you for a Swifty,” she admitted. “This changes things.”
“I like the irony of the T-shirt.”
“No one believes that.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, God. Now I can see you dancing to ‘Shake It Off.’ My eyes! My eyes!”
Quinn chuckled. The low, rumbly sound did odd things to her stomach. She, um, shook it off and reminded herself she was here to work.
“Okay, time for me to clean your room. Move aside.”
Quinn didn’t budge from the doorway. One brow rose. “Do you talk to all your guests that way?”
“No, but you’re different.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“I meant like family. Joyce and I go way back and you’re her grandson. So that makes you...” She wasn’t sure what.
“An uncle?” he asked drily.
“No. That seems a little creepy. We could be cousins.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Whatever our relationship, I need to clean your room.”
“I’m good.”
A voice in her head unexpectedly whispered that she was sure that was true. No doubt Quinn was very good. All that experience, not to mention rhythmic ability.
“It’s my job to clean the rooms. It’s what I do here.” She smiled brightly. “You don’t want to keep me from my work, do you?”
He studied her. “Not your destiny?”
“No way. I have a plan.”
“The college degree.”
“Exactly. But to pay for that, I must work.”
“Why a maid?” he asked.
“As opposed to a train engineer—assuming I had the appropriate skill set?”
“Something like that.”
She thought for a second. “I like working for Joyce. The work is physically tiring, but I don’t have to interact with a lot of people, so I’m free to think about stuff.” She tapped the phone in her shirt pocket. “Or listen to lectures I’ve downloaded from the internet. The money is fair, sometimes people tip and it gets me closer to my master plan. Oh.” She smiled. “It also makes my mother crazy. Not the most mature reason, but one of them nonetheless.”
“You’re honest.”
“I don’t have a great memory, so being honest helps me keep my life straight.”
His gaze settled on her face. “No great moral compass you live by?”
“Sure, but everybody says that and no one believes it.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re unexpected.”
Was that the same as being sexy? Probably not, but a girl could dream. Quinn was a really interesting man. He drove a Bentley and wore Taylor Swift T-shirts. He’d been in tabloids, but he adored Joyce’s two dogs. Not that people who appeared in tabloids didn’t like pets.
She drew in a breath. “Wow—you’re really good. I’m totally confused and it’s been five minutes. Are you going to let me clean your room or not?”
“Not.”
“You don’t want to think about that? You have a cleaning service back in LA. How is this different?”
“It just is.”
Because I want you desperately. She smiled to herself. Right. Because that was exactly what Quinn was thinking.
“Inside joke?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
She heard a cart coming down the path and turned to see one of the room service guys pushing it toward the bungalow.
“Hey, Courtney.”
“Hi, Dan.” She looked at Quinn. “Lunch?”
“Uh-huh. Want to join me?”
Dan winked at her as she pulled her cleaning cart out of the way. She smiled back.
Quinn stepped outside to let him in. “On the dining room table,” he said, then turned to Courtney. “I got sweet potato fries.”
“How can I resist an offer like that?”
“You can’t.”
She positioned her cart to the left of the front door, then walked inside. The layout for all the bungalows was the same—a living room–dining room on one side, the bedroom-bathroom-closet on the other. There was a private patio with a couple of chairs and a small table. In Quinn’s case, the patio faced the pond with the paddleboats.
Dan set down the lunch on the table, then left. Courtney crossed to the half bath by the door and washed her hands. By
“I like the irony of the T-shirt.”
“No one believes that.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, God. Now I can see you dancing to ‘Shake It Off.’ My eyes! My eyes!”
Quinn chuckled. The low, rumbly sound did odd things to her stomach. She, um, shook it off and reminded herself she was here to work.
“Okay, time for me to clean your room. Move aside.”
Quinn didn’t budge from the doorway. One brow rose. “Do you talk to all your guests that way?”
“No, but you’re different.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“I meant like family. Joyce and I go way back and you’re her grandson. So that makes you...” She wasn’t sure what.
“An uncle?” he asked drily.
“No. That seems a little creepy. We could be cousins.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Whatever our relationship, I need to clean your room.”
“I’m good.”
A voice in her head unexpectedly whispered that she was sure that was true. No doubt Quinn was very good. All that experience, not to mention rhythmic ability.
“It’s my job to clean the rooms. It’s what I do here.” She smiled brightly. “You don’t want to keep me from my work, do you?”
He studied her. “Not your destiny?”
“No way. I have a plan.”
“The college degree.”
“Exactly. But to pay for that, I must work.”
“Why a maid?” he asked.
“As opposed to a train engineer—assuming I had the appropriate skill set?”
“Something like that.”
She thought for a second. “I like working for Joyce. The work is physically tiring, but I don’t have to interact with a lot of people, so I’m free to think about stuff.” She tapped the phone in her shirt pocket. “Or listen to lectures I’ve downloaded from the internet. The money is fair, sometimes people tip and it gets me closer to my master plan. Oh.” She smiled. “It also makes my mother crazy. Not the most mature reason, but one of them nonetheless.”
“You’re honest.”
“I don’t have a great memory, so being honest helps me keep my life straight.”
His gaze settled on her face. “No great moral compass you live by?”
“Sure, but everybody says that and no one believes it.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re unexpected.”
Was that the same as being sexy? Probably not, but a girl could dream. Quinn was a really interesting man. He drove a Bentley and wore Taylor Swift T-shirts. He’d been in tabloids, but he adored Joyce’s two dogs. Not that people who appeared in tabloids didn’t like pets.
She drew in a breath. “Wow—you’re really good. I’m totally confused and it’s been five minutes. Are you going to let me clean your room or not?”
“Not.”
“You don’t want to think about that? You have a cleaning service back in LA. How is this different?”
“It just is.”
Because I want you desperately. She smiled to herself. Right. Because that was exactly what Quinn was thinking.
“Inside joke?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
She heard a cart coming down the path and turned to see one of the room service guys pushing it toward the bungalow.
“Hey, Courtney.”
“Hi, Dan.” She looked at Quinn. “Lunch?”
“Uh-huh. Want to join me?”
Dan winked at her as she pulled her cleaning cart out of the way. She smiled back.
Quinn stepped outside to let him in. “On the dining room table,” he said, then turned to Courtney. “I got sweet potato fries.”
“How can I resist an offer like that?”
“You can’t.”
She positioned her cart to the left of the front door, then walked inside. The layout for all the bungalows was the same—a living room–dining room on one side, the bedroom-bathroom-closet on the other. There was a private patio with a couple of chairs and a small table. In Quinn’s case, the patio faced the pond with the paddleboats.
Dan set down the lunch on the table, then left. Courtney crossed to the half bath by the door and washed her hands. By
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