Grayson (2 page)

“What?”

“The job. You had an interview, right?”

I smiled. It was nice that he’d remembered. “Yes. In fact, I’m starting today.”

“That’s great. Congrats,”

I tucked loose strands of hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten a chance to call you back. It’s been crazy.”

“No worries. You can make it up to me on Friday.”

“Friday?” I questioned, watching a white Bentley pull up to the curb.

“Yes, I’d love to see you again.”

Mr. Whitmore’s head appeared in the window and he waved energetically.
A Bentley with a driver?
Seriously?
My lips quirked. He lived three blocks away. With cross town traffic he could have walked here faster than it would have taken to drive.
My grandmother
would have beaten the car here.

“Um…”

“Are we on? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I really should study.” I hesitated, distracted as I watched Mr. Whitmore exit the Bentley.

“Can’t I steal you away for just an hour or so?”

“Um…okay. Fine. But I’m working till eight. So it’ll have to be late. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up quickly and watched as Mr. Whitmore approached. He was dressed in loose faded denims that hung low on his narrow hips and another T-shirt. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just crawled out of bed. Not sexy disheveled. Just sloppy. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses.

“Angie!” he greeted me with a big smile as if I was an old friend. No apology for his tardiness. I forced my tongue to remain silent, reminding myself that he was my boss and that I needed the money.

I smiled back, trying to muster enthusiasm and gave myself the pep talk I’d been reciting since yesterday. I was starting a new job that would really help me make ends meet. The thought of being able to pay my bills and help my family sculpted my tight features into a smile.

“Mr. Whitmore,” I greeted.

He pouted like a two year old. “I must insist that you call me Charles. I feel so old when you call me that. And as you pointed out yesterday, I’m barely out of diapers.”

“Okay, Charles,” I conceded, somehow sensing that it meant a lot to him.

He smiled and I watched him lift up a keypad and dial in a series of numbers.

“This is your key code.” He handed me a piece of paper as the gate slid open like creaky old bones.

I must have looked confused because he continued. “It’s how you’ll get through the fence and into the house. Just dial in those numbers and hit enter. It will ask you one security question.”

I nodded and stuffed the piece of paper in my bag, looking around the small, neat front lawn. I felt as if I’d stepped into a different realm, a place far beyond the bustling city. An unexplained calm settled over me, slowing the pace of my pulse. I followed him down a path that cut through the postage-stamp lawn and up the wide front steps to a massive mahogany door. He indicated a keypad on the side.

“You try.” He nodded in my direction and I pulled out the paper and typed in the code.

A question popped up: How old are you?

I typed in ‘twenty-four’ and rolled my eyes in his direction as he surveyed the screen. His smile broadened, showing straight white teeth.

“Knew I’d get it out of you one way or another. Now the system will be set to that answer.” He chuckled, hit a few more buttons, and pushed the door open.

I laughed lightly, tossing out a sarcastic, “You are too clever.”

“Yes, I am.” He nodded seriously, his gaze an inflexible blue beam. “And I
always
get what I want.”

An uncomfortable tingle crept down my back. I was about to respond when I stepped into the house and my breath stuck in my lungs. I stood rooted by the door, letting my brain catch up to what my eyes were reporting.
What the fuck?

The room was massive, yet there wasn’t an area unencumbered. Stacks of books and furniture piled up to my elbow and strangled the space of the room. There were dusty barrels and crates, furniture piled on top of furniture, ornate vases, sculptures, paintings—you name it, it was in this room. There was likely no room left for the proverbial kitchen sink. I felt as if I’d just stepped into an episode of
Hoarders
. This house would definitely be a main feature.

“Wow. Just…wow.”

Charles scanned the room and sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it’s a hot mess,” he noted. “It just got worse over time. I haven’t been here in months. I’ve never known where to start, so I’ve done nothing.”

I followed him as he wove us through a tight maze of books, trying not to knock over the haphazard piles. A musky smell invaded my nose as we got further into the room and I trampled a sneeze. I could now see a full wall of floor-to-ceiling old fashioned casement windows. I couldn’t help thinking how gloriously the light would dance in this room if the glass wasn't so filthy. We emerged into an area of wooden crates and Charles turned to me, looking concerned.

“I hope you still want the job.”

I paused for a moment, thought about the rent money that was due, and nodded.

He beamed. “Great! Remember, you can take as much time as you want. A lot of this stuff needs to be thrown out. Anything you think is worthwhile, we can keep.”

I looked around the room again, my gaze alighting on large pieces of art leaning against one wall.

“I don’t mind cleaning things out. I just don’t want to throw away anything that might be valuable.”

“Don’t worry,” He started walking again and I followed. I’ve already had an art dealer take the valuable pieces and a book collector has gone through the tomes. What’s left is mostly junk. You can just organize things. Most of the books are old and have suffered damage. They can be thrown out.”

I looked at a large stack, noting some classics.
Moby Dick
,
Lord of the Flies
, Dostoyevsky’s
Crime and Punishment,
and there was even a collection of Robert Frost’s poetry.

“Someone really likes to read.”

“My father,” Charles said sadly. “He used to collect books.”

“Oh,” was all I could say, feeling bad for sparking the memory of his father. I remembered Anna saying in her text that his parents had died in a car accident. It must have been tough losing them. Perhaps that’s why he had a hard time cleaning out the home he’d grown up in. It was unfair of me to have judged him as a spoiled rich kid when I knew so little about him or what he must have endured.

