Page 42 of Ruthless Lord
There’s a light knock at the door. I look up, frowning. “Come in,” I call out.
Emily pokes her head inside. She blinks at the state of my place. “Ah, I was, um, sent to help if you needed it—” She clears her throat and steps inside. “Looks like you do.”
I groan and slump forward. “I have about fifty boxes, ten garment bags, a dozen high-end suitcases, and that’s still not enough space.” I stare at her, feeling grim and empty and scared. “How am I supposed to fit my entire life in them?”
She chews her lip a moment. Emily always seems so squirrelly and small. But this time, instead of shrinking back, she seems to grow a little bigger. “It’s a matter of organization.”
“What now?”
“All this.” She gestures at my piles of mental illness. “Just organization. Think about it like Tetris.”
“Sure, right, just gotta—” I move my hands around as if trying to make shapes fit. “Then bang, everything’s okay.”
“I can’t really help with theokaypart.” She sinks down next to me and lightly puts a hand on mine. Her fingers are warm and soft, and her big eyes blink up at me with genuine empathy. “But I can help with the packing.”
It’s startling. I can’t remember the last time someone was straight upkindto me in this place.
“Thank you,” I say and clear my throat. “I’m sorry about all this. You’re not really seeing me at my best.”
“I’ve been working here for two years.” She springs up to her feet and brushes her hands on her thighs. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Don’t doubt it,” I mutter, trying to picture what it must be like to serve at Grandfather’s door. Better not to know. “Where do we start?”
“Bedroom. We’ll work outward.” She holds up a finger and gives me a stern look. “But we’re not taking everything. You’re going to make some hard decisions, Ms. Westbrook.”
“Call me Charlie.” I look lovingly down at a porcelain cow in my lap. “I don’t do well with hard decisions.”
“Then you’re lucky I’m here. My mother always said,Emily, sometimes you just gotta rip off the bandage. That’s how I live my life.”
“Sounds weirdly terrible?”
“It’s practical. It’s why I’ve survived your grandfather for so long.” A smile appears on her lips. “He’s not an easy employer.”
“I’m pretty sure two years as one of his assistants qualifies you to run an entire company all by yourself.”
“I was thinking an entirecountry.” She marches past me toward my bedroom. “Now, how’s it looking in here?”
I push myself to my feet. A few minutes ago, I was feeling pretty crushed by the idea of actually putting all this stuff awayand moving it over to Stefano’s house. Now, I’m thinking it’s possible.
Not fun. Not good. But doable, with Emily’s help.
“It’s, uh, not good in here,” I say sheepishly.
We get to work. Mostly, she gets to work ordering me around. Which isn’t normal for me. I like to be the one giving out the jobs. But today, this is what I need. Somebody competent and bossy to get the ball rolling.
And before I realize it, most of my clothes are put away. Emily forces me to make a donation pile, which is much bigger than I’d like, and when I try to argue, she only shakes her head and crosses her arms sternly over her chest.
“You’re moving into aman’shouse, Charlie. You think he’s going to have the closet space for all this stuff?”
She’s got a really good point. “I’ll take over a spare room.”
“My mother always said,cluttered closet means cluttered mind. We’re going to trim you down and get you cleared up in no time.”
“I think your mother was a sadist,” I grumble, but in the end, Emily wins the argument.
When the bedroom’s done, we move to the bathroom. That goes much quicker. Boxes pile up at the front door waiting for the movers. Emily carefully tapes them shut and marks them with a Sharpie, which hadn’t even occurred to me. I was too busy with self-pity to think about labeling.
Once we’re in the living room, the task doesn’t seem so daunting.
