“I understand,” said Marisol with a nod of her head
“Good. Here is the folder for the different vendors I use. Each one has a website where you can order what you need. It will automatically be charged to one of my credit accounts. Just press ‘order’ or whatever they use for that, and it should be delivered within the specified time frames. I suggest you get familiar with each of the delivery times of different vendors. You can have my dry cleaning picked-up, but if I say I need the suit before their turnaround time, you’ll have to order rush service.”
Marisol looked over the list. It was very extensive, covering everything from food to liquor to repair services. A particular service caught her eye.
“What is this? Maids-On-The-Go? When you have a housekeeper?”
Ryan pursed his lips, and Marisol thought he looked adorable.
“Sometimes I have parties on a moment’s notice. I can’t expect my housekeeper to have everything ready on the turn of a dime. I use them for emergencies.”
Again, the tips of Ryan’s ears turned red, and she began to think that something was up with this whole housekeeper business. A faint shadow crossed her mind that Ryan could be up to no good, bringing a woman he barely knew into his home, maybe for illicit purposes, but no. He’d been nothing but good and kind. Or was this part of an act? Was Ryan Kelley a wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Ryan, still with the computer on his lap, called up the website of Lord’s Ladies’ clothing.
“Here, take a look through here.” He handed her the device.
“How, Mr. Kelley, are you so conversant with the websites of ladies’ clothing?” He seemed to do this so easily, Marisol wondered if he ordered a lot of clothing for different women.
“My mom and my sister like this shop. What?” he said, seeing her perplexed expression, “You think nuns don’t like nice clothes?”
“No, it’s just… Never mind.” She paged through the different categories when panic struck her. Marisol realized that she didn’t have a clue as to what size she was. All her former clothes were handmade, so she’d never even thought of terms of sizes before. She looked up the size charts, but the numbers were in inches instead of centimeters, and she didn’t have a clue as to what she measured in English units let alone metric.
She shut the lid on the computer.
“You know what? I’m a bit tired. Can I do this tomorrow?”
“Sure,” he said. “You’ll have all day to do what you want. I’ve a busy day ahead of me, and I’ll have to work at the office tomorrow, so you will be on your own. In the mean time, go to the middle door, the first guest bedroom. There is a closet of clothes you can look through. You should find some things to get you through.”
A trilling noise rose up between them, and Ryan fished his phone out of his pocket.
“I have to take this,” he said. “Do you mind?”
Marisol wasn’t used to being dismissed, like she was a servant, and it struck her just how suddenly her circumstances changed.
“Certainly, Mr. Kelley,” she said.
“Marisol,” he said, and she turned hoping that he decided not to take the call after all, but he held the computer out to her.
“Don’t forget this,” he said and he put his phone to his ear turning away from her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Out Of Her Element
Marisol entered the third bedroom and felt along the wall until she found the light switch. On the left hand wall was a long bank of doors, so she assumed this was the closet. She slid the doors open and was astounded to see a bunch of women’s clothing in many different sizes. Where did all these come from? Did Ryan have a rash of girlfriends that left clothing behind?
She looked through and found a couple nightgowns that looked they could fit, and some skirts and blouses. Well, this should do her until she got something else. Certainly with a washer and dryer on hand she’d have clean clothes, if she could figure out how to use them.
Well, she had the computer and the internet had tons of information.
She gave one last glance at the closet and shook her head. Maybe Ryan Kelley wasn’t the sunshine and light that he portrayed himself to be.
Marisol walked across the huge apartment to her room. Shedding her clothes, she slipped on one of the nightgown and fell onto the bed. She didn’t even bother to crawl under the blankets she was that exhausted.
***
A sharp bang and the sounds of swearing made her start. Light was seeping from the skylight she didn’t notice last night. Reasoning it must be morning, and that she should working, she bolted out of bed and discarded the nightgown on the floor, and threw on a skirt and one of the shirts. She flew into the kitchen when the sounds of male distress grew even louder.
“What?” Marisol said, when she saw Ryan fumbling with a frying pan. “What are you doing?”
He smiled sheepishly, a grin that melted her heart.
“I thought I’d make us some breakfast, but I’m really bad at this.”
“I see that,” said Marisol seeing scrambled eggs burning in the pan. “I’ve never seen black scrambled eggs.”
“It’s a deep South delicacy, blackened scrambled eggs.”
Marisol crinkled her nose. “I see you lie as well as you cook. What did you do to your hand?”
“I touched the handle. I didn’t realize it would be hot.”
“You seem to have dangerous cookware as well.’
“Mom always made it look easy.”
Marisol opened the refrigerator doors until she found some ice. She then rummaged through the drawers of the cabinets until she found a dishtowel. Combining the two, she pressed it to Ryan’s hand.
“I thought you said you had a busy day,” she said gazing into his crystal blue eyees
“I do, but we aren’t meeting until nine and I thought—”
“I see what you thought. You were just trying to scare up some work for me. This place is so clean that you really don’t need me.”
“Oh, there will be filth eventually. As a matter of fact, I need to you to do something right now. Call the dry cleaners and get my blue suit here rush, and call up San Lucio’s and get us some breakfast. I’ve ruined the pan, it seems, so we’ll just order out. I’d like steak and eggs, with rye toast and a side of hash browns. Order whatever you’d like.”
He turned his head and looked at her with a critical eye. “Where did you get those clothes?” Ryan did sound happy that she was wearing them.
“In the closet in the second guest room. There are certainly a lot of clothes there. Where did they come form?”
“It’s one of my projects,” he said cryptically. “But really, do make sure you order some proper clothes today. And go ahead and order rush delivery.”
Marisol looked down at her clothes, wondering what gave Ryan offense.
“Whatever you want, Mr. Kelley.”
“And stop calling me Mr. Kelley. Call me Ryan.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want,” he replied flatly. “Now, please take care of those things while I take a shower.”
Marisol’s throat went dry when she thought of Ryan undressing and stepping under the shower head naked. Why didn’t she think of this before she took this job? She was living in single man’s apartment. Her father would never approve of this. Not that he frequently approved of anything she truly wanted to do.
Still a wave of nostalgia and longing hit her. She missed her father even if he was overbearing.
But she hurried to retrieve the computer and power it up and got the phone number. Then she realized she didn’t have a phone she could use to call them. She checked for an email address and found it and panicked again because she didn’t know the address of the apartment she worked for.
Then she remembered something. On the rare times she’d visited Antoinette in New York, whenever the ditzy girl needed something, she called her doorman. Marisol hoped this building did have a doorman and that he was
inclined to help a hopelessly incompetent princess, who apparently couldn’t dress herself without help.
She went to back entrance, where she surmised there would be some sort of communication device to receive calls from the desk. Marisol found it behind a small metal door at the side of the back entrance. She lifted the handset.
“Hello, hello,” she said feeling stupid that she didn’t know the right thing to say.
“Mr. Ryan?” said a gravelly male voice.
“No. My name is Marisol. I’m the new housekeeper, and I’m just getting acclimated. I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you call Mr. Kelley’s dry cleaners and ask them to rush his blue suit? He needs it rapidly.”
“Sure thing, Marisol. I do that for him all the time.”
“You do?”
“Sure thing.”
“Then do you also order his breakfast from a place called San Lucio’s?”
“On occasion.”
“Then please, can you do that too?”
“His usual then?”
“If it’s steak, scrambled eggs, rye toast, and hash browns.”
“Sure. Miss Marisol.”
“And would you order a croissant and fruit bowl for me?”
“You got it. Need anything else, just give me a call.”
“Thank you—”