Page 7 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“Don’t touch anything that isn’t mine,” Camille acknowledges, “got it.”

“It’s not that serious,” Delilah chuckles, opening the door at the top of the stairs. “Just don’t touch what’s hanging on the walls, sitting on podiums … or anything that has a light pointing down at it.”

“Got it.”

Delilah pauses next to the door. She pulls the pen from her padfolio. “Here you go.”

Camille takes it and flips to the last page, signing and dating it as instructed.

“Thank you.” Delilah takes the pen and paper from her. She tosses them into her padfolio and then looks at Camille, grinning excitedly. “Now,” she continues, opening the door. “This is where you will be staying.” She walks inside, scooping up a remote from the counter next to the door. “I haven’t been up here until today.” She stares down at the remote, struggling to find the correct button in the darkness.

“Buck could have at least left the lights on for us,” Camille mumbles.

“If I had to bet, he didn’t even turn them on. He’s worked for the Bloom family for years like most of the security.” Delilah finds the button, pointing it up at the ceiling as she presses it.

“Thankfully, Wade keeps it immaculate.”

Lights click on, filling the apartment with a peaceful glow. The decor matches the warm lighting, adding to the welcoming atmosphere that makes you want to take a seat and get comfortable. The kitchen is spotless. The dark countertop stretches the length of the wall. The kitchen island is much smaller than the island in Leah’s main house, but it fits the space. Like the main house, the guesthouse has an open floor plan. The subtle browns, blacks, and creams give it more of a homey feel compared to the overstated open white walls of Leah’s living room and kitchen.

The kitchen blends right into the living room. On the opposite side of the room is another door near the glass wall. The privacy blinds cover the glass exterior wall, blocking their view of the pool. The animal hide rug in the middle of the living room surprises her. A baseball bat hangs on the wall facing the long, low-profile, dark couch, giving it more of a masculine vibe than the main house. Leah’s ex-husband must have decorated the guesthouse, or maybe she used a different interior designer from the main house. The remote in Delilah’s hand shines in the light, the stainless steel reflecting like a mirror. Camille’s luggage is sitting at the back of the couch, facing the wall where the television is mounted next to the baseball bat. If it were up to her, she would have the couch facing the glass wall. Who wouldn’t want to enjoy that view?

“Can you open the blinds?” Camille asks, eyeing the privacy blinds lowered all the way to the floor.

Delilah shows her the remote. “You open the privacy blinds with this.” She presses the top left button, pointing it at the blinds. They curl up on themselves. When she presses the button again, they stop two feet from the floor. “You press it again to bring them down.” She hands the remote to Camille. “The buttons show you what they control. The tv, surround sound, blinds, thermostat—”

“It’s a remote-controlled guesthouse,” Camille murmurs, looking at the long remote in her hand.

“Basically,” Delilah nods. “Now, you should know that Ms. Bloom’s chef, Marcy, resides below you on the ground floor. Her cooking is the best when she gets a full night’s rest. She isn’t what you would call a morning person, so Ms. Bloom gives her breakfast off, so please be—”

“Be a courteous upstairs neighbor,” Camille finishes.

Delilah smiles. “I see why Ms. Bloom likes you. You catch on quick.”

“She’s just being nice.” Camille shrugs. “We just met.”

Delilah shakes her head in disagreement. “Billionaires like Leah don’t invite just anyone into their home, even if they are vying for their business. You can bet that you’ve been thoroughly vetted, whether you know it or not.”

“That explains how she knew when I graduated college. Whatever she found out got me into this mansion, so … I’ll take it.”

“Mansion,” Delilah chuckles, walking across the living room to the far door. “Millionaires have mansions. Billionaires have compounds with the breathtaking views.”

She swings the door open. Camille follows her inside. One look and her jaw drops.

“Like I said,” Delilah says, smirking at her. “Billionaires have the best views.”

She couldn’t tell from the pool, but the bedroom on the end of the second floor looks out onto a three hundred and twenty-degree view of Los Angeles. Camille stares out from the second floor dreamily.

“They most certainly do.”

“Very nice,” Delilah sighs. “I’m going to go make sure Buck took care of Ms. Ortego and make that appointment for you,” she says, moving to the door. “The top drawer in the closet should be empty, so you can put your things in there if you’d like.” She pauses. “And a friendly reminder: don’t touch the art or try to rearrange anything unless you want Wade to skewer us alive.”

Camille raises her eyebrows in mock horror. “The housekeeper sounds intense.”

Delilah throws her head back in a laugh. “Housekeeper, I like that.” She laughs all the way out of the bedroom. “Have a good night. I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

Camille decides to keep her clothes in her suitcase, minus her pajamas and her meeting attire, which she lays across the back of the tan leather armchair with its matching ottoman facing the lights of Los Angeles. She changes in the walk-in closet, not trusting the tinted glass walls to conceal her even in the low bedroom lights. She pulls her oversized pajama shirt over her head and then realizes that her pajama pants aren’t with it.

It takes her all of two seconds of digging in the dark that she decides she needs more light to properly search for them. A hunt for the remote leads her back to the couch in the living room, where she left it sitting after dimming the living room lights to go to bed. She looks over at the blinds, still two feet above the floor.

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