Page 1 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

Chapter One

THE GUY IN APARTMENT 33C

Ashleigh

As I approach Apartment 33C all the jangly, antsy feelings that sit so uncomfortably deep within me start to soften and inflate into this wonderful fluttery anticipation.

It’s always like this right at the start and I love it.

My pace quickens and my heart rate skitters, keen to get in on the action. I’ve become adept at regulating my heart rate but now I give the skitter rein and experience my heart knocking against my chest wall, helping me feel alive.

At the door to the apartment, I pause and look left and then right. The corridor is empty. Everyone who has somewhere to be is already there, so it’s just me and the wisps of excitement I can’t quite contain. They spark in the air around me adding to the giddy sensation.

Believe me, I never got to experience this in my previous employment.

I slide on my gloves as my gaze slides over the rosewood door with its gold-plated number ‘33’ and letter ‘C’ in expensive fancy font, checking I have the right place.

It’s so tempting to hang around a little longer and prolong the anticipation.

Bask in it for a while.

But I remind myself I’m on a schedule.

In and out.

Not everyone has the skills, stamina and ambition for this type of work, but everyone is driven by different things, aren’t they?

The key I’ve acquired pushes into the lock silently and with the sound of my heart drumming in my ears, one of my gloved hands turns the key, the other turns the doorhandle and I’m in.

First impressions, as my eager eyes scan, waiting to alight on the good stuff, is of acres of polished light oak floorboards and miles of naked white walls.

As my eyes adjust from the plush low-lit corridor outside to this vast new open concept living area, I scan and re-scan, frowning hard at the barren surroundings.

‘What the…?’ A snort of disgust escapes.

The good stuff I was promised?

Zilch.

Nada.

Disappointment crashes down.

There has to be some mistake.

The cleaning cart I pulled in behind me is having none of my negativity as it drifts off to the side presumably needing a moment to fully take in the beauty.

I stare at the key in my gloved hand.

It fit the lock.

So maybe this isn’t a mistake and I am genuinely expected to spend the next two hours cleaning this place.

Two whole hours? It doesn’t even need two whole minutes.

Pristine is an understatement, along with the not-so-subtle aroma of bleach.

Perhaps my supervisor gave me the wrong information? With renewed optimism I rush over to my cleaning cart to pull out the New Client file, whipping off my gloves in the process because let’s face it, if I leave a fingerprint on anything at least it will give me something to clean.

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