Narrowing my eyes, I head into the lounge to see Mack standing at the counter with a slutty girl wrapped around him. Awkward. I take a step back, trip over a coffee table, and land flat on my ass. When I dare to look up again, they’re both watching me.
“Who is that?” the girl snaps.
“My nanny,” Mack grunts.
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I mutter, shoving to my feet.
The girl twists her face in disgust. “You have a nanny?”
I roll my eyes. “He has a kid, moron.”
Her eyes widen and Mack glares at me.
“You have a kid? I thought you didn’t have an Old Lady?”
“I don’t,” he growls, still staring at me.
“But you’ve got a kid?”
“A baby,” I point out. “Tiny. No mother. Poor thing.”
I’m horrible, I know, but he deserves it. He’s done nothing but ignore his child, acting as though he doesn’t exist. I don’t care what sort of situation he’s in—the child is innocent, and deserves the love of his father.
“Bedroom, now,” Mack snarls at me.
I don’t get the chance to answer. His fingers curl around my arm and he hauls me down the hall and into his room. He slams the door behind him and spins, pinning me to the wall by pressing his body against mine and putting his hands up beside my head. Holy mother. This is extremely close, and I’m getting a great view of his gorgeous face.
“Back up,” I breathe. Wow, that didn’t come out exactly how I’d planned.
“There are rules,” he growls. “The first is that you stay the fuck outta my business. That means you don’t share it, nor do you involve yourself in it. The second is that I bring women over, you wanna live here and keep this job, you fuckin’ live with it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“The third, and most important, is that you do your job, and you do it without becomin’ involved in my life. I don’t need or want your opinion, and if I didn’t have to keep you here, I wouldn’t.”
Um, rude.
“Let me tell you something,” I hiss, finding my sass once more. “You couldn’t find another girl to stick around if you tried. You have a child who you ignore, and I don’t think it’s right that you’re giving your attention to whores instead of him.”
“I hired you, and now it’s up to you to make him your problem.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snarl, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t move.
“I’m in a situation I don’t wanna be in. End of fuckin’ story.”
“Then give him to someone who will love him the way he deserves, you selfish son-of-a—”
He guts me off with a snarl so low and throaty it has the words coming to a screeching halt in my throat. His eyes, two deadly brown orbs, burn into me. Oh, boy. He’s scary. Really scary. He leans in close, so close the warm puffs of his breath brush against my skin. When he speaks, his voice comes out in a deadly hiss.
“What makes you think you’re holier than fuckin’ sin? You don’t walk in my shoes, you don’t know a fuckin’ thing about me, and you don’t get to fuckin’ tell me what kind of man I am. Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll throw your ass out of this door tomorrow. What’s it gonna be?”
He’s serious; I can see it in his eyes.
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll do my job and keep out of your shit.”
“Smart fuckin’ girl.”
“Are we done?”
He pushes off the wall and swings the door open. “We’re fuckin’ done. Send the girl in.”
Asshole.
Giant asshole.
CHAPTER FIVE
MACK
“You can’t keep ignoring him.”
I turn and glare at Santana, who is giving me yet another lecture about the baby my dead ex left behind, a baby she didn’t tell me about, a baby that was shoved on me, all while a huge bomb was being dropped on my life. Ingrid came into my life like a warm sunny day, and left like a fuckin’ hurricane. The anger I feel for her right now, drags deep down into my soul.
“Keep your nose outta my shit, Chante,” I warn. “You might be the one girl I can tolerate, but it don’t mean I won’t put you in your place.”
“If you don’t want him here¸ you should just . . .”
“I said,” I growl, low. “Keep your nose outta my shit.”
She throws her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t speak to me like that, Chief.”
I quirk my lips. Tiny, sassy and full of attitude is the best way to describe Santana. Maddox must be a solid man for puttin’ up with her. God knows, deep down I love the crazy woman; she’s the only one I tolerate.
“We’re done here, Chante,” I say, pressing a fist to the side of her face and giving her head a little jerk. “Go and find your man.”
“There’s something I came here to tell you,” she says, flopping onto the couch at the club and staring up at me. She pats the cushion beside her and I give it a disgusted look.
“Oh, come on,” she prompts.
With a frustrated grunt, I sit down.
“So, I went past your place to get the last of my things, and there was a car outside your house.”
“Cars drive all the time,” I point out sarcastically.
Santana smacks my shoulder. “Don’t be smart. No . . . this one was just sitting there. I saw a man inside. He was watching the house.”