We moved into an adjacent room and it was more of the same. However, in here the walls were in worse condition with large holes eating through the plaster. One area looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it and released some aggression. My nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of mildew. The stuffiness was starting to become oppressive, and I removed my jacket, folding it over my arm.

“Some things are quite large…” Charles’ words trailed off as he turned to me. His gaze traveled over my body, latching on to the objects of his affection. I almost cleared my throat to snap him out of his trance.

I hated when men did that. I knew that I had large breasts, something I’d learned early on had a brain-numbing effect on the opposite sex. Why? I had no idea. Really, they were just masses of fat, glands and ducts. No. Big. Deal. I was tempted to lift my shirt and flash him. The poor kid would probably faint from all of the blood rushing from his head to his dick. But then where would I be?
Out of a job and dealing with an unconscious letch.

Where were we? Yes, ‘some things are large…’
That was where his thoughts had derailed into a ditch. I sighed inwardly and decided to clear my throat. His fair skin turned a burnished red as his brain kicked back on.

He looked at me with a sly smile. “They are large and heavy.”

I frowned.
Huh? What were we talking about here?
“Excuse me?”

“Some of the objects in the room,” he clarified, but I could see a smile drift into his eyes at the juvenile innuendo.

Seriously? Was I going to have to deal with this every time I saw him?

“I can arrange for some help for you to move the large items,” he continued.

I bit back a curse as I followed him through four other large rooms. The kitchen wasn’t as bad as the rest of the house. Although it was filled with junk, it appeared to be a lot cleaner. I noticed a staircase leading to the second floor from the kitchen, and a backdoor that opened to the back of the house. We had just circled back to the main room when Charles checked his watch. It had taken us an hour to just go through a run down of what needed to be done.

“You can make a list of the supplies that you’ll need. Garbage bags, cleaning stuff, whatever. I’ll see that you get them. Just bring the list by to my apartment. You know you’re welcome to come over anytime.”

He ended the last sentence with another smile that made me want to grit my teeth. I had no intentions of going anywhere near his apartment if I didn’t need to. One minute he could be a shy awkward kid, the next, an impudent playboy. I wanted to sit him down and tell him a thing or two about women, but as I said yesterday, I didn’t teach. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told him that.

I’d long ago grown tired of the self absorbed, overly zealous men who could literally get off by humping my leg like a dog in heat. Those were the type of men I met on campus every day. The type that were reduced to blathering, horny fools by the sight of big breasts. Other than having a good time, most of the men I met had no real interest in getting to know me, my thoughts, or my passions. Mark was the first guy in a long time who’d even sparked my interest.

“I’ll drop it off with your doorman tomorrow.” I returned, ignoring his exaggerated pout. “I’d like to take some time today to just get a general idea of what’s here and the scope of the work.”

Charles consulted his Rolex. “I have to run, but take whatever time you need. You may come and go as you like, just keep track of the hours.” His head jerked up as if he just remembered something. “Oh, that door.”

My gaze followed as he pointed to a door to my far right.

That’s the stairs that go up to the second floor. You should never go up there. My father is up there.”

My eyes grew huge and round.
Huh? Wasn’t he…dead?
I immediately thought of a giant urn with ashes, a mummified corpse, or worse…
Rich people did some weird shit.

“Father?”

“Yes. He mostly stays upstairs. He’s very particular.”

Great research, Anna!!!!!!

“You mean that someone
lives here?
”

Charles nodded, his expression stoic. “Yes. My father lives here,” he repeated slowly as if I was mentally impaired.

I looked around the room that posed a serious fire hazard. I couldn’t believe that someone actually lived in this house. Perhaps the second floor was in better repair, but somehow I doubted it. This place was a disaster area.

“Don’t worry. He won’t bother you. You won’t even know that he’s here,” he said, noticing my frown.

I nodded hesitantly and he seemed to relax.

“Talk soon.” He gave me a Hollywood wink and walked toward the door, leaving me with the frown on my face.

It wasn’t until after he’d left that I realized that he hadn’t gone upstairs to say hello or check on his father. Hadn’t he said it had been months since he’d been here?

I turned in a slow circle, absorbing the room and trying to combat the chaotic energy bouncing into my personal space. It would take me weeks to clean and thoroughly catalogue everything. I’d told Charles that as we’d walked around and he’d said to do the best I could. I worried now about even my best efforts. This would be a challenge. There was an absurd amount of stuff in this room alone. If not for the high domed ceilings, the space would be severely claustrophobic. My head tilted up and my gaze connected with the ceiling. It brushed along a beautiful pastel mural of dancing cherubs that was still in fine condition. The plaster was cracked and peeling in several areas, but I could still discern the delicate lines and the dynamic essence of the painting. This house had been gorgeous at one point.

I spent the next two hours lifting tarps, deconstructing piles and relocating statues and small pieces of furniture. I was simply trying to clear a space where I could work. It was strange knowing that someone else was in the house and I worked as silently as I could.

Strangely enough, despite the clutter that was boxing me in, there was a quiet calmness to the house. Several times I felt a stillness in the air, a suspended moment of tranquility. It made the back of my neck prickle with awareness and my breath quicken. I shrugged it off as me being silly and focused on my tasks.

After a while, the thick plumes of dust started to get to me. When my coughing became persistent, I decided to call it a day. I pulled the heavy mahogany door shut as I left the house. It was early evening by the time I stepped onto the small patch of grass outside the house. The music of the city, familiar notes, filled my ears and lured me away, but something pulled me back and made me stop and turn back to the old house. Something made my gaze travel up to the second floor and I thought I caught sight of a slight rustle of drapery.