He looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You say that like exercise is a bad thing.”
“It’s not. It does give me a better understanding of why you never leave the house. You got a gym. You probably have a theater, basketball court, pool—the whole shebang.”
“I do, and I have a personal chef and a housekeeper.”
“Aren’t we just boujee?” I mumble.
He lowers the brush. “Excuse me?”
Oh, shoot. He heard me.
Hiding behind a smirk, I say, “What? I didn’t say anything.”
He says, “I don’t have the time to think about meals, house cleaning, landscaping—any of that. It only makes sense that I hire someone to do those things for me. It doesn’t make me stuck-up, or whatever it was that you said. It makes me smart.”
Note to self: don’t mumble around this guy. He hears everything.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“You don’t have to agree with me, Tessie. I don’t care if you do or don’t.”
I don’t respond. There’s only so much I can say to his ‘smart remarks’ without getting tired, so I let this one go. I don’t know how much help I’ll be with his temper at the office if I can’t handle him one-on-one outside of the office.
After a few more rolls of the brush, he says, “Ah, there. All done.”
I take a step back to look at it. It’s perfect. I say, “It looks nice.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Do I need to go over it with a second coat?”
“No. Didn’t you read the can? It says one coat and you’re good.”
“Oh. Right.”
Now you can go home so my breathing can return to normal.
He says, “I suppose I should get going. I have a long day tomorrow.”
Yes! Go…
“Since you chewed Greta out at the meeting, she’s giving me client files now, so it’s going to be a busy day for me as well.”
“As it should be.” He walks to the kitchen, turns on the faucet and asks, “Where’s your hand soap?”
“I was at the store today and completely forgot to buy some. There’s a never-ending list of things I need to buy for a new place.”
Essex does the best he can, trying to scrub the little bit of paint off his hands with hot water. He grabs a dish towel from an open box I have yet to unpack and dries his hands. Afterward, he pulls out his wallet, slides out a hundred-dollar bill and places it on the counter. He says, “The next time I’m over here, I want you to have some soap.”
Next time?
“I don’t need any money, Essex and what do you mean next time? You have no other reason to come over here now.”
Taking his shirt from the sofa, he says, “I do. You’re here, aren’t you? Oh, and by the way, I don’t want you moving these sofas by yourself. I can help you arrange the furniture after the paint dries.”