What a Woman Gets

What a Woman Gets Read Free

Book: What a Woman Gets Read Free
Author: Judi Fennell
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here, because he felt a sudden need to clean something—himself. Women like her got under his skin and not in a good way.
    They used to, but what was the saying about repeating history’s mistakes? Liam had zero intention of doing that.
    â€œWell, no. I guess it’s not a problem.” She tapped one of those ridiculously priced nails on her surprisingly non-collagen-enhanced lips. “Won’t you come in?”
    â€œUh, yeah. Sure.” Mac would kill him if he said no. This had been his baby sister’s first account. That’s why she’d selected it for him, she’d said; she knew he wouldn’t lose it for her.
    So he sucked up his innate prejudice against the Cassidys and Rachels of the world, and took the step up into the foyer beside her.
    She was smaller than she’d first appeared now that
they were on the same level.
    Then he got a look around the place. No way would they ever be on the same level.
    Rich
dripped from the chandelier with the pear-sized crystals. It wove through the gold-threaded rug, vined through the marble floor, and scented the air with the hint of millions.
    Liam had money, but this . . . Even the froufrou little dog had a gilded cage. This was on the level of the Donald Trumps and Conrad Hiltons of the world.
    And Mitchell Davenports. The Trump-in-training had turned a small construction business into a residential and commercial design and management firm in an enviable amount of time. But none of this was actually Cassidy’s of course. She lived off
Daddy’s
money.
    Cassidy Davenport was more Bryan’s or their pro-ball player friend Jared’s type than his these days. He was done with women who looked down their noses at men who couldn’t give them what they wanted.
    He glanced at Cassidy’s nose. Perfectly pert in that rhinoplastic way of the rich, but she’d never get the chance to look down it at him. He’d learned his lesson, and women like her, while not a dime a dozen—because they upped the ante to about a hundred thou a dozen—were so far below women who knew how to make their own way in the world that all he felt for her kind was anger at such uselessness.
    But he wasn’t here to judge; he was here to clean. For four frickin’ weeks.
    He should have folded that last hand. Taken his losses and lived with them. But Manleys didn’t go down without a fight. It was how he’d made his own fortune, inconsequential though it was when compared to this place. The one he was supposed to be cleaning.
    He gripped the vacuum wand and planted it in front of him. “Where would you like me to start?”
    â€œI guess the bedroom’s as good a place as any.”
    Seriously? Did she really think he’d fall for that? Was she slumming today? Pissed off at the boyfriend or something? Wanting a little spice?
    â€œSharon always started in the bedroom, then worked her way out. She said it kept what she’d already cleaned from getting messed up again before she finished. Makes sense to me, but if you’ve got another routine, I’m okay with that. Whatever you want to do is fine.”
    Sharon. The maid. The one he was here to replace.
    Liam glanced at the bucket of cleaning supplies and vacuum cleaner as if he’d never seen them before.
    That’s right. He was here to clean house; not
play
house.
    Liam bit back a chuckle. As if she’d be interested in him that way. He’d forgotten he was in the green golf shirt and cotton pants that constituted a Manley Maid uniform. He didn’t feel very manly in it, and with the vibe he
wasn’t
getting from Cassidy Davenport, he probably didn’t look it, either.
    He should be glad. He could get through this nightmare without having to fight off a society babe who thought she’d have some fun with
the help
. Been there, done that, ripped off the diamond-studded T-shirts. And wished he could have shredded them, but

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