Page 33 of Cruel Obsession

His intensity makes the room feel ten degrees warmer. I cross, then uncross my legs, fighting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. It would be so much easier if I weren’t aware that my pussy was getting slick.

What the hell is wrong with you, Mirabel?

“I need a job that pays better than the registrar’s office,” I say, going for honesty. Something tells me he’d smell a lie before it fully formed on my tongue. “The salary you’re offering is… life-changing.”

“Life-changing,” he repeats, testing the word. “In what sense?”

I swallow hard. “I have… expenses,” I tell him.

“Expenses?” He cocks his head, an eyebrow raised. “I’m guessing a designer wardrobe wouldn’t be among them.”

I make a choking sound; I can’t help myself.

Seriously?

What an absolute dick!

“Well?” he presses, clearly waiting for an answer. Because he’s definitely a dick.

My back stiffens. “If you must know, my father has stage three cancer. Treatments are expensive. I need more money than I’m making now.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, but there’s no other sign that my response might have affected him in any way.

“And you’ll do anything to get it?” he says. “Even work for the man you saw humiliate his fiancée in public?”

“I’ll do anything legal,” I clarify, meeting his gaze steadily. “And what happened at that wedding is your business, not mine.”

A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Very diplomatic.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” I say. “And minding my own business.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, he straightens and returns to his side of the desk.

“Why should I hire you?” he asks, tone shifting to something more businesslike. “You have no experience as a housekeeper.”

“I’m organized, detail-oriented, and I learn quickly.” I sit up straighter, grateful for the shift. “And I’m discreet.”

“Discreet enough not to ask questions about the security? The guards? The isolation?” His eyebrow arches. “Most people would be concerned.”

“I’m concerned with paying my father’s medical bills,” I say bluntly. “Everything else is secondary.”

“Even your safety?”

The question hits harder than it should. “Are you suggesting I wouldn’t be safe here?”

“I’m suggesting,” he says carefully, “that Ashwater Heights isn’t like other places. The rules are different. The stakes are higher.”

“What stakes?”

“You’d know if I told you.” He opens a drawer and extracts a file—my application, I realize. “You have no family besides your father.”

Again, not a question.

“My mother died when I was young,” I say, discomfort crawling up my spine. How much does he know about me? “And my twin sister disappeared six years ago.”

His eyes snap to mine, suddenly razor-sharp. “Disappeared how?”

Something about his intensity makes me hesitate. “She vanished during a school trip. We never found a body. She was just… gone.”