Page 63 of Just One Little Bargain

Mom turns to Milo with the slow, thorough appraisal that has terrified every boy I’ve ever brought home. “Do you have experience in this line of work?”

He swallows. “I’m happy to help with anything Evie needs.”

Mom’s eyebrows inch higher. “So where is Milo staying while he’s working here?”

The question floats toward me like a grenade with the pin already pulled.

“Here.”

“Here?” Mom’s eyebrows climb past her hairline and keep going. They are now in orbit. “But I thought all the guest rooms were booked?”

“He’s staying on my couch.” It’s the only plausible answer. “Completely professional arrangement. I’m in my room, there’s a hallway, and a closed door, and several pieces of furniture between us at all times.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Mom beams at Milo.

“There’s nothing happening beyond a professional arrangement.” The more I say it, the less convincing it sounds.

“I haven’t suggested otherwise.” She’s collecting her purse now, the leather strap sliding over her wrist. “Okay, I’ll leave you two to your very platonic work schedule.”

I hop toward the door on my good foot, the movement jarring my injured ankle. “Yeah, we have a lot of work to do. Guest rooms to prep. Schedules to figure out. Very busy.”

Mom’s grin turns knowing, the same expression she wore when I insisted my high school lab partner was “just a friend” right before he asked me to prom. “Oh, I bet you’re busy.”

“Oh my God.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.” She’s laughing now, clearly enjoying my suffering. “Take care of that ankle, honey. And Milo?” She touches his arm and his eyes widen at the contact. “Make sure she actually rests. She’s terrible at that.”

“I will,” he promises, looking earnest and slightly terrified.

“Good.” She pats his arm once more. “You seem like a nice guy.”

“Mom, please leave.”

“I’m leaving! Geez.” She blows me a kiss. “Love you, honey. Use protection.”

“MOM!”

Her laughter echoes down the hallway as the door swings shut.

I stand there, mortified beyond reason, until I realize Milo is staring at me with wide eyes. His cheeks are flushed pink.

“She’s . . .” He trails off, searching for words.

“A lot,” I finish. “She’s a lot.”

The silence after she leaves is worse than the one she interrupted. Five minutes ago, I explicitly refused to let this demon live in my house. Now he’s apparently my new live-in employee.

“You said no,” Milo says carefully. “Before she came in.”

“I remember.”

“And then you told your mother I was hired.”

“Yes.”

“So which one is it?”

I lower myself back into the chair, careful with the ankle, and level him with the most direct stare I can manage.