Clean Sweep: San Francisco Dragons, #1

By Kate Willoughby

He wants a housekeeper. What he gets is an instant family.

When the NHL San Francisco Dragons need a gimmick to improve their fan relations, Cameron Bowes becomes the focus of the new video "At Home with a Dragon". Unfortunately for Cam, his bachelor pad looks like an earthquake hit it. Repeatedly.

Dakota Kelly has been working non-stop since unexpectedly gaining custody of her young niece. The little girl's grandmother swoops in to help, but her overbearing ways force Dakota to work two jobs in the hopes of someday escaping Nana's clutches.

Lucky for Cam, Dakota turns out to be the miracle worker he so desperately needs, and he jumps at the chance to hire her as his live-in housekeeper. Soon, the two can no longer ignore their smoldering chemistry, and a happily-ever-after seems to be the next play. There's just one problem: Nana doesn't approve, and she's not about to let her granddaughter go without a fight.

Clean Sweep may be read and enjoyed as a standalone sports romance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Willoughby
• Release date: Jul 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386231288

Book preview

1

Cameron Bowes was desperate. Under no circumstances did he want a video crew coming to his house. The very thought gave him hives. When he pictured the looks on their faces when he opened the door, he shuddered with dread.

The San Francisco Dragons, the NHL team Cam played hockey for, had a reputation for being aloof and even snobby, and despite all the PR department’s efforts with advertising and game packages, ticket sales were lagging. So some genius decided to institute a series of videos called At Home with the Dragons in which players were to conduct a recorded tour of their homes to give the fans a glimpse of their private lives, making them seem more accessible. The execs wanted to start with the most popular players first, and Cam was fourth on the list.

I hear you’re going under the video microscope, Max Stone said.

Cam scowled as he stripped off his jeans and T-shirt and dropped them on the floor. He and his teammates were suiting up for practice.

You heard right, Cam said. Unless you want to take my place, Stoner.

Dragons forward Max Stone loved being in the spotlight and had the most social media followers. He was the natural choice for this kind of thing, but Max shook his head.

I actually volunteered to go first when I heard about it, but they said I already have a solid relationship with the public.

You know, it’s really too bad we all can’t be as perfect as Stoner, Ian Zappala said with exaggerated sarcasm.

Max Stone grinned and raised his hands as if trying to ward off unwanted attention. Some of the guys groaned. Others rolled their eyes and laughed.

Anyone else want to take my place? Cam asked. I will legit pay you five thousand dollars.

Why don’t you want to do it? Ian asked. Afraid they’ll discover your inflatable doll collection?

Max gave Ian a hearty high five.

I heard he has a shrine dedicated to Celine Dion, someone else quipped.

I just don’t like my privacy invaded. If I wanted the world to see my house, I’d invite it. Hopefully, the team would buy that partially true excuse.

Team captain Paul Nordbeck, joined the conversation. It’s the price of fame. The public makes it possible for you to play hockey and demands its pound of flesh in the form of voyeurism.

I happen to know the real reason he doesn’t want to get filmed, Max said.

Everyone turned to Max questioningly.

He’s a complete and utter slob. Max nodded at Cam. Go ahead, try to deny it.

Cam had been about to drop the roll of tape on the floor, but put it on the bench beside him instead.

Are we talking crack-house dirty? someone asked.

For shit’s sake, no. My place is just…cluttered.

There. A much more PC term.

Max shook his head. Dude, you forget about that time I stayed with you when my house was being painted. Cluttered is my grandma’s house where there is fifty years of stuff she can’t bear to throw away. Your place is a pigsty.

Having seen an actual pigsty once, Cam wanted to protest. Yes, he sometimes left empty water bottles or potato chip bags lying around and flat surfaces tended to be covered with miscellaneous stuff. And yes, his messiness was one of many factors in his divorce, but there weren’t cockroaches or rats or anything.

How messy is he, Stoner? Ian asked. Messier than me?

Max thought about that. Actually, yes. You do dishes once in a while.

Natalie and I are too busy to clean, Paul said. Especially since Nico came along. You have no idea how much stuff comes with having a kid. We just have a maid come weekly.

