And perhaps that was exactly what he was doing.
I opened the door and gently pushed him out into the hallway. He was looking beyond me, back into his office, at his boxes. Then he focused on me, his eyes almost pleading.
I placed my hand on top of his, still clutching his jacket. “I’ll take care of it,” I said. He just stared at me, his face unreadable.
“I’ll take care ofthem,” I added, meaning his precious characters.
He took a deep breath and nodded, sensing I got how important the little people in the boxes were to him.
“Thank you,” he whispered, then turned and walked down the hall.
I watched him walk away (who wouldn’t enjoy that view!), waiting for him to turn around and come back to look at his babies once more.
But he didn’t. He kept walking down the hall, turning at the stairwell.
I returned to his office, shut and locked the door, pulled off my North Face, and set about organizing Billy Montrose’s next great novel.
Chapter5
My phone dinged with a text,pulling me out of my Montrose’s notes-induced haze. I was sitting on the floor of his office, one box’s contents forming a circle around my crossed legs. Reaching for my phone, which was in the pocket of my jacket, I tried not to mess up my various piles.
You still there?A text from Montrose.
I looked at the time—nine at night. God, I’d been here working for almost nine hours. I vaguely remembered going down the hall to the ladies’ room once, and pulling a Diet Coke from my backpack, but other than that, I hadn’t moved much from my spot on the floor.
Yes, I texted back.
Have you gone back to your room and come back, or have you been there the entire time?
The entire time.
Jesus. You’ve got five months, you know.
I thought I’d just get a start on organizing the different boxes. Putting the boxes in order by the dates on your notes.
And? That should have taken you a few hours, tops.He texted when I didn’t type anything further.
And…I got sucked in.
Tell me about it, he responded.
My thumbs were poised over my phone, but I wasn’t sure what to say next. Did I tell him how much I enjoyed this job, even though it was only my first day? (Would that sound like sucking up?) Did I relay how much more solidified my idea of him as a great author was, by just reading notes he’d scribbled? (That would definitely sound like sucking up.)
Before I could decide what to text, my phone rang with a call from Montrose.
“Hi,” I said, then put the phone on speaker and rested it on my thigh as I carefully unbent my legs and stretched them out, bending forward to touch my toes.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low and throaty. It instantly conjured up how good he’d smelled when he sat next to me on the ledge of his desk earlier. Seemed like I could almost still smell his spicy scent. “I forgot to tell you, there are a bunch of delivery menus and an envelope with some cash for you in the middle top drawer of my desk.”
“Cash?” I asked. My first payment for this job was to come January first, ten days away, and I hadn’t expected cash—though that would be great.
“For food for when you’re working there and want something to eat.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I can bring or buy my own food,” I said with a bit of defensiveness in my voice. A prickle of what Jane called my Chip (it was a proper noun to her) rose to the back of my neck.
“I know you can. But with the hours you’ll be working for admin, and then in my office, my guess is you won’t get to the caf a lot during their limited hours over break.”
He was right, and I’d thought about that. All the cafs but one were closed for break, and the one that would feed the students here over the holidays had limited hours. I figured I’d be making a lot of pit stops at the convenience store just off campus. And of course, delivery. But I tried to keep both those options at a minimum because of my tight budget, preferring to get most of my meals at the caf, which was included in my scholarship program.
