The only bill she couldn’t surrender was her phone. She needed it to stay in touch with Daisy, and it was the one thing Brody would be suspicious of if she no longer had it. He liked to check in when he had things he needed her to pick up on the way to work.
Brody was speaking, no doubt asking very legitimate questions about how it had come to pass that a hobo camp had been set up in his backyard, but she was no longer paying attention to him. Moving around, she hunkered down and peered under the furniture. Fear placed her on the defensive.
“You’d better not have frightened him. Kevin is very highly strung.”
“Your cat’s called Kevin?”
Ignoring him, she crept along the edges of the sofa on her knees, searching for her frightened kitty. “Kevin, where are you?” A pair of demonic eyes stared out at her from beneath a white Barcalounger.
“There you are! Here, baby, come to Mama.”
Kevin hissed. Emma sensed another bowel movement in his immediate future.
“Please, Kev. I’m here now. I’m sorry I left you for so long.” Over her shoulder, she found Brody riveted to her hitched-high ass.
“Really?”
“Yet again, you’re shoving your ass in my general direction and questioning my reaction.”
Okay, she’d give him that.
Kevin chose her moment of distraction to make a dash for it and whizzed by her. With surprising reflexes, Brody caught Kevin and bundled him in his arms. Her terrified kitty struggled and scratched.
“God, I hate cats,” Brody said absently, but he held a firm grip. Not overly tight, but solidly enough to calm Kevin’s squirming little body.
“He doesn’t do well around strangers. Especially when they profess hatred for his species.”
“So you keep him locked up in a storeroom with a suitcase for company? It seems you have more revelations to amaze me with, Emma, and you’d better start now.”
Instead of coming clean, she sidestepped like the pro she was. “How did you find him?”
“One of the security guys heard something and when he investigated, the cat went a little nuts.”
“How nuts?” She stared at Kevin, dreading what she was going to hear.
“To hear Security’s take on it, he aimed for the jugular like the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.”
“The what?”
That adorable crimp she wanted to smooth with her tongue appeared between Brody’s eyes. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There’s this scene where an innocent-looking bunny attacks King Arthur and his knights…” He trailed off with a cough. “Your cat attacked and when Security finally got him under control, they discovered a suitcase with your name on the label and assorted shredded clothing.”
Oh, Kevin.
“He also pissed all over them.”
“Kev, I was about to come visit you with—” The full force of Brody’s words struck her. “Did you say he pissed all over my clothes? After he shredded them?”
“I so hate to be nosy, Emma, but maybe you could tell me how your insane feline and ripped-up, cat-piss-stained clothing came to be hanging tight with a bunch of obsolete office equipment in your place of work?”
“It’s complicated.”
No shit, his expression said before he added a brusque, “Explain.”
“I live in a garden apartment and it flooded a week ago.”
“There’s been no rain.”
“The exterminator said it would be two days.”
Through his sexy specs, he looked down his nose at her. “I can stand here all day.”
She bit down on her lip, realizing that she had nothing left to lose. Her dignity was in shreds along with her clothes. Her sister was in rehab and she owed sixteen thousand dollars to an asshole. She had ground her ass on her boss in a strip club, then invited him to screw her stupid. Her misery index was at an all-time low.
She walked over and with great care, extracted Kevin from Brody’s arms. Their fingers brushed, and while any other day that would have fired every neuron of her body in appreciation, right this minute, she felt the opposite of sexy.
Emma, you have redefined the meaning of loser.
Sitting down on an immaculate leather sofa in an immaculately furnished penthouse, facing an immaculately dressed billionaire, she pondered how best to phrase her fall.
“I lost my lease two days ago so I’ve been staying in that storeroom until I can find a new place.”
He sat in an armchair, concern bracketing his mouth. “Emma, how did this happen?”
“I’ve run into some money trouble and it just crept up on me. I promise I will be out of there today.” She held Kevin tighter. Do not cry, girl. “A friend has offered to let me stay with her for a while. I was planning to get my stuff together and move in by tonight.”
