He wasn’t sure he wanted rocks in a rare McCoy emerald green vase, but at least she’d had the foresight to secure it. She sipped her water and smoothed back a strand of hair the wind had freed from her ponytail. Definitely some reddish hues in there.
Lorenzo sat down, took a sip of his drink and looked at his phone, calling up her email.
Contacted carpenter about deck stairs. He can start on Monday and is coming by tomorrow to measure for materials.
Restocked pantry and fridge (itemized bill attached).
Fresh sheets and towels in all upstairs bedrooms / bathrooms, since you said it’s been about a month since you fired your housekeeper.
Picked up dry cleaning.
Cleaned house (dusted, vacuumed, washed floors, cleaned first-floor windows).
Reorganized linen closet.
Called three landscaping companies to come by for quotes. One will come tomorrow morning, the others on Monday. Made sure they all do weeding, pruning, spring and fall cleanup, and snowplowing in addition to lawn cutting.
“How did you fold the towels?” he asked.
“In thirds.” She didn’t seem to think it was an odd question.
“Two hundred dollars an hour it is,” he said, putting away his phone.
“It really doesn’t seem fair. Doctors make less than that.”
He almost laughed. “That’s not true.”
“Ask my sister. It is true.”
Well, Lark was only an emergency room physician, but even so. Lorenzo took another sip of Brennevin, the warmth of the alcohol a perfect balance to the cooling fall air.
“You seem very efficient,” he said, looking at Winnie. “Why did you leave your last job? You had your own business. Being a personal assistant, even for someone at my level, seems like a step down.”
She gave him an undeniably irritated look. “‘Someone at your level?’”
What had he said that earned that look? “Yes. I don’t have a self-esteem issue, that is true. Why did you close your company? Or did you sell it?”
“I closed it.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons. I still have some events to do. My brother’s getting married, and I’m their wedding planner. I’m putting together an anniversary party in October for an older couple. But it’s a small job. I’m barely even charging them. It won’t get in the way of my work for you.”
“Why aren’t you charging them?”
“Because it’s their sixty-fifth anniversary, and they’re fifth-generation Cape Codders. He wants to surprise his wife, and based on their house and car, it didn’t seem like he could afford much, so I told him my fee was a hundred dollars.”
“And how much would it cost them if he was wealthier?” he asked.
“Maybe two grand.”
“Sounds like a very weak business model, charging five percent of what your time is actually worth.”
She looked at him, her face devoid of expression. “It’s not about profit in this case. I wanted them to have a nice party, so I’m donating my services. It happens among us humans.”
Ah, the old robot innuendo. Certainly not the first time someone had used it. “I also donate my services,” he said, his tone chilly. “And my services cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, so please adjust your tone.”
“Do you need anything else from me?” she asked. “Or can I go?”
