“Hit me with it,” he said.
“Here goes: since I hired Catherine, she’s been handwriting my schedules, just like all my other assistants.”
“I still don’t know why you do that,” he interjected.
“Because it works for me—and that’s not the point.”
“By all means, get to the point.”
“I discovered her stash of one-inch strips of paper.”
Another pause. Longer than before. Then, “What?”
“Yes. She’s been cutting the bottom of the paper off and stashing it.”
“Okay…why? Is it an OCD thing?”
“Not that I know of.” I found myself grinning again. “She writes scathing postscripts.”
Weston exhaled, probably fed up with me dropping only bread crumbs of information. “Care to clarify?”
“Here’s one: P.S. Being with you is like wearing wet socks all day long.”
He let out a startled laugh. “That’s directed at you, isn’t it?”
“I should be insulted you figured that out straight away.”
“But you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Read me another one,” he demanded.
So, I did. I went through at least twenty of them, only stopping because Weston was laughing too hard to hear me. He was getting more of a kick out of this than I had.
“It’s not that funny,” I muttered.
“Oh, yes it is. I can’t wait to tell Elise about this. Can you email me some of these? I won’t remember all of them. The mime one, though, that will stick with me. Golden.”
“I’m not emailing you so you can laugh at me with my sister.”
“Fine. Don’t email me. We’re going to be laughing at you either way.”
“Asshole.” There was no heat behind my curse. I liked that my sister and best friend spent time laughing together, even if it was at my expense. They both deserved it.
His laughter finally petered out. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe polite little Catherine has this kind of venom in her. I like it. The question is, how do you feel about your discovery?”
“Relieved I’m not going out of my mind.”
“That’s yet to be determined,” he countered.
“Fuck off, West.” I huffed a laugh. “I’m amused more than anything.”
The next pause was loaded. “It begs the question, how were you treating her, Elliot? It couldn’t have been too nice if those were her thoughts. Renata would never do anything like that.”
Renata was Weston’s assistant who’d been with him for a decade. She didn’t take shit from anyone, him included.
“Renata would have your head if you stepped out of line.”
“She would, and I would deserve it. Are you being a dick to your employees, Elliot?”
I eyed the pile of postscripts, each one neatly scrawled with an insult. “I’m not easy to work for, but I like to think I’m fair. If I notice myself being a dick, I rectify the situation.”
“If you notice.” He left it at that.
“Catherine hasn’t quit.”
“But she clearly doesn’t like you.”
“That’s not a requirement for the job.” But hearing him say it didn’t sit well with me. Why didn’t Catherine like me? What, in particular, had I done to be compared to wet socks?
“It isn’t, but having an assistant who likes me and will tell me to my face when I’m going too far is invaluable.”
“Yeah, I think I’m good with an assistant who does her job and doesn’t shake like a leaf when I speak to her.”
He chuffed. “Daniel’s still terrified?”
“It’s disturbing at this point.”
“Be nicer, Elliot. I’m certain you have room to be.”
“I’ll leave the charm to Luca. It’s not my forte.”
“Did I mention charm? I’d never expect that from you.”
This call was getting nowhere. Yes, Weston was successful at what he did, but there was a huge gap between my business and his. He made environmentally sound outdoor wear—not exactly known to be a cutthroat industry. In real estate, relaxing on my laurels and being nice could result in my ruination—not something I was keen on happening.
“That’s good since you won’t get it. Anyway, have a nice laugh with Elise.”
“Oh, I will,” he assured me.
Tossing my phone down, I scrubbed my face and groaned. The mystery had been solved, so why the hell did I still have this massive knot in my stomach?
A knock on my door interrupted my self-evaluation. “Excuse me, Mr. Levy.”
Daniel’s trembling voice ratcheted up my level of pissed off. “Yes, Daniel?”
“Sorry to interrupt, b-but you asked me to prepare the original schematics for Paradise Towers and I can’t seem to find them. From Catherine’s notes, I th-think she might have taken them home with her.”
My eyes flew open. “Home with her?”
He nodded so hard it was a wonder his head didn’t snap off his neck. “Y-Yes.”
“Did you ask her, or are you guessing?”
He nodded again. “I did. I asked her. She has them and told me I should call a messenger to pick them up.”
So many words wasted when he could have led with this. Weston wanted me to be nicer, but sometimes people made it impossible. Taking a breath, I found some patience left deep down in my well.
“Did she? Then why are you standing in my doorway?” That was as nice as I got.
His face turned purple, and he made great efforts to swallow, wincing as he tried. “I thought I should double-check with you before I did anything.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he was wasting my time—this was exactly what he’d been hired to do—but I swallowed it down. There was no reason to hire a messenger when my next meeting had been postponed and I now had the time to do it myself.
“I’ll take care of it.”
He startled, his head jerking back. “You will?”
“I said I would.” I stood from my desk. “I’m heading out. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I pulled up in front of Catherine’s house and parked at the curb. I had never been here before. From the background check I’d had done on her, I’d known she owned a home, but I hadn’t allowed myself to look any further into her. Nor had I come up with a reason to drop by on an evening or weekend despite my repeated temptation.
Catherine lived in a two-story Craftsman. It wasn’t much from the outside. No landscaping, a crumbling porch, paint chipping off the rails and trim. The windows couldn’t have done much to regulate the temperature. They had to be at least thirty years old, and only half had screens.
This surprised me. Catherine was fastidious in all ways, but her house was a bit of a wreck.
The neighborhood was all right. At least she wasn’t in imminent danger of being shot or mugged when she stepped outside.
There were no cars in her driveway, so I wasn’t certain she was home.
I reached for the doorbell but hesitated. Probably better to knock, just in case Josephine was sleeping. As I’d been told more than once, babies did a lot of that.
It took a while. So long, I was about to give up when the door finally swung open.