Page 62 of Dirty Filthy Boy
I shrug. "Not a falling out exactly. More of a distancing. They're pretty conservative people. Very religious as well. They wanted me to stay in Iowa and marry a farmer, not run off to the big bad city to become a journalist. So, as a compromise, I chose a different professional name." This is the story I've handed out to anyone who needed to know, like Mr. Bartlett. The truth is quite different, of course. I'd changed my name so Tommy Hawkins could not find me. That hadn't worked out. He found me anyway. "They thought I was pretty wild."
He snorts. "You wild? Do they even know you?"
I smile. "You have to see it from their point of view. They thought me coming to Chicago to study journalism and work for a newspaper in a big city was wicked and immoral."
He folds those massive arms of his against his chest and leans against the kitchen counter behind him. "Whatever would they think of you living with me?"
That gets my hackles up. "I'm not living with you. I'm staying here temporarily."
"MacKenna, you have nowhere to live. Apartments in Chicago are pretty pricey. Stay with me." He waves his good arm around the house. "You have to admit, these are pretty sweet digs. And you can save your money so you can afford a nice apartment in six months or so."
"Sorry, but that's not going to happen. I plan to be out of your hair as soon as I can."
He glances at the kitchen clock "We can talk more later. Right now, I gotta go to work." Before he leaves, he rummages in one of the kitchen drawers, pulls out a remote and hands it to me. "Here."
"What is it?"
"The garage opener. You'll need it to open the door." He slides his key ring from the hook on the wall and removes a key. "And here's the front door key."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." Turning on his heel, he heads toward his room before I have a chance to say anything else.
Not that I want to. I can't argue about this any more. I'll do what I need to do, and, once I've found a new place to live, I'll tell him. I return to my room only long enough to grab my purse and my coat and head out in my new car. I hadn't noticed the make or model when I signed the papers. I was in too much of a hurry to do so. The darn thing's a Mercedes Benz C300 Sedan. Given my farm upbringing, I can drive anything from a tractor to a caterpillar, but I must admit I've never ridden, much less driven, a ride as luxurious as this. With its heated leather seats, GPS and satellite radio, it's a pretty sweet ride. A girl could get used to this.
I back out of the driveway and head toward the gate. But before I can exit, the guard stops me. A different one than the night before. Same gray uniform though.
As I roll down my window, he doffs his cap. "Ms. Peters, I presume."
"Yes. Anything wrong?"
"No. Just wanted to let you know if you're going to be staying in Mr. Mathews' house, you will need to register the car. We require it of all our residents." He hands me a sheet of paper and a booklet entitled "Windhaven Gated Community Regulations."
"Oh, okay. I'll let Mr. Mathews know. Thank you."
Glad to know they're so thorough with their security. I laugh at my change of heart. Barely a few days ago, I resented all the security. But now, that my apartment has been broken into, I'm sure glad they have such tight measures even if I won't be staying here this long.
As it turns out, I beat everyone to work. Well, almost everyone. Following the scent of coffee, I head to the kitchen where I find Dotty pouring a cup of java. Her eyebrows climb as she spots me. "You're here early."
"I thought I'd get an early start and beat the traffic."
"No such thing in Chicago. Rush hour traffic starts before five in the morning."
"Ain't that the truth?"
"I heard about your apartment break in. I'm sorry."
Wow. Word travels fast. "How did you find out?"
"Mr. Bartlett called me last night. He needed the insurance information so he could put in a claim for a new laptop. In the meantime, we have an old one you can use. It doesn't have all the bells and whistles, but it will do until we get yours replaced."
"Oh." Along with being the office receptionist, Dotty functions as our office manager. We'd be totally lost without her.
She pours another cup of the life affirming beverage and hands it to me. "So, how are you doing?"
I pour cream and low cal sweetener into it and take a seat across the small table from her. "Okay, I guess."
"Got a place to stay?"
