Читать книгу A Risky Proposition, Book 1 of The Third Wish Duology - Dawn Addonizio - Страница 8

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. On Saturday my first wish apparently expired, because the memories of Jeremy’s betrayal came rushing back. I spent most of the day crying as I loaded up my station wagon with things from our house that I was bringing to the hotel, including my cat, Jasper.

Sunday I unpacked and decorated the penthouse with some of my stuff to make it feel more like home, and then I set up my office on the dining room table. I usually ate on the coffee table in front of the TV anyway, and I wanted to keep the guest room open for company. Not to mention I probably wouldn’t get much work done in a room with a bed.

Now here I was, ready to jump back into work like a normal person, with no hint of faerie magic or death djinns anywhere in sight. It was a wonder that I wasn’t cowering in the closet or wallowing beneath the covers in depression. I couldn’t decide whether it was residual forgetfulness from the wish, or just my amazing aptitude for denial.

I’d lied to Jeremy and told him I was staying at my boss Hannah’s spare apartment. It wasn’t as if the truth was an option.

Hannah was a jewelry designer from France who owned a little couture shop called Haute Hannah’s on Worth Avenue—the most exclusive place to shop in Palm Beach. She was a tiny spitfire of a woman in her fifties, the top of her head barely coming up to my shoulders. I had never seen her anything other than perfectly coiffed, and bedecked with as many of her most mammoth jewelry designs as she could cram into her ensemble for the day.

And she adored expensive French perfumes. Her small shop was permeated with an amalgamation of her favorite scents, ranging from spicy to flowery to cloying. The paperwork that I’d picked up from her a week ago still reeked of it. I worked from home doing her bookkeeping, making her travel arrangements, and taking care of her administrative needs.

Unfortunately Hannah’s was only a part time job, so I also worked for Cindy, a permanently frazzled woman with an abusive husband named Leslie and an ungrateful teenage son named Mickey. Her husband was her ‘boss’ at their store, Designer Jewelry Direct, and he made her call him ‘Mr. Horowitz’ at work.

Mr. H, or ‘The Horrorwitz’ as I called him, was well known around Palm Beach for verbally flaying both innocent employees and customers who didn’t spend enough money at his store. D.J.D. only stayed in business because he constantly advertised to bring in new clients and usually held his tongue for the big spenders.

He was a compulsive gambler who siphoned all the profits from the store during season, and kept things running during the summer off season by only paying the rent and utilities. Employees and vendors were left unpaid for months at a time through a campaign of Cindy’s sob stories and Mr. H’s threats.

This made things difficult with Hannah because she was one of their vendors. Whenever her bill came too far past due, she begged me to talk to Cindy for her, who would only give me empty reassurances to pass along. It always made me feel guilty and stuck in the middle.

I often thought about quitting my job at D.J.D. But it was convenient to work from home, and I did their online banking, so I always managed to get paid. Not to mention the fact that I felt sorry for Cindy, even though she sometimes drove me crazy.

Each time Mr. H scared away their office manager the responsibility fell on her to keep up with things until she found a new one. I was the most recent in a long series of them and she’d agreed to let me report directly to her so that I never had to deal with ‘The Horrorwitz’.

I wrinkled my nose and settled back into the cream cushions of a heavy dining room chair, staring moodily around my new makeshift office. My laptop and printer were set up on the polished wood table, along with my fax machine and a cordless phone. My working file boxes were stacked neatly along the rear wall and my cache of office supplies resided in one of these.

There was a constant whisper of scratching sounds behind me, due to the fascination my cat, Jasper, had developed with the row of open boxes. He had an inordinate fondness for rubber-bands and paperclips, and seemed to have decided that this was some sort of breeding ground for them.

The first words out of my mouth that morning had been a rude result of my stepping on the pointy end of a bent paperclip that he’d managed to liberate onto the carpet. Jasper was smart enough not to be anywhere in sight when it happened. He no doubt knew that the earlier it was, the less charitable my mood tended to be.

The cordless phone rang and I frowned because I hadn’t given the number to anyone yet. The caller ID read ‘Cleaning Svcs’ and my spirits soared immediately at the reminder of one of my new perks as a hotel resident.