I do, too, Max said.

This was news to Cam. Max had a maid? Actually, that made sense the more he thought about it. Max was a social media addict, constantly on his phone. He had almost two hundred thousand followers with whom he shared photos and personal things Cam would never dream of telling strangers. It stood to reason he needed the backgrounds of his selfies to look good too.

Cam shook his head. That’s all well and good, but like I said, I don’t like my privacy invaded.

Because of the blow-up dolls.

Cam blew out a breath. For the love of—

Paul Nordbeck slapped his shoulder and laughed. Look, buddy. If you get a real professional, it’s all on the up and up. All they do is clean. The kitchen, the bathrooms, the windows and the floors. If you don’t want them going into your refrigerator or your closet or whatever, all you have to do is say so. However, there is one caveat, Paul said. You have to clean before the maid comes to clean.

Cam frowned. What? That doesn’t make sense.

Look, here’s the deal, Paul said. Whenever our maid comes, Natalie goes into a cleaning frenzy. It makes no sense to me at all but she runs around picking stuff up and neatening the whole house.

Well, if I get a maid, Cam declared, I’m sure as hell not picking up shit before she comes over. That’s what I’m paying her for in the first place.

Dude, let me set you up with someone before the film crew comes, Max said, his face serious. Because I guarantee you, if they film your house looking like I’m thinking it does, you will never, ever live it down. All your fans will know that you leave empty Red Bull cans all over the house, that a pizza box can lay on your table for so long you could carbon-date the crusts.

All right, all right, fine, Cam said, holding his hands up in surrender. Get me a maid—yours, if she’s available.

---

When he got home from practice, Cam took a good hard look at his house, trying to see it as a stranger would. Unfortunately, Max was right. His place was hideously messy. It wasn’t that he didn’t like things clean; he did. He appreciated cleanliness. When on one of their twenty-some annual road trips, he liked how spotless everything was in the hotel. He could usually keep it that way for the one or two nights he was in the hotel room. At home it was a different story.

As an NHL player, he expended a lot of energy during the games and at practice. There were team meetings and briefings, fan events and charity fundraisers. More often than not, he took his dogs for a run. He also worked out and trained at least two hours every single day. By the time he got home, he was bushed. So, when faced with a choice between kicking back with a bag of take-out in front of the TV versus sweeping the floor or scrubbing the shower, he usually opted for the former. His tolerance level for dirt and disorganization was pretty high.

But in the back of his mind, he wondered if his resistance toward housekeeping chores stemmed from a desire to strike back at his ex-wife. Marriage to Morgan started out fantastic, but quickly turned into a battle as her uber-controlling nature came to the fore. If he didn’t comply with her wishes, there were consequences—the silent treatment, a moratorium on sex, yelling, tantrums, and even physical aggression. He probably should have gone to therapy after their divorce, but never did. Instead, he went through a period of doing whatever the hell he wanted, just because he could. Finally. That indulgent behavior included not cleaning up after himself, and after a while, it just became a habit.

Either way, as a public figure, he had a responsibility to the team to keep up appearances and he didn’t particularly want to be that guy, the one who everyone thought of as the slob first and a hockey player second.

Even so, on the morning the maid Max ordered for him was due, Cam fought the urge to tidy up. From the moment he got out of bed, he questioned himself. Would he normally have thrown that water bottle away, or would he have left it on the counter? He was toying with the idea of making this a regular gig, but only if he didn’t have to perform the pre-visit tidying ritual that Paul’s wife did. As much as possible, he wanted the state of his house today to be authentic.

The doorbell rang and his two dogs erupted in a cacophony of barking. He had an Akita/Shepherd mix, Zeus, and a tan-and-white Chihuahua, Gizmo. Gizmo could be counted on to behave, but Zeus was still a pup at heart.

Cam checked the front door video feed. His security system allowed him to use his phone to view several spots outside of the house. Holy shit. She was a looker. Mid-twenties. Nice figure. Long brown hair that tumbled to her shoulders. Oddly, she wore makeup that made her look like she was going to a club rather than cleaning his house. Maybe she had a date afterward. She also wore some kind of electronic device about the size of an Oreo on a cord around her neck.

