Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

“Okay, that’s great,” I said, nodding.

“Is that person live-in or––”

“Yes, live-in, starting today as well and––”

“Loc,” Isai called to me from the front door. “Your housekeeper is here, but I’ve got the guys out here to install the gate, as well as the locksmith.”

“Send her in,” I told him.

The woman there gave him a smile and a nod before she came across the floor to me. I liked her quick stride, her no-nonsense gaze, her white track suit, white running shoes, and the firm handshake I got when she reached me. Her burnished cream skin, dotted with freckles, along with her powder-blue eyes, strawberry blond hair, and taller than average height made for a striking woman.

“Callie Dennis,” she said, smiling. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes, I look forward to working for you.”

“Well, for Nick Madison, but thank you for being here. I know you told Mr. Colter you were up for a change of scenery, but from Manhattan yesterday to Santa Barbara today is a big ask. I appreciate it.”

She shrugged. “You know as well as I do that when Mr. Colter taps you, you step up.”

I did know. “I understand he’s got movers at your former employer’s already?”

“Yes. I expect the rest of my things here by Monday.”

It was Friday now, so that was impressive.

“You may have your choice of bedroom. There’s also a mother-in-law cottage on the other side of the cactus garden if you’d like to look at that.”

“Oh, I would, yes,” she told me.

“Brent, could you show that to her, please?”

“Of course,” he said quickly, and I could tell he was a bit overwhelmed. I worked fast and didn’t answer questions when I was in fixer mode.

“First, though, Callie, let me introduce you to Marisol.”

The women met, smiling, shaking hands, and I pulled another credit card from the holder in the back pocket of my chinos and passed it to Callie.

“It’s blank at the moment, but the numbers are recorded, and that’ll stay the same, just embossed with your name come Monday.”

“Great,” she said and then turned to Brent, waiting.

“Oh yes, let me show you the cottage,” he said quickly, leading her out the enormous opening that led from the house to the back yard, through the air curtain that had not been turned on yesterday, but that I found when I was puttering around the kitchen looking for anything edible.

“Oh,” Marisol gasped when she opened the gorgeous, and empty, Sub-Zero refrigerator to have a look before she unpacked her things in the butler’s pantry. “I think,” she said, turning to me, “that I need to shop now.”

“I agree,” I said, trying not to sound irritable. “There’s not even cereal or milk or peanut butter. Who doesn’t have peanut butter?”

Quick chuckle from her. “I’ll take care of everything,” she informed me. “Today will be a bit more expensive than usual because everything will need to be delivered. Callie and I won’t be able to shop together like we will going forward.”

“I figured that,” I told her, yawning. “I appreciate you stocking the kitchen. I’m not much of a meal planner myself.”

“Lots of frozen food?” she asked me, looking pained.

“Yes,” I confessed. “I think when you grow up poor, you sort of binge at the beginning of the month when there’s money, and then by the end it’s ramen and dry cereal and tuna.”

It was instinctive, the way she stepped forward and put her hand on my cheek. There was no doubt in my mind that she had kids. “Not anymore, right?”

“That’s right,” I agreed, letting her mother me since mine was in the next state over.

“Okay,” she said, patting my cheek and then dropping her hand before she turned and headed for the pantry.

Minutes later, Brent was back.

“Callie is taking the cottage,” he informed me. “When was it cleaned?”

“Yesterday, with everything else,” I told him, retaking my seat at the table in the intimate breakfast nook, my feet resting on the chair opposite me. I took a minute to appreciate the view through the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, then unfolded the newspaper and started browsing, liking to get the local feel for things whenever I wasn’t at home.

“Locryn?”

I lifted my gaze from an article on the smell of cannabis from the fields and greenhouses in Santa Barbara County.

“I tried to use my credit card to put gas in my car this morning, and it was declined,” Brent told me. “And I noticed you gave out new cards to Marisol and Callie,” he said, clearing his throat. “Will I be getting another one as well?”

“You get a gas card,” I explained, “that should be here Monday, so I can give you cash for the next three days, and you bring me back receipts. Or you can use your own card and bring me receipts, and I’ll reimburse you, but really, other than today, going forward you should be off on the weekends for the foreseeable future.”