While Tristan continues charming the fans, Marley and I decide to have lunch at the snack bar. As we wait, she purses her lips and twirls her stylus between her fingers while she scrolls through my extensive documents. I can’t stop twitching while I wait for her verdict. In an effort to distract myself, I check my phone under the table.
Marley glances up. “Texting someone?” she asks, with a coy lilt to her voice.
“Oh, no. I’m just, uh.” I sigh. “I’m checking the baby monitor.”
She tilts her head. “Whatbaby monitor?”
I push my phone across the table. On the screen, Kepler is sacked out, his fuzzy chest rising and falling as he snores. He’s the cutest thing ever, and judging by the way Marley melts and makes cooing noises, that statement is an objective fact.
When the server comes back with our lunch, we both move our devices out of the way. My mouth waters at the smell of the noodle soup I ordered. Marley got some sort of power bowlthing that sounded pretty boring when I was reading the menu, but looks amazing now that it’s in front of her.
“Want to taste mine?” she offers. “That looks so good, too.”
We take a moment to arrange a taste of each of our meals for the other person. This, too, is unfamiliar. If anything, I expected her to scold me for eating something with carbs. Women as pretty as Marley are always complaining about things like carbs and sugar. Or at least, my mother and Frankie do.
“Okay, real talk,” Marley says. “Before we get into all this, give me the update. How’s he treating you?”
“Tristan?” I pause to think my answer through. “He’s… very clean.”
Marley cackles. “Wow, okay. Such a glowing review.”
I lift one shoulder as I twine my noodles onto a fork. “I’m used to men who assume that things like cleaning are beneath them. When I cook, though, he does the dishes. And he asked me to print out the recipes I’m using, because he cooks sometimes.”
Marley rolls her eyes. “A man who washes his own dishes? Imagine.”
“But he’s my employer,” I point out.
“Yeah, but I’m not Knight’smaid.I’m not cleaning up after him. You should discuss boundaries. You’re not working for him twenty-four-seven, you know?”
Boundaries? I live in his house. I’msupposedto follow his rules. That’s what my dad always told me, anyway.
“Sure,” I say, keeping it vague since I’m going to need to think about this concept for a while on my own.
“Great, just think about it. Now, I need to get you up to speed. We’ve got a private assistant channel on Slack. Are you on that yet?”
“I don’t have Slack,” I tell her. I don’t have any socials, really. What would be the point?
“Well, get it! And while I’m thinking about it, let me add you to the shared Google Drive.” Marley is already downloading apps onto my tablet.
I watch her in silent wonder, trying to process the fact that this is my life now. It’s new and bewildering and the rules are a total mystery. It should be terrifying.
In reality, I’m starting to enjoy it. Maybe this is what it feels like when life doesn’t hurt all the time.
Chapter Six
Tristan
I slip into the house, juggling my mail, my to-go bags, and my keys. “Minerva?” I call. “Why is there a delivery crate out front?”
Minerva looks up from her tablet. She’s sitting on the floor, cross-legged, with papers and books and highlighters scattered all around her. “Because I wasn’t sure what else to do with it.”
“Okay, but—” I drop my keys in the bowl by the entryway and gesture behind me. “It’s, like… fucking enormous. Did you order an elephant, or what?”
“Oh, it’s my car.” She lets her head roll back, exposing her throat in a pose that’s surprisingly sensual. When she groans, my mind goes someplace that it shouldn’t when my assistant’s involved. And it seems to be going there more and more, especially in my bed at night. “Dante apparently had my old car hauled off for parts and got me a new one. It got delivered in a shipping crate, so nothing happened to it in transport.”
“Dantebought you a car?” A weird pinch hits low in my chest. Dante swooping in reminds me I’m not the only man looking out for her. Not the first, either. And the thought bothers me more than it should.
“Yeah, he’s, you know. My godfather?” She dips her head. “And he’s a little over the top sometimes.”
