Perfect Kiss by Lacey Black
Chapter 4
Leni
I’m just wrapping up at the Gomez house when my cell rings. It’s not a number I recognize, and while I’d prefer to let it go to voicemail, when you own a business, you don’t always have the luxury. Every missed call could be a missed opportunity, or so my mom used to say when I was first starting out.
I make sure I have all of my cleaning supplies gathered up before answering the phone. “Squeaky Clean, this is Leni.”
“Lenora.”
That’s all the caller says, but I know instantly who it is. The deep timbre of his voice, raspy and seductive, has my thighs clenching by saying just one word.
My name.
“It’s Leni,” I tell him, trying to control my breathing.
Malcolm chuckles. “I prefer Lenora. It’s exotic, don’t you think?”
I feel my internal muscles spasm as his voice dips down, as if he’s sharing a dirty secret. Clearing my throat, and the dirty images suddenly flashing through my mind, I stand up straight, refusing to let him get to me. “It’s old-fashioned and the reason I was teased in grade school,” I retort, though I instantly wish I wouldn’t have said a word. That’s none of his business, really.
He tsks. “That’s unfortunate. Kids are cruel, that’s for sure. I find the name unique and interesting.”
“Anyway, what can I do for you, Mr. Mayor?”
“Ahh, I see you already know who this is. Keeping tabs on me?” he teases with a low snicker that sends my blood pumping.
“No, but I recognized your voice.”
“All right, well, I was hoping to hire you.”
I grab my bag and pull out my calendar, preferring the paper version over a digital one. “What kind of job? I already clean the public building and the law firm.”
“It’s a personal one.” Before I can reply, he takes control over the conversation. “Do you have time to meet with me? Say this afternoon? Two o’clock?”
Scanning today’s schedule, I actually have a big hole with availability because my evening is packed. “That should be fine.”
“Two it is. I’ll text you my address,” he informs, before adding, “See you later, Lenora.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s Malcolm, Lenora,” he replies before signing off.
I jot his name down into my schedule and try to calm my racing heart. I’m not sure what it is about this man that causes me to get all mushy and silly, like a schoolgirl with a crush.
My phone chimes with a text message, so I quickly add his address beneath his name, and while I should just finish packing up my things, I take a few seconds to add his contact to my phone.
Not like I’ll ever use it, though.
I return the supplies provided by the homeowner to the closet and stick my products back into my carrying tote. While I may use a client’s broom and mop, I prefer my own cleaning products. They’re made of all-natural ingredients, smell amazing, and are simply the best on the market. There are a few that request I use their cleaners, usually laden with harsh chemicals and horrible odors, but fortunately, those clients are few and far in between.
I also sell this particular product line through the laundromat. On Monday evenings from four to six and Thursday mornings from nine to eleven, people can stop in and purchase the same supplies I use for their own homes. It’s actually been a great opportunity for me, as well as the residents of Mason Creek.
After loading up my car at the Gomez house and resetting their alarm, I make my way back to my storefront and try not to fret about the impending meeting with Malcolm.
Yeah, fat chance of that happening.
* * *
At five ‘til two, I pull into the driveway of a gorgeous house. It’s one of the newer ones in town, built during my time away from Mason Creek. It’s a two-story brick home, with gorgeous landscaping and a two-car attached garage. The others in the subdivision are of similar size and style, with large yards. Some have visible swing sets in the backyards, while others have basketball hoops in the driveway, Malcolm’s included.
I get out of my car and grab my bag, making sure I have my notebook and planner, and head for the front door. It opens before I even reach the concrete steps, and the man I’ve been nervous to see again steps out. “Welcome, Lenora.”
“Hi,” I chirp, adjusting the shoulder strap on my bag to give me something to do.
“Won’t you come in?” he offers, stepping aside and holding the screened door wide open for me to enter.
The foyer is bright and professionally decorated, with a side table and fancy decorative bowl that probably costs more than my entire outfit.