Holding on to Zeus’s collar, Cam opened the door. Warily eyeing his dogs, she had a gym bag slung over her shoulder and a rolling crate of cleaning supplies. Hi. I’m Suzette, she said with a damned pretty smile. I’m here to clean your house.

I’m Cam. This is Zeus and this little fella is Gizmo. Come on in. They’re friendly, he said. They just need to get used to you.

Zeus pulled to get loose, but Cam held on. I hope you’re prepared for a mess, he said as his dog attempted to inhale all the olfactory atoms he possibly could.

I’m used to messes, Suzette said. Is there a room where I can change?

Change? He flicked his gaze over her—skinny jeans that clung to her superbly rounded ass, a gray T-shirt, a pair of red Converse shoes. Maybe she wanted to put on a smock or an apron or something. Zeus was now sniffing her feet, his tail wagging at a slow enough tempo that Cam risked letting him go.

Ah, sure. There’s a bathroom right over there, on the right.

Thanks. She pulled a piece of paper out of a folder in the crate and handed it to him. If you could, I need you to sign this waiver thing before we get started.

She left the cart of cleaning supplies in the foyer, but took her duffle with her.

Shit. Now that she was here, he felt even more embarrassed about the state of his house. Despite his earlier intent to leave his house in its raw state, he hustled to the kitchen and attempted to consolidate the dirty dishes into a pile instead of leaving them on every available square inch of counter. Damn it. Shouldn’t he get a pass just by virtue of being a single guy living alone? People knew that single guys were messy. They expected it. He’d just make sure to give her a really big tip. That should do the trick.

Okay, let’s get started. Did you sign it? she asked from the front hallway.

Shit. He’d forgotten. He grabbed a pen and scrawled his name on it. In his haste, he put his jersey number too, like he’d done thousands of times when signing autographs. Dumbass. He scratched out the number just as she came into the kitchen.

Wearing only lingerie.

A black lacy push-up bra, matching panties, a garter belt, thigh high stockings, and some fuck-me pumps.

What.

The.

Ever-loving.

Fuck?

2

Dakota Kelly worked part time as an Eye Candy Maid under the name Suzette. It wasn’t work she particularly enjoyed, but she made more in one weekend cleaning houses in her lingerie and shaking her booty than she did during her five-day work week as a custodian at Shiloh Elementary School. And she needed the money.

Most of the time she got lascivious grins or self-satisfied smirks but not today. Today, she almost laughed at the way her new client’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Good. That made things even, since she had almost been struck dumb by his gorgeousness when he answered the door.

According to the printout, his name was Cameron Bowes and he lived in the nicest house she’d ever been assigned to clean. The two-story home sat on a fairly large piece of property in the posh San Francisco suburb known as Hillsborough. The grounds were beautifully landscaped and maintained. The inside was another story.

The formal living room wasn’t too messy, but she could see a portion of another room, a family room maybe, that looked pretty bad. The kitchens and the bathrooms were always the worst. Still, she might not have to actually clean that much. Some clients just wanted to watch her do anything at all as long as she was in her underwear. Others wanted the show and actual cleaning. This Cameron guy needed the latter more than the former, but she’d been wrong about this before.

Ah, Suzette, what hell happened to your clothes? her new client asked, clearly, adorably flustered. "You are the maid, aren’t you? I swear I heard you say you were here to clean my house."

I am.

Then why are you dressed like that? He was keeping his eyes averted which was refreshing and more than a little amusing.

This is my uniform, she replied. She again noticed he was a gorgeous specimen of man. Blond, startlingly blue eyes and some damned sexy forearms. The rest of him wasn’t bad either. He must work out. Lots of squats and lunges, judging from his butt and thighs.

Does your boss know you dress like this to clean houses?

She put one hand on her hip. Of course she does. All Eye Candy Maids wear scanty clothing. That’s the whole point.

They also went by false names. In the past, clients had been known to get a little too attached to their maids. Dakota knew of at least two restraining orders.

