gross, too.”
“Excellent. So then…”
He still sounded confused, like he was waiting for me to punk him or something. “Well I’m already comfy in your bed, so can you just use your key and let yourself in?”
“Of course,” he said. “But what do you want in exchange?”
“For…letting you stay here?” Now I felt confused.
“Yes.”
“Nothing. I mean, what are you offering?” God, I had no idea how to deal with someone so transactional. “It’s your place, so why would you have to give me something to sleep here?”
“Because it’s not what we originally agreed upon.”
“Okay, well, I appreciate the thought,” I said, knowing I should probably take advantage of his money-centric nature, but I was too exhausted to think. “But taking more than the already bonkers forty would be obscenely bonkers. Just don’t get in my way or be a jerk and we’re good.”
“Really?” He cleared his throat and said, “Well, thank you, Abi.”
“So…are we good? Can we hang up?” I didn’t know how to deal with him being nice. “I need to get a good night’s rest if I’m going to become a dreamboat girlfriend in the morning.”
“Well I can’t mess with that possibility, now can I?”
“No, you cannot. Good night, Powell.”
“Good night, Mariano.”
After I hung up, I had trouble falling asleep, which was shocking when I was so exhausted.
But Declan Powell, a stranger who was paying me thousands of dollars to pretend to be his girlfriend, was coming over to sleep under the same roof I was sleeping under.
Was this a fever dream?
Was I high?
Nothing made sense about this, and only time would tell if I’d scored the jackpot of a lifetime, or if I’d just made my biggest mistake.
12
Wake-Up Call
Declan
I tiptoed out of the bedroom, slowly opening the door so I didn’t wake Abi. I’d set my alarm for 4 a.m., a godforsaken hour, but I wanted to make good on my promise to be out of her way when I wasn’t sleeping.
I had my shoes in my hand, creeping in the dark toward the kitchen where I could quickly grab a coffee before disappearing from the premises, when she flew out of the bedroom and nearly ran me down in the hallway.
“Oh, my God!” she squeaked, putting a hand over her chest as I grabbed her upper arms and caught her before she fell. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Same,” I said, my heart pounding. “What are you doing up this early?”
“I always get up this early,” she said, still wearing the frazzled expression as she looked up at me. “What are you doing up this early?”
“I wanted to get out of here so I wasn’t in your way,” I said, letting go of her arms as I got a good look at her.
Her hair was sticking up everywhere, and she was wearing black pajamas that had pictures of her face all over them. I knew I should let it go because something told me she’d be pissed if I laughed at her, but I said, “I like your narcissistic pajamas.”
She rolled her eyes. “Save it, I bought them for my ex.”
That explains why they look huge on you. “He didn’t like them?”
“We broke up the very day I gifted them.”
“Because he hated them?”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “We broke up because he hated the pajamas.”
Was I being an asshole? I felt like an asshole. Something about the look on her face made me feel like I’d touched a nerve somehow, so I said, “It’s a better story for you to wear your own face, anyway.”
“I agree.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “And you don’t have to leave this early; it’s your house.”