Page 8 of Cold as (N)ice

“Fine. Whatever.”

“You don’t have to be so nice to Stephen,” she hesitated, unsure what to make of this man who was barely touching on the terms of the job. “If he breaks something then…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“He’s a kid – and children will be children,” Barrett shrugged. “Let him enjoy himself while he is here and you are busy working.”

“Doing what?” she replied, waving a hand toward the empty countertops and opening a cupboard door – before doing a double take. No dishes – there was a stack of paper platesinside, almost screaming her point. “No dishes, no rugs, and no furniture – what am I supposed to do?”

“I need the bathroom cleaned, my bedroom too. You can do all sorts of tidying up and…”

“How ‘tidy’ do you expect ‘tidy’ to be?” she chuckled nervously, not sure where she should clean at all. Did he need her to scrub the grout? Steam the seams of the marble floor?

“Make it feel like a home,” he repeated again, his voice distinctly on edge, almost like he was trying not to lash out at her. He yanked open a drawer, withdrawing a wallet as he extended a credit card toward her, shaking it almost in frustration. “This is for you to use to get a few things – just keep the receipts.”

“Huh?” Irene just stared at him, stunned.

“M-A-K-E-IT-A-H-O-M-E,” he spelled out and gestured at the same time, the corner of his lip curling upward sarcastically. “Get a smelly candle, maybe a bathmat, pots and pans if you need them to cook. Fix it to where it feels welcoming.”

Great, she thought wildly, biting her tongue.Sarcasm worked every time with me – just look at my ex, she thought, snarling silently. “You don’t want a maid – you want a housekeeper… or a mommy.”

“What did Batiste pay you?” he snapped, frowning at her.

“Twenty-five dollars an hour.”

“I’ll double it. Now, enough with the small talk - when can you start?”

She blinked, her mind reeling. “Excuse me?”

“I’m hungry. The towels need to be washed. You’re going to need to make a list of things you need,” he said firmly – prying her hand from her crossed arms and pressing the credit card in her palm pointedly. “And I’m paying for my stuff that you pick out. So, let’s get to it.”

“What about your wife? Won’t she want to have some say…”

“Not married. Not interested,” he replied, getting the weird expression again. “You’re divorced, right?”

Irene did a double take, wondering what Barrett was leading to with that question. She’d just extracted herself from the proverbial frying pan and wasn’t about to leap back into the flames. No, thank you. She made that stupid move two months ago and regretted it instantly.Haunted her, which would be a better description,she thought silently before answering him curtly.

“Yes – and not looking in the slightest,” she backed away from him warily, staring at him in almost disbelief.

“Good. Me, neither. I don’t need the drama.”

They stared at each other mutinously, and this had to be the weirdest interview she’d ever had. Did this mean she had the job because she hadn’t seen a contract yet? For a moment, Irene wondered if she had completely misunderstood or misread the man.

“So you want me to work full-time for you, getting you things for your house to make it feel cozy, do a little cleaning, and some baking? Have I got that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And the contract is where?”

“Do you need a contract?”

“Don’t you?” she gaped, stunned. “I mean, you literally just handed me your credit card. You told me to go shopping on your dime. I know where you live… don’t you want a contract with me so you can sue me if something happens?”

“Do I need one? Batiste vouched for you. Did you get sued by him? Should I be worried that you are planning to rob me blind?” he asked in rapid fire and then hesitated, relaxing the slightest bit, almost looking kind as his stance relaxed slightly. “If you need a contract, I can draw up one – but I don’t think that I have anything to worry about or you wouldn’t be here.”

“True,” she admitted in a hushed voice.

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