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eyes fell on St. James. And, well, hell. He was in a pair of lightweight gray sleep pants slung low on his waist, low enough for me to see the point where his pelvis sloped into the triangle above his cock. A cock which, by the way, was still half-hard through his pants, I noticed with an almost guilty-feeling as I jerked my head up, taking in his abs, glistening slightly with sweat, before my eyes found his face.
    His dark eyes were on me. That in and of itself wasn't surprising. His eyes were on me a lot. But there was something different there I hadn't seen before, something I didn't know him well enough to interpret, but it my my chest feel a little tight for a moment. His mouth opened for a second, closed, then opened again.
    "You're off for the night, Miss. Marlow," he said, his voice losing the sharp edge it usually held. "Make yourself at home."
    With that, he turned back into his room and shut the door with a quiet click.
    Make yourself at home?
    Make yourself at home?
    I paused for all of three seconds to ponder how uncharacteristic that request sounded from his lips before I flew across the hall, kicking out of my shoes and making a bee-line for the bathroom. I had managed a quick pee break while fetching his coffee once that afternoon, but had been holding my bladder since then. I stripped out of the obnoxious, binding clothes and threw on my own normal, cute cotton panties, a pair of silk sleep shorts and an oversize navy long-sleeve Disney tee and stuck my head out into the hallway, listening for any sounds. Hearing nothing, I tiptoe-ran down the hallway, the stairs, and into the kitchen.
    The main floor I found completely abandoned, as if the other employees actually had some kind of schedule and weren't on call at all times as I was apparently. I could make out the guards out front when I passed the front doors, but, well, he was rich. That was to be expected. I quickly rummaged around the kitchen, making myself a sandwich and locating a box of granola bars in the kitchen, snagging two and a bottle of water. I figured I could, I dunno, stick a granola bar into my bra or skirt the next day in case of another full day without being given a food break.
    I was moving out into the hallway when I heard the click of heels on the floor, accompanied by the slap of bare feet and I slunk back into the kitchen, shamelessly eavesdropping.
    "Come on, Byron. Don't be such a dick," the woman said and I saluted her with my sandwich. She was right there; he was a dick alright.
    "One and done, Lyla," was Byron's typical douchbaggy response.
    One and done?
    Seriously... who said that to a woman?
    Even if it was true.
    Well, I guess you had to respect a man who was upfront about being an asshole and didn't do the 'I'll call' thing that you knew he didn't mean but waited for your cell to ring anyway.
    "It was good," Lyla insisted,pathetic pleading clear in her tone.
    "Not denying that."
    "And you still don't want a repeat..."
    "I think I've made myself clear. Have a nice night, Lyla," he said and I heard the door swing open. I shoved the last of my sandwich in my mouth, chewing as I listened to Lyla's heels drift off into the night and the door close and lock. "You can come out now, Miss. Marlow," his voice called, making my heart fly up into my throat, making the food I was swallowing feel chalky and gross as it slid down. I raised my water and took a swig, forcing myself to move out into the hallway. I'd be damned if I let him think I was too chickenshit to face him just because I was eavesdropping.
    As soon as I rounded the corner into the foyer, I saw him standing on the bottom stair, arm on the railing, obviously waiting for me to emerge. When I did, his gaze dipped, doing a slow inspection from my bare feet and all the way up to my head where I had piled my hair in a messy top-knot. His lips actually twitched for a second before they settled into their typical straight line as his eyes pinned mine. "Seriously? That's what you