Chapter 3

THREE

I walk into work a couple of hours later, my head still buzzing with the revelations of the last few hours. I drop my backpack behind the front desk and go get the supplies from the maintenance closet, my movements automatic, mind a thousand miles away.

I round the corner.

And walk straight into a wall.

I stumble backward. The mop goes flying. Cleaning supplies rain down around me.

“What the fu—” is about all I manage to get out when a hand wraps around my wrist and steadies me.

I blink for a few moments to get my bearings back, and my eyes land on a familiar face. My shoulders slump, and I let out a sigh.

“Oh good,” I say. “You again. They should really get a better security system in this place.”

Sutton has what I by now suspect is his usual half-amused, mostly cocky grin on his face. “I only have the purest of intentions this time.”

“Are we sure pure is the word you were aiming for?”

“From time to time I surprise even myself,” he says.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why are you here again?”

He slumps his shoulders theatrically, hanging his head for a moment before he abandons the kicked puppy look, glances up, and aims another grin my way. “Penile servitude.”

I stare at him. What?

“Penal?” I go with the word that makes more sense than what he had to offer. “Who’s imprisoning you?”

“I’m pretty sure the word is penile.”

I peer around the empty hallway because this has to be a prank, and somebody is probably filming this exchange.

There’s nobody here.

“Not in most circles,” I eventually say.

His eyes turn to the wall somewhere above my shoulder, and he stares at it with an unseeing gaze for a long, long moment, lips slightly parted. “Oh, this puts so many things in a whole new perspective.” He follows that with a sad headshake. “Oof. In that case, I did not sign up for what I thought I was signing up for.”

“What were you signing up for?” I ask.

“To be fair, it was more like I was forcefully volunteered.”

“Uh-huh. For?”

“A small part of me is still holding my fingers crossed for penile servitude, but…” He holds his arms out. “Meet your new assistant for the week.”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remember when I broke in here?”

“Vividly.”

“Funny story with that. Turns out Quinn was not impressed, so now I’m working off my debt to society.”

More staring follows.

“Here?” I finally clarify.

Sutton shrugs. “I was making a case for doing my time in Hawaii, but I was voted down unanimously.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t want any of this.

“Do I get a vote?”

He presses his palm to his chest and staggers backward. “Ouch. That went straight through the heart.”

“And here I thought you didn’t have one.”

He straightens himself up. “Oh. Right. We’re good, then. Anyway. I’m here, ready to suffer the punishment.”

“I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Oh, I agree. If you want to put in a good word for me with Quinn, feel free. I for one have never considered myself suitably equipped for manual labor.”

“You seem to have a working set of limbs,” I can’t help but point out.

“True, but I usually avoid using them for that purpose.”

But even while saying that, he picks up the mop and starts tossing things back into the cleaning supplies bucket. When he’s done, he gets up and heads toward the changing rooms. I’m still not a hundred percent sure what’s happening or what to do about it, so I just follow him.

Sutton drops the cleaning supplies in the middle of the changing room, puts his hands on his hips, and looks around with a calculating expression on his face before he glances at me.

“You’re the boss.” He gestures to our surroundings.

“I am?” I’m stumped for a moment, which isn’t doing anything to help me sound assertive or in control, so I clear my throat and give it another go. “I mean, I am. Here’s your first and only order for the day: time to head home.”

I’d really, really prefer it if he would. I’ve never met a more distracting person in my life.

“That’s a bit of an unconventional start to our boss-employee dynamic, but okay,” he says. “Just to clarify, you are propositioning me? Because I accept. My place or yours?”

“Oh my God!” I mutter, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips. “Go. Home,” I say, holding my hand up in front of him when he opens his mouth. “ Alone, ” I add pointedly.

He pretends to think about it for a bit before he says, “Nah.”

“But why?” I ask, completely perplexed. “You just said. Physical things. Not your forte.”

“Manual labor,” he says. “Just to avoid confusion. I do very much enjoy a variety of physical things.”

“I’m giving you an out when it comes to the manual labor.”

“I know. It’s too bad I can’t take it.”

“Why?” I ask with pure exasperation.

“Quinn.”