“Hello Miss Corrigan, this is Angelica. Would it be convenient for me to come by to clean now? If not, I could come by later this afternoon.” Her voice was sweet with a hint of huskiness, and an odd impression of warm, drizzling caramel flashed through my head. I blinked at the image and at her use of my maiden name.

The guy at the front desk had also called me ‘Miss Corrigan’, despite the fact that no one at the hotel should have known me by that name or any other. I guessed it must all be a part of the living in the penthouse wish.

I realized she was waiting for a reply and cleared my throat, “Um, yes, now would be great. Thank you.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you in a minute.”

She hung up, and soon after I heard a soft knock at the door.

I opened it expecting a woman in a subdued hotel uniform, but standing there was a six foot blonde in a French maid’s outfit. And she made it look like naughty lingerie without even trying. I couldn’t help gaping at her. It was like having a Victoria’s Secret model show up to clean the house.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like me to focus on today, or should I just give everything the once-over?” She offered me a smile, and between her luminous blue eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, and infectious warmth—the effect was dazzling.

“Uh, the once-over would be great,” I stuttered.

“No problem, Miss Corrigan,” she replied cheerily, turning to pull some cleaning supplies from her cart.

“Thanks.” I returned to my ‘office’, shaking off a strange reluctance to leave her side.

“Ooh, I love what you’ve done with the place!” she exclaimed as she stepped into the living room. “These pre-furnished rooms can feel so cold without a few personal touches. This is a lovely coffee table—so much nicer than that formal hunk of metal that was here before,” she remarked as she began Windexing the scratched, glass surface of the table I’d brought from home.

“Thank you,” I replied, taken aback by her friendliness. “Uh, the base was hand-crafted from driftwood by an artist that collected his materials from the beach. My Mom bought it before I was born.”

“It’s so primal,” she commented, her voice dropping into a soft growl. “I love it! And look at all these adorable frogs!” She smiled at one of my figurines as she picked it up to dust it.

“Yeah, I’ve always loved frogs—as evidenced by their sudden take-over of the room,” I added self consciously.

“It’s important to surround ourselves with the things we enjoy. Did you know that there’s a yoga pose called ‘frog’?” she asked.

“Really? I’ve taken a class or two, but I don’t know much about it,” I answered as she paused in her dusting to glance up at me.

“The frog pose works to open the pelvic region. It’s been known to initiate spontaneous orgasm in some women.” Her eyes sparkled with contagious humor.

“Wow,” I chuckled.

“Mmhm. Gave me one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. Yoga can be an extremely enlightening practice. You may want to think about exploring it further.” She grinned.

My eyebrows rose. “Maybe I will.”

“Will it disturb you if I vacuum?”

“Not at all; thanks for asking.”

I watched her disappear into the outer foyer, amazed at how comfortable she was discussing orgasms within the first five minutes of meeting me. Her openness felt natural and unassuming, though, and I couldn’t help liking her.

She returned pushing a fancy vacuum with multiple attachments. As soon as she turned it on, Jasper went streaking from his hiding place behind the couch and gave her a baleful glare before he shot down the hallway toward the guest room.

I had set up his litter box behind a large potted palm on the main balcony, and the cat door was hidden behind the window treatments on the unused end of the sliding glass door—both purposely out of sight.

I had a suspicion that the hotel didn’t allow pets, but now the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Angelica switched the vacuum off and stared after the frightened feline.

“That’s Jasper,” I said in chagrin. “I wasn’t sure if he was allowed, so I kind of snuck him in.” I watched for her reaction.

Angelica blinked at me, reading the concern in my expression. “Oh, please don’t worry Miss Corrigan. I would never abuse your privacy by talking about something I’d seen in your home! Be it your cat or something more personal in nature.” She grinned suggestively.

I laughed in relief. “Thanks Angelica. And please call me Sydney.”

“You’re welcome. He looks like a beautiful animal. And what interesting markings! Is he black all over, except for one white spot on the tip of his tail?”

“Yep, pitch black except for that one speck of white ruining all his witchy-ness.” I smirked.

