Page 23 of Unexpected You

We finished up lunch and I took the plates to the kitchen and stacked the dishwasher. Some of my tasks felt incredibly domestic, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was working in someone else’s home. If I survived this month, I wouldn’t be here as often, but right now I was in her space.

That afternoon passed without any further conversation, but I kept having to stop myself from blurting something out randomly.

Working for Eloise wasn’t getting any easier.

* * *

The massive boxes of hardcovers arrived on Wednesday, and I was relieved that someone actually unloaded them off the truck and into the basement for us. I’d have to use the dolly from the garage to wheel them out for pickup, but at least I only had to handle them going one way.

I set up the tables that were stacked against the wall and started unpacking. There were just so many of them, it was daunting. Once I’d gotten them all out of their boxes and set up for Eloise to sign, I got her from the office and handed her a Sharpie.

Eloise let out a long breath. “Once more unto the breach.” She rolled her shoulders like she was getting ready for a workout, and I guess she kind of was.

For each book, I would hold the book open to the right page and slide it to her. She’d sign and then slide the book to the empty side of the table. It took a few minutes for us to get the hang of it, but once we got a rhythm going, we were on a roll. This woman had signed this way for a long time. Every now and then I might fumble, but I quickly caught back up and we moved through one entire table of books until Eloise stopped and set the Sharpie down.

“Break time,” she announced, doing her wrist stretches. I’d seen her do them several times a day at this point. I should probably get into the habit too. I was doing a lot of typing too, and sitting so much all day was starting to make my legs ache in the evenings. I might, horrifyingly, have to start exercising on a regular basis. Or get like a walking pad or something.

“Why don’t you have a standing desk with a walking pad?” I asked as she took a few laps around the room, rolling her shoulders.

She pivoted to face me.

“Because I like my desk. And the idea of trying to walk while trying to think sounds like a tripping hazard.”

“They go really slow, but I still get your point,” I said.

“Why do you ask? Do you want a standing desk with a walking pad?” She leaned against the table, kicking her legs out in front of her. She wore flats today, but she still looked incredibly polished. I was running out of nice clothes to wear and was going to have to start repeating and I didn’t know how to feel about that. It was inevitable, and the chances that she was even noticing what I was wearing were slim, but still. Being in this house was doing something to my brain. When I got home to my apartment it was like crawling back into the gutter. I’d never been so aware of my financial status in my life. Even being around Hunter, Princess Trust Fund, hadn’t messed with my head this badly.

“No, I don’t need a standing desk and a walking pad, but I’ll let you know if I do,” I said.

“Good. Let’s get this done,” Eloise said, interrupting my ruminating.

“Yeah, definitely,” I said, going to the second table full of books.

* * *

We finished before the end of the day, and I was relieved. But tomorrow I had to put all the books back in boxes and get them ready for the pickup. Wasn’t looking forward to that. A problem for Tomorrow Cade.

Tonight, Hunter was dragging me out to an art gallery because one of her friends was showing some photography. It wasn’t necessarily my thing, but there was free food and alcohol, so I wasn’t going to turn that down. And it might give me some culture or something. I bet Eloise knew a lot about art. She had plenty of it in her house. Mostly soft paintings and landscapes, but she also had some lovely black-and-white photography that I sometimes caught myself staring at.

Hunter met me at my apartment, and we took a car to the gallery since it was too far to walk. Reid had said she was busy, so it was just me and Hunter and then a bunch of people that Hunter knew that I didn’t. Like a good friend, though, she didn’t abandon me and instead introduced me and made sure to include me in the conversations. When they asked what I did, I said I was a personal assistant and they did ask for further clarification, but I just deflected. I didn’t really know how to tell people what my job was without things getting weird or them asking too many questions. If they knew who I worked for, would they ask for free books or want to meet her or something?

It was something I just didn’t want to deal with, so I danced around the subject until something else came up. Hunter helped, for which I was grateful. She came back to my place with me after and we sat on my couch and talked about the art and her friends.

“You’ve got to come up with a better line about your job. Are you ashamed of it?” she asked, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table.

“No. I just don’t know what to say. Eloise Roth is famous, and I feel like I’m, I don’t know, famous adjacent now? What if people start asking me for stuff?”

Hunter gave me a perplexed look. “Why would people do that? And why would it be a big deal?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel real to me. Going into her house every day and managing things I should absolutely not be managing.”

Hunter put her arm around me. “But you are managing, so who cares? You have some of the worst impostor syndrome in another human I’ve ever seen.”

“I know, I know.” I didn’t want to be this way. I didn’t always want to think the worst about myself before thinking of anything else.

“She signed like a million books today. It was wild. She can swoop that signature in two seconds. It was kind of amazing.”

I bet Eloise never had impostor syndrome. She was good at everything, and I bet she had never doubted herself. People like her floated through life on a cloud of confidence.

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