I didn't have the strength to scream again. Not after what my poor eyeballs had endured today.
Instead, I turned around, raised the feather duster, and hissed, "Seriously, what is wrong with you? Can you just leave?"
Ian leaned against the doorway like a smug Greek god with zero shame and even less clothing.
"I don't like you, Ian. You know it. I'm not trying to play games."
"I don't like you either," he said, crossing his arms over his obnoxiously perfect chest.
"You do realize I could sue you for emotional assault, right? After what you made me go through today? I'm still recovering from the psychological trauma of what you made me see today. You're supposed to be embarrassed or shy or something…but no. You're basically still flaunting it in my face."
"You really think you could survive suing me?" he scoffed. "You'd lose in three seconds. But hey, maybe you'd go viral first. 'Local maid traumatized by billionaire nudity.' The clickbait writes itself."