She gave me an odd look and I got the feeling it was the witch reference. I made a mental note: sex talk okay, but ixnay on the itch-way.

“Anyway,” I continued hurriedly, “thanks again for not ratting me out.”

“Think nothing of it—I believe everyone should have the right to privacy and to conduct their lives the way they see fit…Sydney,” she added with a belated smile.

She switched the vacuum back on and began a thorough sweep of the penthouse. I watched her for a moment, wondering at her odd choice of words, and then I decided I’d better get to work as well.

I called Cindy to give her my new phone number and the banking update. I rolled my eyes and jotted down some things she wanted me to do, like printing and faxing her emails to her, and checking the results of a horse race for Mr. H, who was screaming at her in the background.

Then I listened to her complain about money for a while before reminding her that the electric and telephone were past due. I knew she didn’t want to hear it, and therefore it was the quickest way to get her off the phone. It worked like a charm.

As we hung up, I could hear Angelica humming softly from the hallway. “You know, Sydney,” she commented as she carried the used bedding to her cart, “depending on your partner’s height, that tall bed of yours would be perfect for certain standing positions.”

I blinked after her in confusion, exhaling in amusement when her words sank in. She disappeared back into the bedroom, apparently unconcerned with receiving a reply to the observation.

She moved into the kitchen next, which I had barely touched, but she found my tea mug in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher. She emptied all the wastebaskets and wiped down the balconies; she even dusted the ceiling fans. When she was finished, not a fleck of dirt or clutter was left anywhere. And it had taken her less than an hour.

“Well, I think that’s about everything. I saw your laundry basket, but I wasn’t sure if you were ready to do a wash. Would you like for me to start one?”

“No, thanks—I should do something myself or I’ll be completely spoiled. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to survive without you again as it is,” I joked.

“It’s my pleasure,” she replied sincerely. “I actually enjoy cleaning. There’s something calming and almost sensual about the repetitive physical movements. So if you need anything, just put a call into Cleaning Services and ask for Angelica. Otherwise, I’ll plan to come by again on Thursday.”

I thanked her again as I saw her out the door and she pushed her cart into the elevator. I wasn’t sure about the sensual properties of cleaning, but I fully intended to let Jeremy cover our mortgage for a while and redistribute some of my freed-up cash into tips for Angelica.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

After forcing myself to concentrate on work for a couple more hours, I made my way down to the garage and hopped in my station wagon to pick up some paperwork from Cindy and do the grocery shopping for the week.

Staying at the hotel cut my usual half hour commute down to five minutes. It was great, but there was no way I was telling Cindy or she’d have me running errands all day. I called to let her know I was outside and pulled up near the rear entrance. I waited for a moment before I saw her bustle backward out the door, calling, “Yes, Sir!”, no doubt to Mr. H. My not having to go inside and risk a confrontation with him was part of our working arrangement.

Cindy was a plumply attractive woman in her fifties with dark blonde hair and grey eyes. She struck me as someone who’d probably been a cheerleader in high school.

When I saw her, she usually sported a smile and kept up a rash of convivial chatter. And she never seemed to stop moving, although that might have had more to do with avoiding her husband’s tirades than anything else.

Her clothes tended to be rumpled, but she was never without at least one piece of expensive jewelry—supposedly borrowed from D.J.D. to be worn for advertising purposes. I wasn’t sure how many of those ‘borrowed’ pieces actually found their way back to the store to be sold, though.

She rushed forward when she saw me. “Hi, Sydney, what’s up? What a day! Mr. Horowitz is on the war path. You brought my checks? Good. Thanks. Here’s your stuff. Was there anything else…no, I don’t think so. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” She handed me my bag of paperwork for the week and hurried back inside in usual frenzied Cindy fashion.

As I was getting back into my station wagon, a black Hummer pulled up next to me. I smiled and waved briefly at Mickey, Cindy’s seventeen year old son. The teenager waved back instead of giving me his usual sulky nod, then leapt down from his vehicle and began heading toward my driver side window.

