Billie.
"Aren't you gonna help me?" I huffed, shifting the weight of the grocery bags.
"I'm not paying you to help you." Lexus strolled past me into his penthouse like he was the king of an empire and I was just a lowly peasant beneath his notice.
I muttered a string of curses under my breath as I lugged the bags inside. Next time, I was calling for backup. Where were the gentlemen of the world? Even the Uber driver had just sat there, watching me struggle like it was free entertainment.
I unpacked the yogurt, fruit, and soft drinks into the fridge—for me, not him. Lexus lived on takeout and had the audacity to not trust my cooking. His loss.
I seasoned and marinated the chicken, letting the spices soak in. My hands moved on autopilot, but my mind was stuck replaying The Incident.
Alex. Daisy. Their smug little couple act. But more importantly—Lexus. His Oscar-worthy performance. His lips on my neck. His hands on my ass.
I shivered.
Damn it.