“I won’t tell him. Problem solved.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t have to. It’s Quinn. Believe me, he’d know. Somehow, some way, he’d find out about this, and then I’d be even more in trouble. I’d rather just do my time now and free up my schedule for more enjoyable activities later. Besides, he’s all worried about your injury seeing as he’s managed to develop such a wide ethical streak.”

“You told him about that?” I slam my hands onto my hips. The stupid splint gets in my way again.

“The moment he started going on about how I shouldn’t break into places. I just threw you under the bus to distract him.” He looks around the empty room and at the cleaning supplies in front of our feet. “Clearly that backfired a bit for me.” He gives a sad headshake before he dismisses that and aims a grin my way. “Long story short, here I am, so use me. Any way you want to. I’m not picky, but if you need ideas about the how , I’ve got plenty of suggestions.” He waggles his brows.

We both stare at each other for a little while, neither of us giving up, until I let out a deep sigh and accept the inevitable.

“Fine. Do you want to wipe or mop?”

“Both are terrible choices,” he says cheerfully. “We can flip a coin.”

I debate that for a moment before I narrow my eyes at him. “Really flip a coin? Or are you one of those people who’ll be all, ‘Heads, you mop. Tails, you wipe. If it stays on the edge, I’ll go get a beer, and if it remains hanging in the air, I’ll do the work?’”

“That does sound like me,” he says thoughtfully before he snorts at whatever look he sees on my face. “I won’t this time. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Boy Scout?” The skepticism rings out loud and clear in my tone, and I’m not even trying to hide it.

“For a whopping day and a half before I got myself kicked out.”

I quirk my brow at him. “For?”

“Something that wasn’t even half as compromising as they made it out to be. That cucumber just happened to?—”

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

He simply grins. “Do you have a coin?”

“No.”

“No worries. I bet there’s an app.”

He pulls out his phone. Of course there’s an app.

“Heads, you mop?” he asks, and I give a reluctant nod. He holds his phone out toward me. “You can do the honors. Just so you can be sure there’s no funny business.”

“You saying that makes me think there is funny business,” I inform him before I tap on the screen, and we watch the virtual coin turn for a few seconds before it lands on heads.

I aim a smirk his way. He’ll be running out of here soon enough.

“Have fun with the bathrooms,” I say. “Some kids have terrible aim, so really give it some elbow grease.”

He makes a face before he picks up a sponge. “I really would’ve preferred penile servitude. Just saying.”

“Welcome to the real world,” I say sweetly. Yeah. He’ll be gone in no time at all.

I pick up the bucket, fill it with water, and add a dash of cleaning solution. To be honest, I expect Sutton to be useless, so I’m already preparing myself to go over whatever he manages to clean again. I’m not happy about it. I’ve had a long day, and I just want to do my job and go home. I’ve already accepted that I’ll be here later than usual, courtesy of the finger, but now I have to add chaperoning somebody to the mix.

But then when I get back into the changing room, I find Sutton actually working, and actual elbow grease is actually being used. Which is actually unexpected. So unexpected I just stand there for a while and stare before I finally catch myself, take the mop, and start cleaning the floor. For all his earlier complaining and insinuations about not being thrilled about having to do manual labor, Sutton moves quickly and efficiently, and we finish the first changing room in record time.

It’s when we’re heading toward the second changing room that I let the curiosity get the better of me.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask.

He throws me a look over his shoulder while he wrangles his supplies to the showers.

The look he sends me feels a bit different this time. Less cocky. More calculating. Only for a moment though, before the usual attitude is back.

He squints. “I don’t understand the question.”

Most of what comes out of his mouth ends up being a complete mystery in the sense that I have no idea whether he’s being serious or if I’m being laughed at and just don’t realize.

“As in what’s your job,” I say.

He sends me another one of those amused looks that does very little to clarify what he’s thinking.

“I’m filthy rich,” he says.

It’s not a total surprise. He has that air about him. The sort of confidence having unlimited funds seems to give people. Not that I regularly hang out with rich people, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten over the years. Money eliminates a lot of problems.

“That’s your profession? Having money?”

He seems to consider it for a second before shrugging nonchalantly. “Pretty much.”

