I sighed as I rode the elevator up to the penthouse.
I did need to be more positive, I decided as I stepped off. My job could be worse. At least I got to see this view every day.
I hefted the dry cleaning up to the master closet and took yesterday’s suits out of the vestibule to be rotated back in. I placed the suits in the spot in the closet. Mr. I-Have-a-Penthouse-I-Won’t-Bother-Furnishing didn’t have his clothes crammed together like I did in my closet. It was like an expensive boutique in there.
It was there that I saw it—a cream-colored triangle of paper sticking out of the breast pocket of one of the suits.
I carefully pulled it out.
Was it a note from a lover? Did Grayson have a girlfriend?
Don’t snoop.
But I had to know what woman in their right mind was leavinghima note.
Besides me.
I left him notes, but they weren’t like love notes. They were just little squares of happiness and positivity.
Be the reason someone smiles today … or the reason they drink.
“This mother flippin’ …” I scowled at the note, the name Grayson Richmond printed at the top of the creamy white paper in simple black letters. I turned the note over, but there was nothing else written on it.
“He thinks he’s going to put me out?” I muttered as I took the plastic off the freshly dry-cleaned suits and hung them up.
I took out my pink paper and a gel pen, blue raspberry colored, and wrote a note then stuck it on his rack of ties.
My heels clicked on the bare floor, inspiring another note.
I opened his underwear drawer to leave the note and was confronted with another piece of the heavy white paper.
I knew you’d look in here.
I sucked in a breath, grabbed the note, and replaced it with my own.
In the bathroom was another note folded and propped up on the shaving kit.
There is no reason for you to be in here.
I whipped out my pen and wrote on a square of blue card stock in gold gel pen—
Your fancy aftershave does not magically appear by itself, SIR!!!
I headed downstairs. Waiting for me in front of the fireplace in the sitting room was another message.
S’mores are an abomination, just like friends. Glad I don’t have either in my life.
I pocketed the note and wrote him a new one.
True friends don’t judge each other; they judge others together. Me and my friends are going to be judging you tonight. So there.
Then I added another and stuck it in the couch for good measure.
If you’re only going to have one couch in here, at least have the decency to center it on the fireplace.
“Everyone else likes my notes,” I complained as I kicked off my shoes so I could more easily walk through the enormous penthouse to find whatever other snarky message Grayson had left.
I opened up the silverware drawer.
