counter, lining them up so a small gap at the top revealed the title of each copy. I arranged his mail in the slotted organizer, large envelopes in the back with the smaller in front. Genevieve implied he had an office in the area she’d designated off limits. I found it strange that I couldn’t leave the newspapers and mail in there but whatever…
Not my business.
Moving to the dry-cleaning I picked up, I tore the plastic wrappers off and removed the hangers provided by the cleaners. I snorted at the extravagance of using special hangers, thick wooden ones, but god forbid we use anything but environmentally-safe light bulbs. There were enough hangers in this room to make a whole tree. They lined up neatly, sterile and uniform. I swapped the appropriate hangers and placed the clothing in the appropriate location. Style, color, season… I knew it was the right spot because I had a chart, a cheat sheet (or rather, a cheat binder), given to me by Genevieve. Each item was photographed and documented in its proper location.
Pretentious.
I walked around the room, adjusting and making sure everything was in its place. Even though this room was sort of insane, I liked being up here. So far it had been a little lonely being in the house without company all day and being in this dressing room made me feel like I was working for a person, not a phantom. The rest of the house felt kind of impersonal but up here I was able to learn a little more about the elusive Mr. Palmer.
Underneath the perfectionism I found signs of his real nature. Below his dress shirts I discovered a collection of vintage tees hanging on one of the racks. I flipped through each one, reading the names and scanning the logos; The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Grateful Dead, The Doors, Janis Joplin, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, Queen, and KISS. I stopped at the KISS one and ran my fingers over the slick surface of Gene Simmons painted face and ridiculously long tongue. There were too many to go through but they seemed in chronological order and at the end of the row I saw one for Cher, Elton John, Nirvana, and the last one for Madonna's latest tour.
It was an impressive collection, very eclectic. He must have found a specialty shop that worked off original designs. I wondered whether or not Genevieve was in charge of finding and purchasing these.
Ah, the life of the rich.
I left the room, switched off the light and closed the door behind me. I wandered down the stairs to my desk and filled out my daily report. I typed it up, not wanting to reveal my hideous handwriting, and left it on the edge of the desk as instructed.
As I gathered my things I considered that it had been a good day, but I was happy to head home to order a pizza and go over the day's events with Drew. I wondered if I would see Mr. Palmer anytime soon, since my interest was getting more and more piqued as the days went by.
Surely I had to come face to face with him at some point.
Chapter 4
Grant
Lemons.
The scent assaulted my nostrils the instant I walked into the house. Stronger than before, which meant it wasn’t Genevieve and I could only assume it was the new PA. I preferred not to have our first encounter be a reprimand—not that it was a reprimand. It was more a necessity. It’s not that the scent was unpleasant, it was simply one of those fragrances that at first it smells appealing but then becomes overwhelming and obnoxious. Distracting. I didn’t have time for distractions.
See? I’d already spent too much time thinking about perfume, again.
I would leave her a note tomorrow asking her to stop wearing the scent, claiming it was giving me migraines. That may be a stretch, but the odor messed with my head one way or the other, and migraine sounded as plausible as anything else I could come up with.
In my dressing room, I removed a shirt from my collection off the hanger. I was going out tonight. I needed to. I had the tendency to shut
Not my business.
Moving to the dry-cleaning I picked up, I tore the plastic wrappers off and removed the hangers provided by the cleaners. I snorted at the extravagance of using special hangers, thick wooden ones, but god forbid we use anything but environmentally-safe light bulbs. There were enough hangers in this room to make a whole tree. They lined up neatly, sterile and uniform. I swapped the appropriate hangers and placed the clothing in the appropriate location. Style, color, season… I knew it was the right spot because I had a chart, a cheat sheet (or rather, a cheat binder), given to me by Genevieve. Each item was photographed and documented in its proper location.
Pretentious.
I walked around the room, adjusting and making sure everything was in its place. Even though this room was sort of insane, I liked being up here. So far it had been a little lonely being in the house without company all day and being in this dressing room made me feel like I was working for a person, not a phantom. The rest of the house felt kind of impersonal but up here I was able to learn a little more about the elusive Mr. Palmer.
Underneath the perfectionism I found signs of his real nature. Below his dress shirts I discovered a collection of vintage tees hanging on one of the racks. I flipped through each one, reading the names and scanning the logos; The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Grateful Dead, The Doors, Janis Joplin, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, Queen, and KISS. I stopped at the KISS one and ran my fingers over the slick surface of Gene Simmons painted face and ridiculously long tongue. There were too many to go through but they seemed in chronological order and at the end of the row I saw one for Cher, Elton John, Nirvana, and the last one for Madonna's latest tour.
It was an impressive collection, very eclectic. He must have found a specialty shop that worked off original designs. I wondered whether or not Genevieve was in charge of finding and purchasing these.
Ah, the life of the rich.
I left the room, switched off the light and closed the door behind me. I wandered down the stairs to my desk and filled out my daily report. I typed it up, not wanting to reveal my hideous handwriting, and left it on the edge of the desk as instructed.
As I gathered my things I considered that it had been a good day, but I was happy to head home to order a pizza and go over the day's events with Drew. I wondered if I would see Mr. Palmer anytime soon, since my interest was getting more and more piqued as the days went by.
Surely I had to come face to face with him at some point.
Chapter 4
Grant
Lemons.
The scent assaulted my nostrils the instant I walked into the house. Stronger than before, which meant it wasn’t Genevieve and I could only assume it was the new PA. I preferred not to have our first encounter be a reprimand—not that it was a reprimand. It was more a necessity. It’s not that the scent was unpleasant, it was simply one of those fragrances that at first it smells appealing but then becomes overwhelming and obnoxious. Distracting. I didn’t have time for distractions.
See? I’d already spent too much time thinking about perfume, again.
I would leave her a note tomorrow asking her to stop wearing the scent, claiming it was giving me migraines. That may be a stretch, but the odor messed with my head one way or the other, and migraine sounded as plausible as anything else I could come up with.
In my dressing room, I removed a shirt from my collection off the hanger. I was going out tonight. I needed to. I had the tendency to shut
Similar Books
First Kiss (Emma's Arabian Nights, #1)
Ann Mayburn
Bloodlines
Dinah McCall
Thunder Running
Rebecca Crowley
Of Wolves and Men
G. A. Hauser
The Cure for Death by Lightning
Gail Anderson-Dargatz
Out of My League
Dirk Hayhurst
She's No Faerie Princess
Christine Warren
Rebellion (A Dangerous Man, #2)
Serena Grey
The Guardian's Wildchild
Feather Stone
A Notorious Countess Confesses (PG7)
Julie Anne Long