I can’t see his face, but his tone is light.

He finishes wiping down the last shower before he turns around and tosses the sponge into the bucket.

“Money makes money,” he says. “Money earns interest, and that earned interest then earns more interest. And the cycle continues until you have so much money that you can’t keep up with spending it all. And then you’ll have even more money. Ask me how I know.”

Deciphering his tone becomes even more difficult, and I wasn’t having much success with it as it was. He looks completely relaxed, he sounds completely relaxed, and yet there’s something about how he says all of it that feels decidedly not relaxed.

Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, because let’s be honest here, everything that just came out of his mouth is goddamn obnoxious, and everything he apparently is is also everything I stand against.

“Well. A charmed life, I guess.” It’s all I can think to say in the end.

He tilts his head to the side the slightest bit. The cocky smile is firmly in place again.

“You bet,” he says in that tone again. The relaxed one that feels unrelaxed. He picks up the bucket. “So to answer your question, I do absolutely nothing for a living.”

I finish mopping the floor and empty the bucket of dirty water before I put the mop away and wrestle the pressure washer out. Sutton grabs it from me wordlessly and starts towing it toward the pool area.

“But what do you do all day?” I ask as I follow him. I’m genuinely interested now because my own days are filled with school and studying and work, so I’m not sure I’d even know what to do if I had nothing planned at all for months or even years on end.

He throws me an amused look over his shoulder.

“Depends on what I feel like doing. Although, if you’re worried I’m bored, you can come home with me. I’m sure we can find a pleasurable way to kill a few hours.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind for when I’m in a charitable mood.”

“It’s a standing offer, so take me up on it whenever.”

Once we get to the pool area, he sets up the pressure washer and proceeds to… Yeah, I can’t even lie, he proceeds to clean the whole place like a pro. Like he’s done it before. Come to think of it, I didn’t need to teach him to clean or redo his work earlier either, because he was pretty damn proficient then, too.

Which is weird, because it doesn’t exactly seem to fit with the image of a rich slacker he just painted for me.

And now I have nothing to do because he’s doing my work for me and doing it quickly and well, so in the end, I just sort of hover by the wall and watch him.

“I feel like I deserve an award,” he declares once he’s finished with the pressure cleaner.

“Aww. And here I didn’t think to bring a participation trophy for a…” I take him in, trying to gauge his age. Mid-twenties? Late twenties? I give up after a little bit. “How old are you?”

“Legal. I swear.”

I close my eyes and mutter, “Somebody give me strength,” under my breath, which makes him laugh out loud.

“To resist? Trust me when I say it’s one hundred percent unnecessary. Just give in to the temptation and come over to my side. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

I send him an exasperated look. “Do you ever turn—” I gesture toward him, not really sure how to describe what I mean. “—all of this off?” I ask.

“Funerals,” he says immediately, like he’s got that answer locked and loaded. “But only if I respected the deceased.”

“And if not you’ll just hit on the widow?”

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. “I’m not gonna lie. I do some of my best work at funerals.”

“Christ’s sake.” I’m thoroughly exasperated as I turn around to go and pack the cleaning supplies away.

And still, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he helps. I just do not get him at all.

Once we’re done, we grab our stuff and head outside. I lock up and turn around.

The streetlights paint the world with a yellowish hue. It’s late April, so the nights are still cool. I pull my jacket tighter around me and look at Sutton again.

“Well… thanks,” I say. “For the help.”

In reply, he simply salutes me.

With no idea what else to say or how to react, I just nod, stuff my hands in my pockets, turn around, and start to walk away. My bike’s still in Remy’s care. I fucked it up badly enough that he needed to order parts to get it fixed, which means I’m relying on my feet and the subway system.

“Do you want a ride?”

Sutton’s voice stops me, and I turn around, walking backward now.

“I’m good,” I say.

For some weird reason and only for a flash of a moment, I swear he looks relieved. But it might just be my imagination because, once again for the people in the back, I do not understand him.

I turn back around.

“See you, Wren,” he calls after me just as I’m about to turn a corner.

I lift my hand in acknowledgment.

I’ll eat my hat if he comes back tomorrow.