Cook stares at me for a couple of seconds, and her lips twitch. “I wouldn’t say that makes me feel blessed, dear.” She looks amused, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She obviously knows where the bodies are buried in this house, but she’s not giving anything away. “What do you like to eat? I’ll try to make some of your favorite meals in the upcoming weeks.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I think you’ll need it.” I stare at her and wait for her to clarify her words, but she doesn’t say anything else.
“I like lasagna. My grandma cooks it almost every week. I also like shepherd’s pie and enchiladas.”
“Enchiladas. I have not made them in a number of years. What else?”
“Taco Tuesday is always fun.”
“We don’t do Taco Tuesday in the Waverly household.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“If you have any fancy Chilean sea bass or beef Wellington or scallops à la Notre Dame, please let me know.”
“Sure.” I’m not even going to tell her that I’ve never heard of scallops à la Notre Dame before in my life. I don’t want her to think that I’m some sort of philistine.
“Well, here we are. This is your room.” She stops. “I’m going to head to my own quarters now. I have a little cottage on the grounds. I will see you in the morning.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I watch as she heads back to the staircase, and then I push open the door. My jaw drops as I walk into my suite. It has to be at least 700 square feet. There’s a large king-size bed centered between two large windows that overlook the back gardens. The wallpaper is an ivory damask that makes me smile as I run my fingers across the texture. The flooring is plush carpet, which I know I’m going to enjoy sinking my feet into. On the left side of the suite, there is a navy-and-white pinstriped loveseat and a large TV.
“This is amazing,” I mumble to myself as I put my bags down. “I feel like a princess.” I run over to the bed and jump on it. It feels plush, and I close my eyes. “So this is what it’s like to live as the rich people do,” I mumble to myself again. I feel like I’m on top of the world. I sit up and take a look around the room again. This place is going to be my home for the next couple of weeks or months. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I grab my phone, and I’m about to call Emma when I see that I have a missed call from Holly. I don’t know why she’s calling me again, but guilt seeps through me. She must really be desperate.
I have to remind myself that I’m not here just to write a love story between the Waverlys. I’m here to get a tabloid story and save my job. I’m here to keep the newspaper alive and running, but I just don’t know how I’m going to do it.
“That’s a problem for tomorrow’s Gina,” I say as I jump off the bed and head toward the loveseat. I grab the remote control that’s on the table and turn the TV on. I see that it’s on CNN, and I immediately flip the channel. I may work in news, but Idon’t like watching it. I turn it toWheel of Fortuneand start unpacking my bags and putting stuff in the closet. I head over to the window to see if I can see Hunter outside, but it’s dark, and all I can see is the illuminated pool. I debate going for a night swim but decide against it. I decide to check out the bathroom, and I’m pleasantly surprised when I see a standalone tub in the middle of the room. On the countertop are a bag of Epsom salts and a bottle of very expensive-looking bubble bath.
“I think I will have a bath,” I say, smiling to myself as I get ready to relax.
I’m actually quite grateful that the family has gone out; that allows me to spend the evening by myself, resting with my own conscience and trying to come up with a game plan of what I’m going to do while I’m here. I decide to play some music on my phone as I soak in the water and sing along to Olivia Dean, as I feel a sense of calm come over me when the warm water bounces against my body.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Maybe this will be the summer of a lifetime.
Maybe I’ll get to meet the Waverlys’ grandson, and he’ll tell me that he’s marrying some supermodel without me even having to pry. Maybe he’ll see me and just offer me the scoop of the year just because he likes me, and I’ll save the paper, and everything will work out just fine.
And maybe pigs will fly.
I know I’m being unrealistic, but there is nothing that’s going to stop me from trying to be as positive as I can. I exit the bath and wrap myself in a big, warm towel. My stomach growls as I dry myself, and I decide to grab a quick bite to eat.
I pull on an oversized T-shirt and grab some panties. I don’t bother putting on a bra, because as far as I can tell, everyone is still out. I head down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and see if I can make myself a sandwich or eggs. I plod down thestairs toward the kitchen, admiring the works of art on the walls as I go by. I’m almost positive that I see an original Monet, and I just shake my head in awe. I wonder what it would be like to be rich. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I giggle as I head toward the kitchen, and as I step inside, I’m puzzled when I realize the lights and the faucet are on. I immediately freeze in fright.
“Who’s there?” I call out, looking around for something to grab in case I need to hit someone. “Hello?”
“Hello. You!” The voice is deep and familiar, and I shiver in anticipation. I watch as Hunter walks out of what must be a walk-in pantry with a bag in his hands. He’s wearing a pair of black silk boxers, and he looks absolutely delectable. I swallow hard as I stare at his almost-naked body. Why, why did he have to be here? And why is he so sexy?I could lick you right now.“Shit, what are you doing here? Are you stalking me, foe real?” His eyes widen and he’s looking around, like he’s looking for something. I hope it’s not a knife.
“Oh. Hi,” I say, acting like it’s no big deal that he is here. Nor that I am here. Because this is a huge coincidence that we both work here. I really hope he doesn’t think I’m some psycho who might have a Lifetime movie written about her. “I was just grabbing something to eat.” Like that makes it all better.
“I see.” His eyes crinkle as he tilts his head to the side. “Actually I don’t see. This is weird. Why are you here?” He locks his lips. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re interested in having your wicked way with me? Am I who you want to eat.”
“No, of course not. Are you crazy. I’m here for a job. This is just a horrible coincidence.”
“If you say so.” He looks me up and down. “Nice pj’s.” His eyes crinkle at the sides, and I feel my body warming at his gaze.
“Thanks.” I am completely self-aware that my breasts are pressed against the tightness of the fabric. I’m glad that I haveon panties because the top comes to mid-thigh, and one wrong move could result in dangerous flashing.