“Come on in,” he adds, waving me down a small hallway and into the kitchen.
I glance around, taking in the cabinets and appliances, the rich sage walls, and a table big enough to seat eight. But what really catches my attention is the view. I set my bag down on the counter and move to the large bay window overlooking Baylor Lake. I can see families outside, fishing and swimming in the warm summer sun, and dogs splashing in the water.
Malcolm’s backyard is massive, much bigger than the neighbors, with a decent-sized shed positioned on the far-left side of the property line, so it doesn’t obstruct the view of the waterfront.
Wow, being mayor and an attorney, even one who’s only thirty-five, must be lucrative.
“This view is amazing,” I state, though I’m sure he already knows.
“It was one of the reasons I purchased this house. I grew up swimming in Baylor Lake as a child and love to fish.”
I glance over my shoulder, realizing he’s standing directly behind me, gazing out at the view. I catch a whiff of his cologne, the scent woodsy and clean and doing a number on my lady bits. Clearing all thoughts of my unused parts from my mind, I return my focus back to our conversation. “My son has been talking about fishing. My dad took him a few months back, after we moved home. He’s been wanting to go again ever since.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns his milk chocolate gaze my way. “You’re welcome to bring him here.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I reply quickly, waving off his invitation. I barely know this man. “Thank you, though.”
He shrugs. “The offer stands anytime. I rarely get out there and fish anymore, but I have poles and supplies in the storage shed. You’re welcome to bring your son and use them.”
I reply with a grin and turn back to collect my bag. I retrieve my planner, pen, and notebook, ready to make notes if needed. “So, what is it you need help with?”
He waves at the chair closest to me and takes the one directly across the table. “I’m looking for someone to clean my place. I’d do it myself, but with my schedule, it can be hard to keep up with it. What sort of services do you offer?”
I pull out a printed price list, complete with three package options. “These are my services. They’re based on a bi-weekly schedule, though some prefer weekly. If that’s the case, most choose a deeper clean on the odd weeks, with the basic package on the evens.”
“I’ll do that.”
I blink rapidly at his quick decision. He didn’t even look at the print-out long enough to see the package differences. “Oh. Okay. You don’t want to take more time to look this over and make a decision?”
He shrugs again and crosses his arms over his chest. Even with the light blue button-down shirt, I can see the chiseled muscles of his upper arms through the material. My mouth goes dry. “No need. You come highly recommended by pretty much everyone in this town.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. I appreciate their vote of confidence.”
“When are you free? How soon can you start?” he asks, pulling out his cell phone. I see his long fingers tapping away, pulling up the calendar app.
“Well, I guess we need to discuss your needs.” I glance up and see his eyes turn molten. It causes me to lose all train of thought.
After a few long seconds, the corner of his mouth turns heavenward as he asks, “We were about to discuss my needs.”
The innuendo isn’t lost on me, and I’m sure he can tell by the way my breathing hitches in my throat. “Yes, of course,” I mumble, glancing down at my notebook. “Are there any particular days and times you prefer?”
“Not really.”
“Well, if you prefer to be here while I clean,” I start, glancing at my schedule.
“What do most do?”
“I have clients who are here while I work and others who provide me with a key or security code to gain entrance.”
He seems to consider both options. “What do you do with your son while you work?”
His question catches me a little off guard, but not entirely. It’s no secret I have a child, and it can be a challenge to coordinate his schedule with that of a homeowner’s. Since he’s out of school for the summer, I’m a little more flexible, since he stays with my mom while I work. Once school starts in a few weeks, I’ll have to adjust my schedule so I can pick him up at the end of the day. Sure, I can have my mom help, but it’s something I’m looking forward to doing. I want to be there when Trace gets out of school, listen to him tell me all about his day in kindergarten, and preparing him an after-school snack. That’s part of the reason I chose this field of work.
Flexibility.
Well, that and I love to clean.
