Page 28 of The Homemaker
“You feel like you’ve lost your wallet in the sheets before, but you haven’t?”
His lips corkscrew. “Sort of. But it wasn’t a wallet I lost.”
“Murphy?” Blair calls.
He takes a giant step backward and draws in a sharp breath.
“Be patient with her,” I say. “She’s on the verge of getting her happily ever after, but sometimes that can be stressful.”
His lips part, but he just as quickly clamps his jaw shut and nods several times. “Coming,” he hollers.
I gather the sheets again.
“Are you happy?” he asks as I step toward the doorway.
I pause for a second without a backward glance. “Of course,” I murmur and continue toward the laundry room.
“Alice, can you come in here for a second?” Hunter requests as I pass his study.
“Yes, sir.” I quickly toss the sheets onto the laundry room floor and return to his luxurious two-story study lined on three sides with bookshelves and modern wood stairs with a metal railing to the second-story catwalk. Magnificent arched windows behind his desk illuminate the grand space. A sweet and spicy smoke aroma lingers despite the cracked window. Vera doesn’t let him smoke cigars in the house, but he clearly does it anyway.
“How do you feel about reading books?” he asks, removing his readers.
“Um, fine. I guess. Why?”
Soft jazz plays on his turntable.
“I want you to read to me.” He lumbers from his desk chair and loosens his red tie, then he scans the neatly organized bookshelves while unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white dress shirt. He selects a book from the bottom shelf. “Have you readThree Men in a Boat?”
“I have not,” I say, then press my lips together to hide my grin. This job just keeps getting better.
“It’s a soothing story. Would you mind?” He hands me the book, then he slides a tufted brown leather chair close to the matching sofa. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink? Scotch? Wine?” He adds ice to a glass, ice that I filled earlier. But now he’s serving me?
“Just water,” I say. “Thank you.”
He sets the ice water by the table lamp and reclines on the sofa, ankles crossed, hands folded on his chest, eyes closed.
After a few seconds of silence, he peeks open one eye. “Just a few chapters. Then I have work to do.”
Does he really? I continue to suppress my giggle.
Crossing my legs, I clear my throat and begin reading. By the end of the first chapter, I think he’s asleep, but since I don’t know for sure, I keep going for two more chapters. At the end of chapter three, I wait. Is he going to wake up? Am I supposed to wake him?
“Mr. Morrison?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move.
I set the book aside and lean forward, resting my hand on his arm. “Mr. Morrison?”
His eyes pop open, and he sits up, stretching his arms over his head on a big yawn. “You have a calming voice. What do you think of the story so far?”
I think no one would believe me if I told them I got paid a hundred dollars an hour to read to a silver fox.
“It’s entertaining.” I offer a smile.
“I can’t get Vera to read it. Maybe when we’re done, you can convince her.” He stands, tucking in his shirt.
So this will be a regular thing? Hunter Morrison is a peculiar man, and I’m here for all his rich man’s indulgences.
