Page 8 of Risk
I can’t tell if he’s insulted, embarrassed, or worried, so I send the conversation in another direction again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me.”
One downside to being a camgirl is that I have to be extra cautious of who I let into my private life. I’ve never had a problem with a stalker online, but sometimes I think it’s just a matter of time before I do. I wear costumes and exaggerated makeup to keep myself safe. My identity is concealed, my name is fake, my hair is fake, my personality is fake.
What Mason saw this morning was the real Leah. The goofy, loves to clean, sings too loud, dances too crazy, big personality me. I’d have put on my best professional smile, spoken respectfully, and kept my head down and done my work if I’d known he was there when I came in this morning.
Jesus, how often do I fake who I am just to get through the day?
To make it worse, I’m flirting with him. A client. A man who, many might say, is way out of my league. And I can’t seem to stop.
There’s a chemistry here I want to explore.
Besides, he approached me first. That must mean he feels it, too.
“I could say the same about you.” Mason flashes another heart-stopping grin. “Maybe you followed me here, Leah.”
“I was at this restaurant first.”
“How do you know I wasn’t at the bar when you walked in?”
Fair point. “Were you?”
He shrugs. “Maybe we were at the same place at the same time.”
Possibly. Okay, probably. “You booked me again for next week. Why?”
Earlier today, I got a notification saying Mason scheduled another cleaning. My calendar is packed every day, and he’s booked me for this coming Saturday. I still need to accept the job or decline it, and if I do the latter, it’ll bump him to another maid on the roster. I haven’t decided what choice to make yet.
“How long have you worked for the cleaning company?”
“Five years.” Why would he care? “You were actually one of my first clients.”
He nods and stares at me like he’s calculating something. It makes me twitchy. Then his gaze drifts down my body and back up. “What else do you do, Leah?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re carrying a five-thousand-dollar purse from Dolce and Gabbana.”
“So?”
“You aren’t making that much on a maid’s salary.”
“First off, fuck you for assuming I don’t make bank cleaning.” He, for one, left me a gigantic tip on the kitchen counter this morning. Probably so I don’t tell everyone about his huge dick. “And second—”
“They pay you thirty an hour.”
He looked it up? Nosey weirdo. And now I feel defensive. “I got it on sale.”
Mason doesn’t relent. “What else do you do, Leah?”
“It’s not your business.”
How the fuck did we just downward spiral so fast? Time to turn the tables. “What do you do, Mason Finch?”
He has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
What the hell does that mean? “I don’t.” And his arrogance and nosiness are getting on my nerves.
The valet finally shows up with my car and hands me the keys. “Have a good evening, Miss.”