I meet Malcolm’s gaze to answer his question. “He stays with my mom while I work, sometimes my sister. I try to limit the nights I clean to three, so I can be home with him in the evenings.”
He nods, seeming to consider my words. “Do you ever bring him with you?”
I’m sure my surprise is evident. “I try not to. He’s five, and sometimes that’s not conducive to the whole cleaning process.” I give him a smile, which makes him grin in return.
“I bet not. I guess I’m just saying, if you ever need to bring him, you’re welcome to,” he says with a casual shoulder lift.
“Oh, well, thank you. I hope I shouldn’t need to.”
“Anyway, let’s figure out a schedule that works for both of us. How does Thursday evenings sound?”
I glance down, noticing I have availability on Thursdays. “I can fit you in after the physician’s office. I’m usually done by seven.”
“Okay. That works for me. I don’t have committee meetings on Thursdays, so it’s a great night for me. I’ll also get you a security code number for the front door. This way, if I’m not here for some reason, you’ll have access.”
I make a few notes in my binder. “We can begin with the basic clean. When do you want to start?”
“How about this week?”
My eyes widen slightly. “Tomorrow?”
“The sooner, the better, right?”
“Of course,” I insist, penciling Malcolm into tomorrow’s schedule and the next few Thursdays after that.
We spend the next few minutes going over the details of the contract, and I’m grateful Malcolm chooses to use the products I sell. I think he’ll really be happy with the results. By the time he signs on the dotted line, it’s getting close to my next appointment.
“If you don’t have any more questions, I’ll see you tomorrow just after seven then,” I state, standing and gathering my belongings.
“Perfect,” he replies, rising and waiting to escort me to the door. “I look forward to working with you, Lenora.”
I glance briefly at his offered hand. When he takes mine and our palms touch, a bolt of electricity zips through my veins, alive and unfamiliar. The shock has me pulling mine from his grasp, but it does nothing to ebb the power of that touch. “Tomorrow,” I mumble, stepping toward the door, ready to make my escape.
Malcolm is there, holding the door open. “I’ll see you soon.”
I slip past him, catching that now-familiar woodsy scent of his cologne as I go, and hightail it to my car, needing to get as far away from Malcolm’s potent gaze and intoxicating scent. I need to put him far out of my mind. He’s a job, a client. Plus, he has a reputation for being a playboy, and I have no time or energy for one of those in my life.
Pulling out of his driveway, I can’t help but take a look around. This is the type of place I’d love to raise Trace, but right now, that’s not in the cards. I used my inheritance from my grandmother to start my business. Part of what attracted me to the laundromat, besides the income it provided, was the apartment upstairs. My sister Laken did the same thing, and it was such a solid investment. I followed suit.
My ideal job wasn’t exactly owning and operating a laundromat. In fact, I actually have a bachelor’s degree in accounting from Washington State. I excelled in math all through school and thought a career with numbers was my ticket to financial success. Turns out, I hated it.
I was hired directly out of college to work at a small firm in the city I was living in, and it was horrible. I stuck it out for a few years, at the advice of my mom, especially since I was pregnant at twenty-three. With a baby on the way and a boyfriend who traveled for his job, I needed steady employment. So I stayed, hating my job, until the day I left Washington and returned home to Montana.
Now I’m the proud owner of an aging laundromat, who spends her weekend cleaning a cheap disposable diaper out of a washing machine. Did you know they swell up and explode all over the place when put in the spin cycle?
This is the life, isn’t it?
Sighing, I head to my next appointment, an old man who cooks bacon three times a day and tries to give me a smooshed Tootsie Roll from his pocket when I leave. At least I get to look forward to spending twenty minutes scrubbing splattered grease off the range, the counter, and the walls. Hell, it’ll even be all over the floor, especially knowing he likely stepped in it and dragged it all over the faded linoleum.
Yes, this is the life.
My life.
And I’m loving every second of it.