As opposed to the tattered black wardrobe I expected to see hanging from his lean frame, he looked neat in crisp blue-jeans and a red polo-style shirt. His hair was trimmed so that his blue-grey eyes were visible, and although it was still dyed black, it shone soft and clean, instead of lank and greasy. He had even removed his facial piercings, leaving only a single stud in his right ear.

He hovered about a foot away grinning at me and I had no choice but to roll down my window.

“Hey, Mickey, you look a little different than the last time I saw you,” I said with a chuckle of disbelief.

“Hey, Sydney, what’s up?” he asked eagerly.

“Not much, just dropping something off for your Mom.”

“Oh. That’s cool.” Mickey bent down to rest his elbows on my windowsill and peered around the inside of my station wagon with interest. “Nice car, Sydney. All leather interior?”

My eyebrows drew down together as I stared at him. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s leather. Did you need something?” I hoped that didn’t come off as rude, but his sudden interest in me was strange.

“Well, actually,” he said, giving me a coy smile that looked wrong on his sallow face, “I was wondering if you’d have a cup of coffee with me sometime. I mean, I know you’re working right now, but maybe after you get off, or some time this weekend?”

I bit my bottom lip and studied him, working out how best to phrase my response. “Mickey, you seem like a nice kid. But I’m not sure your parents would approve of us spending time together on a personal level.” Was he asking me out on a date?

“Aw, come on Sydney. It’s just coffee. I won’t tell them if you won’t,” he cajoled. He grinned at me in what I was sure he thought was a charming manner.

I snorted. “I’m almost twice your age. Why would you want to hang out with me? Is there something you want to talk about, or…?” I trailed off, unsure what else to say.

“I just think you’re really nice.” He smiled and took a step back from my car. “I thought we could talk about my parents and stuff. I bet they drive you crazy too.”

My eyes widened. Of course they drove me crazy, but I was their employee, and I wasn’t about to discuss it with their son!

“Sorry, I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” I replied in a choked voice. I hit the button to close my window. “See you later, okay Mickey?” I called as I reversed out of the lot.

“Could my life get any weirder?” I muttered.

I turned in the direction of the supermarket and tried to shake off the encounter by focusing on my grocery list. I wanted to make sure I had extra supplies since my friend Sunny was due to fly in from Boston on Friday afternoon. We had been planning the visit for several weeks, since before the whole Jeremy thing and all the craziness that followed.

I hadn’t seen Sunny for about a year and I was really excited. The trip wasn’t only about me—her cousin Rachel was due to have a baby and if she didn’t go into labor by Friday they were going to induce. But Sunny had promised I could have her to myself for the rest of the time.

I would definitely need to pick up some coffee. Despite the ‘greet the day cheerfully’ picture her name implied, Sunny required an infusion of strong, black coffee to dezombify herself in the mornings. There was no way that my usual tea was going to do it for her.

I ran over my list in my head as I pulled into a parking space and prepared to do battle with the afternoon brigade of wealthy Palm Beach shoppers. This was the only grocery store I’d ever seen that offered valet parking, and the attitude of entitlement carried over from the parking lot into the store.

Sure enough, a stiff-lipped woman in huge sunglasses and chunky gold jewelry swept past me to grab the last cart. I sighed to myself and wondered if driving to the less affluent supermarket across the bridge wasn’t worth the extra time.

I decided against it and walked around to the exit doors to grab another cart. I was already here, and besides, it wasn’t the woman’s fault that the surgeon had pulled her face too tight for her to smile.

When I passed her again during my first sweep down the dairy aisle, I saw that her expression had turned even more sour. She was attempting to ignore the fact that the wheels of her cart were intermittently making an awful screeching noise.

I smirked as I reached to grab a tube of cinnamon roll dough, and froze when Lorien suddenly appeared hovering there next to the image of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

She grinned and whispered, “See, Sydney—you didn’t want that cart anyway.”

“So nice to see Karma in action,” I mumbled sarcastically.

“Sometimes it just needs a little nudge.” She winked and then she was gone.

I’d seen neither hide nor hair of her since Friday night and was beginning to wonder if I had imagined her.

I snorted quietly and finished up my shopping in a considerably lighter mood.