It was true, he did, and he had a ten-mile run scheduled for later to make up for all this starch. The protein would be useful. “Thanks, Mom,” he said.
“You’re a good son,” she told him. “And brother.”
He was. He knew that. Hadn’t he bought his parents this very house? He’d paid for Sofia’s dream wedding, paid off college for Isabella and started college funds for Lucy and William. He’d even offered to help Dante buy a home, though his brother had turned him down.
And yet the family humor flowed around him, making him feel a little left out, a little bit like a small boy looking out the back window of a car at his family as he was driven away.
Two days later, Winnie (an odd name) sat in Lorenzo’s living room in his Boston apartment as he read her resume. Event planning business, seven years, four as business owner. That would involve a solid set of organizational skills, he assumed. She had included some online customer reviews, all five stars. Winnie was lovely to work with. He didn’t care about loveliness. Extremely organized. That was more like it. He scanned the reviews and found the word efficient six times. Before that, office manager for an obstetrical practice in Wellfleet. Excellent references attached from both the midwife and doctor.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Isn’t it illegal to ask that?” she answered.
It was. But if Lark was her older sister, then this one must be in her early thirties, he guessed. She looked older. Not as pretty as Lark. Rather plain. Hair in a tidy bun (professional, which he appreciated), an unremarkable navy suit, and sensible, plain shoes good for walking the cobbled streets and uneven sidewalks of Boston. Practical.
“I have a heavy travel schedule for the next few months,” he said. “I’m teaching, speaking and advising for five organizations. The ACS, the ASA, the NIH, Médecins Sans Frontières, and The Royal Academy of Surgeons. I assume you know what those are?”
“I do.”
“Demonstrate, please.”
Did she just roll her eyes? “The American College of Surgeons, the American Surgical Association, the National Institutes of Health, Doctors Without Borders, and the British equivalent of the ACS.”
“Correct.” He was a little surprised, he admitted to himself.
“I’m aware that you’re a surgeon. I did some research.”
“Good. If you work for me, you should be aware of who I am and what I do. I have a stellar reputation as one of the top surgeons in the United States, if not the world, as demonstrated by the frequent requests for me to conduct seminars, teach and lecture around the country and internationally.”
“Mm-hm.” She didn’t seem impressed.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll need to organize my travel, accommodations—I have high standards for both—and make sure I have the amenities I need.” The last time he’d gone to a conference, he’d forgotten his shaving kit and had been given a cheap disposable razor by the hotel. Nicked his chin. “On the domestic front, you’ll have to manage subcontractors, arrange for repairs, make sure things are the way I like them.” His last housekeeper had seemed unable to fold towels in thirds, which made them untidy in the closet and therefore irritating. She also bought the wrong kind of cleaner, despite him giving her a list, and he’d had a headache from the fake lavender scent. He looked back up at her. “I may ask you to maintain my calendar and handle professional correspondence. Is all that clear?”
“It is.”
He liked that she didn’t make unnecessary conversation. Nor did she seem intent on making him like her, which he also appreciated. If she was efficient and quiet and had an eye for detail, he didn’t need to like her.
“You’ll probably have to spend overnights here and in Chatham. There’s a guest suite down the hall with its own bathroom, and the lower floor of the house in Chatham has three bedrooms and a family room you can use. Will that be a problem?”
“No.”
“Where do you live now?”
“Wellfleet.”
Again, the brevity was pleasing.
“As for our families being tied…that won’t be an issue?”
“I can’t see how. Your brother is married to my sister. Otherwise, I barely remember you.”
Lorenzo looked up abruptly. That was his line. “I recall you being rude to my grandmother.”
“Yes. But she was rude first.”
“A ninety-nine-year-old woman was rude to you? I doubt it.”
“I said it was nice to meet her, and she told me she didn’t like my face. Or me. That’s fairly rude, I’d say.”
