1
Chrissy
“Are you…” The man in front of me looked down at his sign, which had my name written on it with a black marker. “Christina Banks?”
“Yes.” I nodded and tilted my head slightly. “Are you—Mr. Foster?”
He doesn’t look like the guy my mother described—but it’s been a while I guess…
“No. My name is John.” He shook his head back and forth. “I’m just here to pick you up. I’ll take your bags.”
“Thank you.” I handed him the duffel bag that was hanging on my shoulder and took a step back so that he could pick up my luggage.
I didn’t have much with me. I certainly didn’t pack eighteen years of my life into a suitcase and a duffel bag. I brought the essentials, and the rest of my things were supposed to arrive in a few days. I still wasn’t bringing everything that I owned from Chicago to Los Angeles, but I hoped I would have enough to make it through my first semester of college at the University of Southern California. It was my father’s alma mater, and I had been planning to spend my college years there since I was a little girl—I just didn’t expect to run into the complications that arose after I got a scholarship for everything except room and board.
“How far is it to Mr. Foster’s house?” I followed John outside and waited as he loaded my things into the trunk of a black sedan parked by the curb.
“In this traffic?” He slammed the trunk and put his hands on his hips. “It’ll take us about an hour to get there.”
“Okay.” I nodded and walked around to the side of the car.
John opened the back door and closed it once I was seated. The car was really nice. I had never been driven before—by an actual driver. My mother said that Mr. Foster was well off, which was why he was in a position to help, but she didn’t tell me that he was rich enough to have his own driver. I hoped he was as nice as she said because I was still nervous about living with someone I didn’t know. It was a temporary arrangement, and she vouched for him, but he was still a stranger to me. I knew him by name—and vaguely remembered him stopping by when I was younger—but I didn’t really know him.
“So, have you been working for Mr. Foster very long?” I leaned forward and tried to make conversation once the car pulled onto the highway.
“A few years.” John nodded. “He’s a good boss.”
“Cool…” I leaned back in my seat—I really couldn’t think of anything else to ask him.
Mr. Foster—or Greyson, as my mother called him—was my father’s best friend. I was really excited when I got accepted to USC, but when I realized that my scholarship wasn’t going to cover anything outside of my educational expenses, I thought I was out of luck. My father left us with a little bit of money after he passed, but there was no way that my mother could afford to pay for me to live in California.
She saw how disappointed I was when I realized that my dream was about to fizzle out and decided to ask Mr. Foster for help. I hoped he would help me get an apartment and cover a couple of months of rent until I could get a job—instead, he offered to let me live with him while I was going to school. I didn’t want to be a charity case, but it was an amazing offer—one that I couldn’t really turn down. I still hoped that I would be able to get my own place after I got a job, but I was overwhelmed by his generosity.
“I don’t think Mr. Foster is home from work yet, but your bedroom should be ready.” John pulled the car up to a large iron gate and used a remote to open it.
“That’s…” My eyes nearly bulged out of my head as I stared at the mansion ahead of us. “That’s his house?”
“He’s got a few.” John chuckled. “But yes—this is where he lives.”
I couldn’t help being a little jealous when the car came to a stop in front of Mr. Foster’s mansion. It was clear that being a sports agent in Los Angeles was a lot more lucrative than Chicago. My father barely left us with enough to get by—Mr. Foster was living in the lap of luxury. I followed John into the house, and he led me to a bedroom at the top of a large spiral staircase. I had to blink a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It was certainly better than what I was used too. The room was nearly as big as the house I grew up in, and it appeared that I had my own bathroom—I was used to sharing a half-bath with my sister and fighting over the mirror in the morning was a daily battle.
“If you need anything, you can hit the red button on your telephone.” John motioned to a phone that was sitting next to the bed.
“Who does that call?” I raised my eyebrows inquisitively.
“Mr. Foster has an assistant named Lauren who takes care of everything. If you need something, she’ll handle it.” He nodded quickly. “If you need to go somewhere, she’ll call me.”
“Oh wow, okay.” I blinked in surprise.
John left me alone in my new bedroom, and I decided to start unpacking. The walk-in closet was enormous, and I certainly didn’t have enough stuff to fill it. I could have stacked all of the boxes that were on the way to Los Angeles in the back corner of the closet and still had room to do cartwheels. There was a large dresser that looked more like a wardrobe. All of the socks and underwear I owned would fit in one of the drawers. I probably wouldn’t have needed more than two to hold all of the socks and underwear I had ever owned. The bed was king sized and even bigger than the one in my mother’s bedroom. I wondered if it was a California King. They were supposed to be bigger than regular ones—and I was in California.
I should take a few pictures and send them to my sister. Lorrie is going to be so freaking jealous.
I pulled out my phone, snapped a few panoramic shots, and then walked into the bathroom. There was a large whirlpool tub that reminded me of a Jacuzzi, and two shower heads. The sink was a large oval basin that I could have fit in if I curled up in a ball, and the mirror covered the entire wall behind it. There were also lights on the side of the mirror, which—unfortunately, made me realize I had a couple of blackheads that needed to be handled. I didn’t even notice them when I was getting ready that morning. The mirror made the blackheads stand out so much that I dug into my purse and grabbed my makeup so I could add an extra layer to hide them until I had time to properly handle the problem.
Now what? I guess I could explore the rest of the house…
I walked downstairs and started looking around. The first room I came to appeared to be a library. There was a large oak desk in the middle of the room and more books than I thought anyone could read in one lifetime. I saw some pictures on the wall and walked over to get a better loo