Oh, okay, he said, a look of understanding dawning on his face. I get it now. See, a buddy set this up for me. I should have known he might pull a stunt like this.

Is it your birthday?

He huffed out a laugh. No. Max’s just a…funny guy who likes to play jokes. He heaved a deep breath.

So you still want me to clean your house, right? I mean it is pretty bad. She drew a finger through the layer of dust on the sideboard then glanced at the overflowing trash can, the full sink and the auxiliary half-filled, open trash bag that huddled in the corner of the kitchen.

He flushed. Yeah. If that’s actually part of your…services. I mean, you do clean, don’t you? Or is it all just a show for slimy dudes to get their kicks?

I get both kinds, Mr. Bowes. Some just want to watch me go through the motions, but I do actually clean if the client wants me to.

I actually need you to clean a lot. They’re coming to film in my house tomorrow and I need the place looking decent. And call me Cam.

Someone’s filming here? Are you…famous?

He lifted a shoulder. I play hockey for the Dragons.

Oh, you’re a Dragon. She didn’t really follow any sports, but she’d heard of the hockey team that played for San Francisco.

Yeah.

She gestured toward the contract. So, I can’t start cleaning until you read and sign that.

Oh, I did. Sorry. He handed it back.

Perfect, she said. I’ll need that thousand dollars up front.

What? He grabbed the paper from her and scanned it while she laughed.

I’m just kidding. You’re prepaid. But you really should read things before you sign them, you know. She opened the dishwasher and started loading it with dishes from the sink. There were quite a few and she wondered how long they had languished there. I’d have thought that’s one of the first things pro athletes learned.

He frowned, but turned his attention back to the contract, which was a page-long list of the rules—only one additional person was allowed on the premises, no physical contact, no illegal drug use, no video or photography. On the bottom of the sheet the clients were encouraged to tip generously for a job well done, and Dakota wished that were always the case. She had put pink hearts and a handwritten thank you in the margin of that section.

My agent reads the contract. That’s what I pay him for.

Does he get a lot of money for that service? she asked, scraping some old, dried up food off a plate.

He gets plenty, yes.

I should get into the agent business.

She glanced over at the two dog beds where Zeus lay. Gizmo was sitting at Dakota’s feet, his tail wagging.

How long have you had your dogs? she asked. The first round of dishes were into the dishwasher so she looked at the stovetop. It looked like something had boiled over and was left to dry there.

For a year.

About six years. Going to the animal shelter was the first thing I did after my divorce became final. My ex hated dogs. Or maybe she just hated my dog. She guilted me into giving her away shortly after we got married.

That’s horrible, Suzette said. My niece, Zinny, wants a dog so bad. One of these days she’s going to pick up a stray and bring it home, I just know it. Can yours do any tricks?

He grinned. Gizzy can. Watch this. Gizmo! Come here, Gizzy.

Cameron got on the floor and raised his legs so his calves were parallel to the floor. Gizmo, up! And the tiny little dog leapt up and stood on Cameron’s shins.

Dakota clapped, but Cameron held his hand up. Wait, there’s more. All right now, let’s show her!

He raised his hands in the air and Gizmo sat up and did the same.

That’s amazing, Dakota said, clapping some more. How long did it take you to teach him to do that?

Cam got up off the floor with more agility than she’d ever have. A couple of weeks, he said, brushing the dog hair off his clothes. During the offseason, we have a lot of time to do stupid shit like teaching your dogs tricks.

She checked the microwave. There was so much food spatter on the interior, she decided to spray it and the stovetop with a boatload of cleaner and let time work on it.

Sorry about that, he said sheepishly. I tend to microwave a lot.

Frowning as she sprayed, she said, "They make covers, you know. Then if the food explodes, it dirties the cover and you just throw it into the dishwasher. But, since you don’t seem to use your dishwasher…"

He laughed. Touché, Suzette. You got me there. I’m neater when it’s the offseason. No, I am, he said, when she gave him a look. When it’s hockey season, I’m too tired to do much. See, I work out every day in some capacity or another.

Even on game days? she asked. That doesn’t make much sense. Don’t you need to save your energy for the game?

