Maybe I would feel better when it was warmer.
Winter in Manhattan had been, well, extremely unpleasant actually.
During the summer, when Mr. Richmond was off on a business trip, I was so buying an inflatable unicorn and using that pool.
“Speaking of blessings,” I reminded myself when I walked into the kitchen that was literally bigger than my parents’ house and in which I had never seen a single scrap of evidence that Mr. Richmond had ever cooked anything ever.
I opened the large fridge and regarded the bounty within.
It was Tuesday, and on Tuesdays I cleaned out the fridge.
I grabbed my backpack. Out came multiple reinforced reusable grocery bags and three insulated bags. Yesterday I had pre-stashed ice packs in Mr. Richmond’s freezer. He hadn’tnoticed them in the past three months, so I felt safe with my plan.
Remember what I said about billionaires getting whatever they wanted?
Mr. Richmond wanted his fridge stocked with food—veggies, fancy cuts of meat, fruit, organic yogurt, milk, cheese, and other goods from those fancy imported food stores that make you wonder if they’re some sort of money laundering front, because who in their right mind could afford to shop there? Then every single Tuesday afternoon, he would have it all thrown away and new food brought in Wednesday morning.
My boss never ate this food. In fact, he had a chef who cooked. Sure, sometimes the chef would use ingredients in the fridge, but I always did an inventory on Wednesday, and a week later, ninety percent of the food would still be there.
“And he wants to throw all of this food away,” I said indignantly as I cleaned out the fridge.
Anthym had been very clear when I started that I was not to let anyone take this food home. Mr. Richmond wasn’t going to use it but also didn’t want anyone to have it.
“Dingleberry. Like there aren’t needy people in this city.”
Anthym had even said that Mr. Richmond expressly wanted one of his assistants to throw out the food because he thought the cleaners would take it home.
“You can’t trust the cleaners,” Anthym had lectured me on my first day on the job. “They’re shiftless. Just like that concierge. They’re all in cahoots.”
Well, they couldn’t trust me either.
“Oh my goodness, he has scallops,” I said, swooning as I pulled all of the groceries out of the fridge. “It’s a crime to throw these away.” I sniffed a huge slab of smoked salmon. “Delectable.”
The fancy cuts of meat went into one of the freezer bags. The herbs were carefully packed in a canvas grocery sack, and the fancy cheese and dairy went into another cold storage sack.
“Be still my heart,” I cried when I saw several familiar red boxes.
They were from Alessio, the premier, most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the city. In the largest box was handmade pasta in a rich cream sauce. The next held a duck confit and roasted potatoes that would crisp up nicely in my oven. The third held a slightly limp Caesar salad, and the fourth held a slice of my favorite dessert—ten-layer cake with chocolate ganache, hazelnut mousse, raspberry glaze, and raspberry mousse.
I wanted to sit there on the floor right then and take a huge bite of the cake.
“You’re on the clock,” I reminded myself.
I wouldn’t put it past Anthym to perform a surprise checkup now that she had me in her crosshairs.
I hastily stashed the takeout boxes in one of the canvas sacks and then set to work wiping out the fridge, prepping it for the next round of expensive groceries that Grayson Richmond wouldn’t touch.
6
GRAYSON
Idreaded and looked forward to Tuesdays, though with Lexi it was more on the dread side today.
I waited around after the nonfiring, watching as the hour hand moved to one thirty. Then I headed across town.
It was after the lunch rush, and Alessio wasn’t crowded. I nodded to the hostess and headed to the bar to place my lunch order.
There was one specific spot I liked to stand at, because at that spot the mirror was perfectly angled to offer a clear view of the round booth by the corner window.
