I hear him on the phone again, his voice clipped and professional. I focus on dusting and making myself as invisible as possible. I need to keep my mouth shut, do my job, and collect my pay. If he drops dead, that’s none of my business as long as he does it somewhere else. Preferably after he leaves here so I still get paid.
The next two hours pass in silence except for his phone calls and typing. I clean the living room, his bedroom, and the bathrooms, trying to be as quiet as possible.
When I move back toward the kitchen to start prepping lunch, he's finally off the phone, staring at his laptop with a crease between his brows.
“What were you planning for lunch?” His voice is neutral now. Not warm, but not cold either.
I lick my lips. “Mrs. Avery left a menu of your preferences. I was going to make the grilled chicken salad.”
He nods. “That's fine.”
I get to work, hyper-aware of him sitting at the island, still working. The silence feels heavy, uncomfortable. I pulled out the pre-made grilled chicken and start chopping the vegetables with more focus than necessary, grateful for something to do with my hands while I’m in his presence.
This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve worked around attractive men before, I remind myself. My unexpected reaction to him is just something I’ll have to get over.
“Jennifer.”
I pause mid-chop, shocked he actually remembered my name.
He's watching me now, his laptop closed. His expression is hard to read. “I was an ass earlier. I apologize.”
I blink, shocked that he’s actually apologizing. “Oh, it's... it's okay.”
“It's not.” He runs a hand through his hair again, and I notice the lavender shadows under his eyes and the slight tremor to his hand. “You were right. I'm supposed to be resting, not working. But I'm not good at sitting still.”
I duck my head, keeping half my attention on the food and the other half on him. “I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my place,” I say softly.
“You were being kind.” His mouth quirks slightly, not quite a smile but close enough to make a flush of warmth go through me. “I'm not used to that,” he admits.
I don't know what to say to that, so I go back to chopping. But the tension in the air has shifted, softening somehow, and I find myself relaxing. Okay, I can do this, especially if he’s going to be decent.
“How long have you been doing this?” he asks. “The housekeeping service?”
“About a year.”
“And before that?”
I shrug. “A bit of this and that.”
He's quiet for a moment, watching me toss the salad. “What did you go to school for?”
My hands still. “I didn't. I mean, I did one semester of community college but...” I trail off, not wanting to explain how I couldn't afford to continue, or I felt so lost and stupid compared to everyone else. “It wasn't for me.”
“Hmm.”
I can feel his eyes on me, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness. I plate the salad, setting it in front of him with silverware.
“Thank you.” He picks up his fork, takes a bite, and his eyebrows raise slightly. “This is really good.”
“It's just salad.” But I can't help smiling.
“Still good.” He gestures to the stool across from him. “Sit. Eat with me.”
I take a half step away from the counter. “I brought my lunch...”
“Then get it and sit.”
It's not quite an order, but close. I retrieve my sad looking baloney and cheese sandwich and banana from my insulated lunch bag and perch on the stool the at other end from him, feeling weirdly nervous. Normally, a few clients will chat with me as I clean or cook, but invite me to eat lunch with them? Yeah, that doesn’t happen.
