The two in the kitchen don’t even look guilty. Dru is seated on a stool at the island, sipping a cup of tea. Her nephew, Ben, leans against the counter across from her, taking up half the space in the room. A small plate of cookies—the cookies we baked—is set before him. He’s all long, dark limbs, dressed in a black sweater and black pants. His black hair somehow manages to look like tousled perfection and frames his striking face. Why is it always the attractive ones that are the biggest jerks?
“Hi there,” I chirp happily, like a good, friendly assistant. I gesture at the lint trap in my arms. “Have you ever washed this out, Dru? Did you know dryer sheets can leave a film on the lint trap and can cause fires? I’ll just give it a good soak.” I move toward the sink, stepping over Ben’s outstretched limbs. “I can come back for it later. I don’t want to interrupt.”
They exchange a look. “Were you listening in, sweetheart?” Dru asks in that high-pitched voice of hers.
“Of course not,” I lie.
The door to the kitchen swings open a tiny bit, and the cat pushes inside. He hops up on one of the stools, which is pretty impressive given that he’s an absolute chunk, and looks around at all of us, his tail flicking.
“Maurice, was she listening in?” Ben asks, and I resist the urge to both roll my eyes and kick him.
The cat meows.
“Mm-hmm. Naughty, naughty,” Dru says, and then gives another wild giggle. “Someone’s been caught red-handed.”
By a cat? “Oh please,” I retort, keeping my voice light and teasing as I set the lint trap down on the counter to come back to later. “He’s a cat. He probably wants his food bowl filled up. I wouldn’t take the word of someone who was cleaning his balls on my bed an hour ago.”
Ben jumps to his feet just as Dru gasps. “He what?” The man growls, furious.
Maurice immediately jumps back down from the chair and races out of the room.
“Now you’ve gone and scared him,” I say with a shake of my head. I leave the room, because it’s a good way to end the conversation, which was getting a little too tricky. And if I’m not in the room, they can’t fire me, right? Right. So I breeze out to the laundry room, pick up the basket of perfectly folded clothing, and head up the stairs to Dru’s rooms.
Or at least, I try to. By the time I’m halfway up the staircase, that annoying nephew of my boss is heading up after me, taking the steps two at a time with his longer legs. “What are you doing?” he asks, his tone full of edges.
“The laundry.” I keep my voice as sweet as pie. Maybe I’ll suggest Dru and I make a pie later. She likes baking, or so it seems. Then again, maybe that’s part of the whole “living a lie” thing she was complaining about, and my heart just feels crushed all over again. I thought I was doing a good job. I thought Dru approved. I like her, and I want her to like me back. She’s like the grandmother I never had, even if she does giggle and wink a lot.
Maybe the big secret was that she was going to fire me all this time.
I enter Dru’s disaster of a bedroom, which makes me twitchy, but I haven’t quite gotten the nerve to ask to clean it up yet. She has piles of clothing draped across every bit of furniture, and a chaise that looks as if it was purchased specifically to hold purses and shoes, as that’s all that’s on it. The drapes are dusty, the unmade bed is covered in more pillows than I’ve ever owned in my life, and stacks of books are piled atop the nightstands, along with old tissues and curlers. If this was Lisa’s job to clean up, she didn’t do it, but it’s not my call.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and toss it down on the corner of Dru’s bed to remind myself to call Nick later and give him the bad news. That I’m going to be moving back in ASAP. He’ll just give me another sad, knowing smile. An understanding look, because poor, silly, controlling Reggie has screwed up another job and is returning home with her tail tucked between her legs. Just the thought makes my chest ache.
I clench my jaw in silence when Mr. Magnus follows me into his aunt’s room. I kick aside a pile of dirty laundry that’s on the floor and set the basket down next to the dresser so I can carefully put things away as they should be (properly). I open up the drawer I emptied out earlier and begin to put clothes in neat, tight stacks. And I ignore Mr. Magnus. Or Ben. Or Caliban. Or whatever he’s going by today.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
I glance over at him and hold up a pink shirt just as Maurice slinks in and rubs against Ben’s pant leg. “Putting away laundry?”
He scowls down at the cat rubbing against his leg. “Get out of here, Maurice. I mean it. You’re on thin ice.”
I’m more than a little incredulous as the cat’s mood changes abruptly. He stops in his tracks, flicks his tail, and then rushes right back out of the bedroom as if he understood every word. I huff a laugh at that, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the days I’ve been here, it’s that Maurice is a stubborn ass of a cat and does as he pleases. Seeing him obey is strange. “Why does he listen to you?”
“Because he knows better than to ignore me,” Ben says darkly. He sits on the edge of Dru’s pillow-strewn bed, his long legs extending out in front of him again. His arms cross over his chest, highlighting how broad it is. He’s just a massive, intimidating man who is no doubt going to try to use that intimidation against me.
Well, it’s not going to work. “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to do my job. I—”
My phone buzzes on the bed. Loudly.
My gaze goes to it at the same time that Ben picks it up, and even from here, I can see what look like tanned, hairy buns covering my screen. Very, very naked buns.
I’m going to kill Nick. Not just for sending me every photo that Sergeant Hotness sexts him, but for his damned timing.
Ben clears his throat and mutely holds the phone out to me, his nostrils flaring. I could swear there’s a hint of color on his high cheekbones, too.
I snatch the phone away from him and stuff it into my pocket. “Thank you.”
“I think you’re not qualified for the job,” he finally says, voice blunt.
My heart aches. Here it is, the “we need to let you go” speech. Everything inside me hurts. I should be used to rejection by now, but every time it’s a fresh pain. I continue folding as if I’m unbothered, though. I focus on the task ahead of me, making sure baby-blue shirts are directly above darker blue. “And is that what your aunt thinks? That I’m wrong for the job?”
“My aunt hasn’t been having you do the actual job yet.”
I turn around at that, frowning. “I’m her assistant, right?” I gesture at the laundry. “Here I am, assisting. It’s all I’ve done for the last few days. I clean the kitchen. I do the laundry. I bake. I play crosswords with her. Last night I spent an hour helping her log into her tax website.” Only to find out that the reason why her login didn’t work was because she hadn’t filed a tax return since 1942, but I don’t bring that up. “What is assisting if not that?”
“This isn’t the job she hired you for.” His long face seems grim, his stance tense.
“What do you mean?”
His jaw flexes. “I mean she’s coddling you.”
Because of the stuff they were talking about in the kitchen? About not wanting to live a lie? I don’t care if his Aunt Dru dresses up like a puppy and walks around on all fours as long as they pay me. “I took this job knowing it’s an unconventional one,” I say carefully. “If I’m not assisting her properly, then I need to be given direction. I can do whatever she likes. She just needs to let me know. I’m not going to give up and walk out the door just because you don’t like me.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Ben retorts, and the flush is back on his pale cheeks. “But fine, then. If you insist, we’ll stop tiptoeing around the situation.” He gets to his feet and gestures at Dru’s bedroom door. “Follow me down to the kitchen.”
I put down the shirt in my hands. Do I protest? Say he’s not my boss and continue doing laundry? I have to admit I’m curious what he has planned, though. So I run my sweaty palms down my jeans, compose myself, and head down the stairs as regally as I possibly can. Maurice slinks past me as I head toward the kitchen once more, and it’s almost as if he’s going to get a seat for the show.