Millionaire Mavericks. Jennifer Lewis
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what they had servants for. He considered cooking and cleaning beneath her. She was sure it would be fun once she got the hang of it.
There was a leg of lamb thawing on the counter that Tara assured her would be a no-brainer, and tomorrow for breakfast, she might even try something complicated, like pancakes.
She walked to the stove, grabbed the pan of leftover eggs and was about to dump them down the sink when she realized her stomach was feeling marginally settled. She picked up a fork and took a bite, gagged and spit it directly into the sink.
They were awful. Yet Mitch had sat there straightfaced and eaten every bite. Even told her they were delicious. Though she wasn’t supposed to have any, she poured herself a splash of coffee and gave it a taste. It was even worse than the eggs.
No wonder he’d suggested that he make dinner. He probably thought she was trying to poison him. She would have to be sure that she made dinner extra special. Maybe then he would think that breakfast had been a fluke and she wasn’t completely useless.
She loaded the rest of the dishes and the frying pan into the dishwasher and filled the receptacle with the liquid dish soap she found under the sink, giving the dishes an extra squirt just to be safe. It took her a few minutes to figure out the digital display, but after randomly pressing buttons, she eventually got it running. It was amazing all of the things she didn’t know how to do, but she was determined to figure them out. To be the perfect wife. The perfect partner.
However, one thing she definitely had to avoid was sleeping in Mitch’s bed. She woke this morning with her stomach in knots, and barely made it to her own bathroom before she vomited. Mitch was bound to get suspicious if he realized she was tossing her cookies every morning. Every day she didn’t tell him about the baby she risked making an even bigger mess out of things. But if things went according to plan, by the time she finally did tell him, he would be so happy, and love her so much, he wouldn’t even care that she’d kept it from him.
Her baby’s welfare depended on it.
Mitch showered, changed into his swim trunks, then headed to the kitchen to grab a soda on his way out to the pool. He stopped short in the doorway when he saw Lexi on her hands and knees, wearing a white beach cover-up, amid an ocean of thick white soap bubbles on the kitchen floor. She was trying frantically to wipe them up with a dish towel, but wasn’t doing much more than pushing the suds around, and it was starting to overflow into the living room.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
Startled, she looked up at him. “I don’t know. Something is wrong with the dishwasher.”
He looked over and saw that suds were continuing to ooze out from underneath the unit. He slipped and slid his way across the soapy floor and hit the cancel button. “Why didn’t you shut it off?”
Only after the words were out, and he saw Lexi’s wounded expression, did he realize how harsh he’d sounded. She looked at the dishwasher, then up at him and shrugged helplessly. It was then that he realized, she probably didn’t know how to shut it off.
Keeping his voice calm, he asked, “How did this happen?”
“I told you, it’s broken,” she said. “I went to change and when I came back out, there was soap everywhere. You can bet the rental company is going to hear about this.”
He had a pretty good idea what had happened, and it was in no way the rental company’s—or even the dishwasher’s—fault. “What kind of soap did you use?”
“The bottle under the sink,” she said, in a tone that suggested he was dim for even asking.
He opened the cupboard and pulled out the soap sitting right in the front. “This one?”
“Yes, that one,” she snapped. “Dish soap, for washing dishes.”
“That’s not for a dishwasher.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? It says it is right on the label.”
He reached back into the cupboard and extracted a box of granulated dishwasher detergent. “This is for the dishwasher. It doesn’t suds up like regular dish soap.”
“Oh,” she said, pulling her lip between her teeth, looking mortified by her error. Once again, Mitch couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. At least she was trying. How could he expect a woman who had probably never washed a dirty dish in her life to know how to run a dishwasher?
“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks blushing bright pink.
He shrugged. “It’s an honest mistake. No big deal.”
She looked helplessly around at the mess she had created, as though she didn’t have the first clue how to fix it. And though he felt like a complete degenerate for it, the only thing he could think about was getting her naked, laying her down and rolling around with her until they were both all slippery. Then he would…probably have his head examined.
“Why don’t you go out by the pool,” he told her. “I’ll clean this up.”
“It’s my mess,” she said.
Yes, and he had the feeling that if he left her alone to deal with it, she would only manage to make things worse. Besides, it would be advantageous to both of them if they weren’t within mauling distance of each other.
“You’re not here to wait on me hand and foot,” he said. “You made breakfast, it’s only fair that I clean up.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking relieved for a valid excuse to bail on the situation.
“I’m sure. I’ll have this cleaned up in no time.”
“Okay.” She rose to her feet, her legs all soapy, and tiptoed her way carefully across the floor, so she didn’t slip and fall. “I’ll see you outside.”
No time ended up being over an hour, and he still hadn’t been able to get all of the soap residue off the floor. He would just have to warn Lexi to be careful so she didn’t slip while she was making dinner.
Though it wasn’t noon yet, he felt he’d earned himself a cold beer. He grabbed one from the fridge, put his sunglasses on and headed out to the pool. Lexi lay in a lounge chair on the opposite side, sunning herself. Her eyes were shaded behind dark, designer sunglasses and she was wearing what looked like a very skimpy, pale bikini.
Wait a minute…
He slid his glasses down his nose to get a better look at her, and as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine, he realized she was in fact not wearing a pale bikini, skimpy or otherwise.
Lexi wasn’t wearing anything at all.
Eyes closed behind her sunglasses, the latemorning sun drenching her skin at a very comfortable seventy-five degrees, Lexi tried to shake off the mortification of failing at the simple task of working the dishwasher. She should have called Tara before she went anywhere near it. She also should have stayed in the kitchen and helped Mitch clean, but she was too embarrassed. And no doubt if she had stayed, she would have done that wrong, too, and looked even more inept than she already did. How could she expect him to take her seriously, to consider her a good wife, if she couldn’t even negotiate her way around a kitchen? She would have to make an absolutely perfect dinner.
More than an hour had passed when she finally heard Mitch open the patio door. She peeked through half-closed lids and saw that he was walking in her direction. A shadow robbed the sunshine as he hovered over her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his harsh tone making her jolt with surprise.
Was this some sort of trick question? “S-sunbathing?”
She could see by his exasperated expression that it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “What I would like to know is why you’re naked.”
“Technically, I’m not naked. I have bottoms on.” More