To a degree, yes. But even after the games, we still work out.

After? That doesn’t make sense at all.

Yeah, but the number of minutes you’re on the ice is limited, so you make sure you’re keeping your strength up by working out afterward. And riding the bike is mandatory to flush out the excess lactic acid.

No wonder you’re tired. You should really think about scheduling me for regular visits, she said. The more men she had signed on for repeat gigs, the less she’d have to brave it with unknowns.

That’s an interesting idea, he said. I just might take you up on that. To tell you the truth, I feel a little stupid for never having thought of hiring a maid before.

Don’t beat yourself up. Just do it and reap the benefits. She looked at the floor with distaste. So, back to business. Your floor is filthy, but they’re probably not going to film your floor. Also, there’s stuff here that doesn’t belong in the kitchen.

Using a fork from the silverware drawer, she hooked a yellow lace thong from under the refrigerator.

Oh, sorry about that, he said. It’s not mine.

She laughed. Thanks for the clarification. Yellow wouldn’t look good on you anyway.

Good one. He gave her an acknowledging laugh.

She looked at the floor and assessed the layer of dirt. You said they’re coming to film tomorrow. Where will they be filming exactly?

I don’t know. The whole house? I think I’m supposed to give them a tour. At least, that’s what I’ve seen in the other videos they’ve done.

Then I think we have a problem. Your buddy paid for two hours and there is no way I can make this place camera-ready in the time we have left.

I’ll hire you for the extra hours. Whatever it takes.

Why don’t you give me the quick tour and we’ll see what we’re dealing with.

He led her out of the spacious kitchen which opened into an over-sized family room. The living room was equally as large with two separate seating areas, a grand fireplace and a towering ceiling. On this floor, he had a home office and a reading room, a walk-in pantry, a friggin’ wine room and a utility closet that was only slightly smaller than her own bedroom. All in all, an insanely cush bachelor pad.

Everything needs dusting, the floors everywhere should be mopped or vacuumed. She gave him the side eye. The guest bathroom toilet is gross.

He winced then glanced to his left. "You probably don’t want to see my bathroom then."

Not yet.

Okay, we’ll skip the master suite and go upstairs then.

They trudged up to a roomy landing on the second floor lined with bookshelves that contained an odd assortment of knickknacks and crumpled clothing. It looked like the lost and found area of a bar. One of the three bedrooms had been converted into a surprisingly tidy gym. Another appeared to be an entertainment room equipped with a huge wall-mounted TV, game console, a crap ton of electronics. It would be a fantastic space if it hadn’t looked like thirty-five drunk monkeys had thrown a party. More dirty dishes and trash, like wrappers, empty chip bags, Red Bull cans lay strewn everywhere.

No comment, she said. She poked her head into the full bathroom. Two of these bathrooms just need a wipe-down. The other one requires the full monty. Are they going to be filming in every room?

I don’t know. I think so. Especially the closets. For some reason, the fans love to see our closets.

I’m actually afraid to see your closet.

Stephen King would be afraid to see my closet, he muttered.

They went back downstairs to the master suite. No trash or dishes there but plenty of shirts, pants and shoes on the floor. Some of the stuff looked really nice too. Dress suits and tailored shirts.

I take it back now, she said. I think that your closet is probably empty because all your clothes seem to be out here.

He looked sheepish as she walked to the closet, which was the size of a small bedroom and clearly ground zero of the mess. Empty hangers with dry cleaner plastic on them were everywhere. What should have been a gorgeous marvel of organized closet perfection resembled a clothing store after a particularly cutthroat Black Friday.

She went into the bathroom just to confirm her suspicion that it was worse than the guest baths, and it was.

When she rejoined him in the bedroom, she sighed, partly for show. This was when she had to clinch the deal. This guy was caught in a desperate situation and Dakota intended to use that to her advantage. Besides, it’d be much more trouble to hire someone else and wait for them to show up than it would be to just extend her time, since she was already here. She would have to rearrange her afternoon, but if she was right, the money would make it worth it.

There was also the not-so-small matter of him being the hottest guy she’d ever been within touching distance of. He was so good-looking, after