Page 29 of His

I am a freaking mess.

A warm smile spreads across her face as she crosses the lawn.

I get out of the car, smooth the purple scrubs I’m wearing.

“I’m Sabine,” the woman says, stretching for a handshake but then pulling back when she notices the dirt all over her hands. “Yikes,” she runs her palms over her shorts. “Maybe next time.”

I laugh, and feel a bit of the tension release from my shoulders. There is a warm, kind, non-snobby aura around this woman. I like her instantly.

“Are you the housekeeper?”

A grin tugs at her perfectly pouty lips. “Sure am. Name’s Sabine.”

I exhale. “Oh good. I’m late. I wasn’t sure—I didn’t want to . . .”

“Don’t worry. Astor—I mean Mr. Stone—won’t bite. What’s your name?”

“Oh. Sorry. Brittney Shaver.”

“Lovely to meet you, Brittney. I’m assuming you’re working with Jackie, right?”

“Yes. I’m the twenty-four-hour nurse.”

“Great, she’s inside.”

“Okay, let me grab my bag.”

My cheeks burn as the back door of my car creaks open with an ear-splitting metal-on-metal sound. I suppose because that’s what it is. The old musty scent of the interior, that I’ve tried endlessly to eradicate, wafts out.

“First car?”

I grab my duffel bag, and slam shut the door with the heel of my sneaker. “Yes.”

“Mine was a fuchsia four-door sedan with purple tinted windows, and the fabric on the ceiling had come unglued and hung down like drapes. I hung Christmas ornaments from it.” She winks. “Come on in, I’ll show you around.”

Don’t screw it up, I think as I follow the housekeeper inside.

Don’t let them know your secret.

Eighteen

Brittney

Okay, so size does not matter, apparently. The interior of the home is staggering. The floorplan was obviously built around the view, with sweeping windows everywhere, showcasing the ocean below. The furniture, the paintings, the amenities, everything is high-end, sparkling, spotless, gorgeous. And priceless, I imagine.

“Well, that’s the tour,” Sabine mocks as we close the front door behind us.

I laugh loudly. Feels good to laugh.

Sabine chuckles. “It’s small, but nice. You’ll get used to it.”

She takes me through the living room, the kitchen, and shows me the back patio and garden. Again, I find myself awestruck at the view.

Once back inside, Sabine gestures to two rooms at one end of the hall, both doors closed. I can hear a pair of deep male voices coming out of one.

“Mr. Stone’s office is there, and that’s the guest bedroom, where I stay.”

She turns toward the opposite end of the hall. The sunlight doesn’t reach this end. The door to this room is larger than the others, and is also closed.

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