Page 20 of Making It While Faking It
I smile because even though my first name sounds odd leaving her lips, but still, I’m happy she used it instead of Miss Grove. Not even my employees call me Miss Grove. Then suddenly, what she said a few seconds ago finally absorbs in my brain. “Wait, do you meantheBarbara Townsend?”
The smooth skin of Caroline’s forehead wrinkles and then evens out again, as if she was unsure how to answer my question. Talking fast, I give her a history lesson on Townsend’s career as a head chef in some of the world’s most famous restaurants, brought to an end by a car accident in Miami that nearly killed her. When I mention she walks with a slight limp, Caroline confirms that we are talking about the same person.
“Wow, the Lords nabbed her. Good for them,” I say, nodding, impressed.
Caroline’s expression remains inscrutable. No wonder she has no lines on her face and a full head of gray hair. Her face rarely makes lines of expression.How old is she anyway?
“Well,” I say, running the tips of my fingers across a cabinet again. I catch Caroline staring at my hand with concern. I bet Achilles can’t tolerate finger smudges. It’s also hard to imagine him cooking his own meals. I call bullshit on that. Of course, Caroline has no reason to lie to me, but I still call bullshit.
However, since Caroline looks so disturbed by my flagrant touching, I drop my hand and tell her that there’s no need for Barbara to cook for me today or tonight.
Caroline draws back as though I just unleashed a string of profanity on her. “Excuse me?”
I’m a little reluctant to tell her my plans for the night, but I have to tell her because I’ll be cooking dinner in her boss’s precious kitchen. “I’m having friends over, and although Barbara is a very talented chef, I alone do the cooking when I host friends for dinner.”
Caroline gapes at me as if she’s pondering all the reasons why I should rethink my plan.
“Is Achilles joining us?” I ask. “Because I can cook for him too.” I figure that’s the reason for her hesitation.
She shakes her head stiffly. “No, I don’t believe he’ll be home for dinner.”
My eyebrows shoot up. So he is smartly keeping his distance, delaying the inevitable. I lower my eyebrows with a sigh of relief. “Okay, then, I’ll make dinner tonight, and please, would you join us?”
“Umm…”
I think she’s about to decline my invitation until I say, “I sure would like to get to know you better.”
First, she’s silent, and then with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s weighed the pros and cons and arrived at a definite answer, she says, “Yes, I’ll join you, Treasure.”
She sounds so awkward referring to me as Treasure that I almost let her off the hook and say that she’s free to go back to calling me Miss Grove if she’s more comfortable with it. But I don’t.
Next,Caroline guides me to our final destination—my “sleeping quarters” is what she calls it.
“So how long have you worked for Mr. Lord?” I ask as we finish climbing a spiral staircase, shamelessly prying.
“Twenty-seven years,” she replies proudly.
My mouth falls open. I did not expect her to say that. “Twenty-seven years? You’re under no obligation to answer, but how old are you?”
“Fifty-seven,” she says rather confidently and without pause.
I gasp. Fifty-seven is twenty-six years older than I am. Achilles isn’t that much older than I am. He must’ve been five or six when she first started working for the Lords.
“Wow, beauty gods, how many goats do I have to sacrifice to look like her at fifty-seven?”
Caroline’s mild chuckle resonates from deep in her throat. Even her laugh is uptight, but I think she’s flattered.
Admiring her flawless profile, I say, “Well, you are very beautiful, Caroline.”
Looking down, she blushes a gorgeous shade of dusty rose. “Thank you, and so are you.”
I thank her as we venture down another wide hallway with ivory travertine marble floors. A glass wall is to our right, and a breathtaking horseshoe view of the park outlined by the sort of buildings that make this city one of a kind is plastered down below for my viewing enjoyment. Even still, my head battles a severe case of vertigo that wants to overcome me. I simply don’t know how long I can live this high off the ground and maintain my sanity. I mean, really, is it truly healthy for a human being to live this far away from God’s green earth? I think not.
We stop in front of two massive white wooden doors, which have the most gorgeous rippled casing outlining them. They look more like the entrance to a palace than to a bedroom.
Caroline turns the golden knobs and pushes. Now that I see the interior, I’m unable to mask my gasp. Crossing the threshold, I let my gaze roam the room. The king-sized bed is made up with a spotless white duvet and large fluffy matching pillows. A crystal-encrusted spherical pendant light spills a soft, inviting orange glow across the bed. The relaxing atmosphere makes me yawn. If I wasn’t so excited to cook dinner for my friends, I would do what I probably should anyway and strip out of all my clothes and climb into bed. My body is past empty, and I’m seriously running on fumes. But still, as long as I can keep driving the car, I will.
“And this is your parlor,” Caroline says, elegantly pointing a hand to the step-down seating area.