“And why didn’t you turn to this friend sooner?”
Heat flamed her cheeks. She had. Katerina was in the process of breaking up with her live-in shithead boyfriend so that safe haven was on hold.
“This is not your problem, Mr. Kane.”
“It’s Brody, Emma. My cock has been inside you and knows you really fucking well. I think you can call me Brody.”
A blush gathered force all over her body. He had the decency not to smirk about it.
“How much sleep have you been getting these last few weeks?”
“I’ve been at work on time and my duties haven’t suffered.” So Kevin cried constantly as if the weight of the entire world was on his little shoulders instead of Emma’s own. She hugged him tighter.
“Would you like something? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? I don’t think I have any oolio or whatever it’s called but I can probably rustle up something.”
She nodded, glad for any excuse to send him away. To get her bearings. Surely this was happening to someone else. She was vaguely aware of Brody leaving, his footsteps echoing in the large space until the sound became fainter and fainter. The kitchen was probably in the west wing, or maybe he was summoning a team of staff to boil water and apportion the perfect number of tea leaves.
A hysterical giggle escaped her mouth.
How had it come to this? She looked down at Kevin as if he could provide an answer. For once, her emotionally disturbed cat was still, having found some strange slice of peace in her arms on a beautiful white leather sofa in the penthouse of her employer.
Who thought she was a gambling-addicted, homeless, stripper cat lady. Who had given her the best orgasm of her life and was now making her tea.
Another hitch in her throat. God, she really needed to stop laughing, but by the time she realized that, the tears were already halfway down her cheeks. Blindly, she swiped at them. Not allowed.
Not. Allowed.
Her eyelids felt like stone weights and she closed them, the perfection of that simple motion radiating peace through her beaten-down body. Just five minutes and then she’d come up with a plan. Planning was what she did best.
In five minutes, she would figure it out.
Chapter Nine
Emma awoke to deadweight on her chest, though not the one that had been crushing her heart for the last three months. This was a physical burden. Kevin was sitting on her boobs, purring like a lawnmower.
“Not now, Kev.” Gently, she set him aside. The purring stopped and the enormity of the silence sank in as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. Where she’d slept was decidedly masculine with cool grays and green stripes. Not a guest room. His room.
His bed.
She had slept in his bed. Her loud groan echoed through acres of quiet privilege, her hands fisting with her embarrassment. These sheets…oh God, they must be at least ten thousand thread count because they were probably the softest bed linens she had ever touched.
She pulled back the covers. Hmm, just her underwear. Trying to recall the moment when she had stripped her clothes took too much energy. So many gaps. The last thing she remembered was sitting on Brody’s sofa, curled up with Kevin, as if protecting her cat could somehow shield her, while the emotion of her situation crashed over her.
Homeless. Destitute. Financially beholden to a shady businessman.
No food for her cat. Emma’s stomach growled in sympathy.
She padded over to the giant walk-in closet and opened it. Whoa! Brody’s office closet was amateur hour compared to what was on offer here. Tens of suits, hundreds of shirts, the order mind-boggling. She let her fingers graze the fabrics, absorbed the clear demonstration of wealth. Opening a drawer revealed black socks. Another one showed more, a plethora of evidently professionally laundered socks. Rich people were weird. She chose a shirt, a pale blue number, and shrugged it on, enjoying the decadent thrill that fizzed through her.
His room. His bed. His shirt.
Her gaze snagged on the bedside clock. Eight ten. Crap, late for work. She crashed out of the room and right into a tall, hard-muscled, incredible-smelling obstacle.
“You’re awake,” Brody said, rather obviously.
“I’m late.” Her hands had somehow found their way to his chest—funny how that happens—and lingered there. His hands had somehow found their way to her hips and cupped them firmly.
Hilarious.
“Late for what?”
“You have the Rikerson conference call at nine thirty, and I need to prep for the partners’ meeting at eleven, and—”
“Emma, calm down. It’s eight in the evening.”
Her fuzzy head tried to reconcile that. “I missed work this afternoon. Meetings and—”