His eyes are a piercing emerald, and they’re studying me cautiously and projecting no trust or friendliness whatsoever. He’s wearing a teal t-shirt which clings to every sculpted muscle on his fit body and a pair of black board shorts.
I suppose the look on the island is pretty casual, right down to the black sandals on his feet.
I try not to marvel at the obvious strength in his calves, and he clears his throat, directing my attention back to his gorgeous face. And gorgeous it is—a manly square jaw and full red lips. “Can I help you?” I finally manage to say after my full-on visual assault.
“Yes. You can let me in to do my job.”
“J-job?” My tongue feels too big for my mouth, and I think my brain might be offline. “Here? What kind of job?”
He holds up what I now see was in his hand all along. It looks to be a bucket filled with cleaning materials. He points at the golf cart parked near the entrance of the villa, loaded with other cleaning supplies.
“You’re here to clean.”
“If you’ll let me in, yes.” His tone is clipped with an air of annoyance I’m not used to. Not to sound too full of myself, but people usually fall all over themselves when I first meet them.
Whether they want to sign me to a contract or get my autograph, it really doesn’t matter. They go out of their way to fawn all over me, but this guy can’t wait to get past me.
“So can I come in?” His voice is deep and raspy. I manage a nod but don’t move at all.
He cocks his head to the side, looking me over from my face down to my toes. I finally realize I’m nearly naked in front of this god of a man, and my cheeks flush hotly.
But I still can’t seem to move. When those beautiful green eyes meet mine again, I think I see recognition. Yes, I am the Elijah Hunt. But he shocks me when he doesn’t say a word about it. Not. One. Word. “Are you going to move?”
I remain frozen with my back straight, regardless of my near nakedness. He just wants me to get out of his way? He doesn’t want to ask me about my post? Or my acting career? At the very least, he doesn’t want to know when my next movie will be in theaters? What the hell is happening?
“You’re only here to clean.”
“That’s my job.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid, and I suddenly feel colossally insecure. That’s not like me. I normally excel at putting on a confident act, but something about this man makes me feel vulnerable. And I don’t like it.
“Can’t you do this later? I was asleep.”
His eyes cast over my bare torso, and a shiver runs up my spine. “Yes, I assumed that. And no. I have a schedule. So right now, I’m going to make sure everything is good here, and then I’ll head on to the next villa.”
No? He just told me no?
“Well, since I only got here yesterday, I don’t think there’s much for you to do.”
“It’s on my schedule for the day.” He doesn’t back off from his frustration with me, and it’s clearly only growing.
I sigh and move out of the way with a huff, sweeping my hand in the air. “Go for it. But keep it down. I’m trying to sleep.”
I stomp to my room, beyond annoyed with his rude behavior.
With one call to my agent, I could have him fired. I could have him blacklisted from every housekeeping job in the future if I wanted to.
He should know that.
Maybe he doesn’t know who I am, though, and I suppose he was only doing his job. But he didn’t have to be so blatantly rude about it.
I’ll let this one slide.
At least for now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Atlas
Elijah Hunt. Of course, that’s the guy Holden was talking about arriving freshly on the island. I don’t spend much time on social media, but you’d have to literally live under a rock not to know Elijah fucking Hunt.
The golden boy of Hollywood.
Star of many, many late night fantasies of yours truly, who’s an out and proud gay man in his twenties. Of course, I’ve jerked it to clips of Elijah Hunt with his shirt off in those corny-ass action movies he’s part of.
As far as I’m concerned, he’s the only one in those movies and the only reason I’d ever watch them.
I’m more of a rom-com guy, truth be told.
Also unsurprisingly, Elijah is an unadulterated brat. What caught me off guard was him answering the damn door wearing only those tight-ass boxer briefs, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Yeah, I’ve seen pictures of him shirtless many times. Hell, he’s even done underwear ads, but there’s nothing like seeing him in person.
With his black hair a little longer and hanging around his face. That dark scruff framing his handsome, near-angelic face, making him appear a bit older and sophisticated. I’m sure that was the goal.
He’s not bulky with muscles, but he’s fit and trim in ways only a rich person can be. With the best of the best going into his nutrition. He probably has it all planned out and shipped straight to his door. All his meals and supplements.
He’ll likely have that here too.
While I’m very good at my job, the one thing I don’t have to do is kiss ass. I’m part of the cleaning crew and nothing else. Leave it to the rest of the staff here to take away what little stress he could possibly have.
Keep it down?
That arrogant motherfucker. I didn’t necessarily have to vacuum the rugs today, but guess who’s going to do it now? Spoiled little brat.
I’m just starting on the living-room rug when Elijah stalks into the room, now wearing a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He should look like a ridiculous tourist trying to fit in when he absolutely doesn’t. Though admittedly, it’s an effortless and breezy look he pulls off.
The air of entitlement surrounding him is thick when he stomps over to me, hand on one hip. “This is you being quiet?”
I continue vacuuming but speak loud enough for him to hear me. “I never agreed to be quiet. That was a barked order I chose to ignore.”
“You know I can get you fired, right?” He huffs indignantly, and I try not to laugh in his face.
Try and fail because it does make me laugh.
“They aren’t going to fire a housekeeper for vacuuming,” I say as I continue to push the vacuum, cleaning up imaginary dirt as I go.
He’s clearly flustered, his eyes widening and his arms folding across his chest. “What? Are you serious?”
“Very. I’m doing my job. What would you like them to fire me for?” I ask, pushing the vacuum along as he stares at me in shock.
“I told you to come back later.”
I sigh loudly and turn the vacuum off. “And I told you that wasn’t possible.” I have an urge to educate him that in the real world—something I’m sure he’s not accustomed to—we have schedules, but I refrain.
I know they won’t fire me, but that doesn’t mean I want him bitching to my boss about me either. I have a stellar work record here, and I’m not throwing it away for a spoiled brat who wants to sleep past noon.
“I’ll be done soon.” I try to wave him off. “Go back to sleep.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I ignore him and turn the vacuum back on, sweeping over the floor. He covers his ears and shouts, “That thing is too loud. Why does it have to be so damn loud?”