Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) Read Free Page A

him in my own loopy, girlish handwriting. Next to the list was a brand-new smartphone with a yellow post-it note stuck to the screen.
    Keep with you at all times. For work purposes only.-GP
    I slid the bar on the front and it came to life. I noted several apps had already been loaded, most organizational. The address book was loaded as well as the contact pages, including employees at the main Foundation office.
    My instructions for the day included gathering his laundry for the cleaners and running some basic errands to the home improvement and drug stores. He also needed a certain type of pen from a specialty shop north of town. I was instructed to go to his PO Box (boxes—there were four) where he had his mail and newspapers delivered. Apparently, Mr. Palmer subscribed to over 15 newspapers a day, local, national, and from surrounding states. He reviewed these each night. I had no idea how he consumed all that information after a full day of work but I guess it was not my business.
    Not my business—the first rule of being a personal assistant.
    I reviewed the list and the instructions, taking time to call for directions to one of the shops. A shiny, silver credit card was attached to the note pad with a black clip. ‘The Palmer Foundation’ was embossed in raised letters on the front. A separate note explained I was to use this only for approved purchases.
    Six hours, eight stores, one stop for gas, another for lunch, one stumble into a puddle and an argument with the Duds and Suds Laundromat manager later, I was back at the office. I was exhausted and drenched from being out in the rain all day. All I wanted was to go home and get in bed. But I had two hours to go, and needed to put away my purchases and finish the small list of things described to do here at the house.
    I spent some time changing the light bulbs out in the library and parlor. Apparently Mr. Palmer decided to switch over to environmentally conserving bulbs. I felt wasteful throwing out the old, perfectly fine ones but that was not for me to judge.
    Nope. Not my business.
    In the library, I was distracted by the books that lined the shelves wrapping around the room. As with many other things in the house it was a mixture of old and new, and there were even a large amount of books in foreign languages including German, French and Italian. I paused to pick up a series of leather-bound editions of Shakespeare. They were worn and soft. There were copies of Homer and Steinbeck. I also noticed a tidy row of thick medical journals, with cracked leather spines. I knew he was supposed to be a prodigy, having taken over the Foundation in his early twenties, but I found it hard to believe he could read all of these books. If he didn’t read them, then that meant…well, increasingly, I had the feeling Grant Palmer was quite possibly a pretentious ass.
    But that was the thing I couldn’t figure out. Who exactly was Grant Palmer?
    Drew and I had looked him up after my initial interview. Google notified us that he was young, smart, and good looking (of course he was handsome). The society pages said he did a bunch of amazing things for charity. The business community loved him and found his methods groundbreaking. Oh, and the gossip blogs? They couldn’t figure out who he dated because he came to and left every event alone. He answered every personal question with a simple, “No comment,” leaving everyone to their own speculations. Drew and I both felt like this seemed a bit of a stretch. Did I mention he was handsome? And rich? And super generous? He probably rescued drowning kittens, too.
    Maybe he required everyone to sign a non-disclosure agreement—including the kittens.
    After I finished saving the world one light bulb at a time, I made my way upstairs carrying the laundry and other personal items to his dressing room. My list described a set of casual clothing to fold over the back of a chair. Then I needed to place the newspapers on the dressing