Page 33 of Devotion
“Plants are better listeners than men,” she said. “They don’t interrupt and they actually grow when you give them attention.”
I made a mental note to always remember that. I chuckled a little too.
When I saw the kitchen it made my knees weak.
Professional-grade everything. Double ovens. A six-burner range that gleamed like it had been polished that morning. Counter space for days. A walk-in pantry stocked with ingredients I’d only seen in specialty catalogs, things I used to press my nose against store windows to look at. Copper pots hanging from a ceiling rack, each one heavy and beautiful andseasoned by years of use. A knife set that, I was fairly certain, was more expensive than everything in my home kitchen combined.
I stood in the center of it, turned in a slow circle, and tried very hard not to make a sound that would be embarrassing. I failed. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me. Eleanor pretended not to hear it, which was generous of her.
“What do you think?” Eleanor asked, watching me with a satisfied expression. She knew exactly what she was doing showing a chef this kitchen. “I hope it’s adequate.”
Adequatewas like calling the oceandamp.
“It’s perfect. More than perfect.” My voice squealed higher than I wanted. I cleared my throat. “I mean, it’s functional. Very functional. Professional assessment.”
Eleanor’s eyes sparkled. She wasn’t fooled for a second.
She introduced me to the housekeeper, a woman named Gloria who had worked for the Vales for fifteen years. She communicated primarily through nods and the occasional raised eyebrow. Gloria showed me the guest suite where I’d be staying. The room was bigger than my entire apartment. The bed had actual pillows, plural, like clouds had been folded into fabric. The sheets were white and crisp and had probably never been within fifty feet of a laundromat.
I set my bag on the bed and looked around and thought about the storage room at Aunt Eliza’s house where Vicky and I shared a mattress on the floor. I recalled my small apartment where I’d been eating cereal for two weeks. The distance between that girl and this room felt like a canyon I’d crossed without realizing I was walking.
I sat on the edge of this bed that was softer than anything I’d ever owned, pressed my palms flat against the duvet, and breathed. Then I bounced once, just to test it. The mattress absorbed me like a hug from something impossibly soft.
I could get used to this. Which was dangerous thinking for a woman on a temporary contract, but the bed didn’t care about contracts and neither did my spine.
I cooked dinner. That was my job. It was the thing I was good at and the one area where my brain stopped spiraling. I made a roasted chicken with herbs from Eleanor’s garden—rosemary I’d pinched fresh, a risotto that used the parmesan I found in the walk-in, and a simple salad with a lemon vinaigrette that would have made Rosa nod in approval, which was the highest compliment I could imagine.
I was plating when I heard voices from the living room.
Eleanor and Christopher.
When did he come around? My heart rate spiked. Even though we’d met a few times, the sound of his voice still undid me. The deep, measured tone that carried through walls and made my nervous system do things I hadn’t authorized.
The door wasn’t fully closed. Their conversation carried through the gap.
“How is the wife search going?” Eleanor asked.
A wife search?
I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. Every polite, well-raised bone in my body told me to walk away, go back to the risotto, mind my own business.
I didn’t move. The risotto could wait. My conscience could file a complaint later.
Christopher’s voice was flat. “It’s going.”
“Going where, exactly? Because from what I can see, it’s going nowhere. You’ve been interim CEO for weeks and your life as it is does not exactly present the image of domestic stability that the board wants to see.” A pause, and I heard the sound of tea being poured.
“The board meets again in two weeks. Paul is already making more noises about stability. He called me yesterday,Christopher. He called me to ask if the engagement I announced was real or if I was, and I quote, ‘being optimistic.’ Esmeralda is circling. She’s having lunches with board members. She’s planting seeds.”
“I’m aware of everything.”
“Then act like it.” Eleanor’s voice was firm but not angry. “And now there’s this bar footage.”
“What bar footage?”
“Don’t play games with me, Christopher. Someone in the bar recorded a video. It shows Adrianna throwing water at you, and then my dear Miley stepping in to handle the situation. It’s being suppressed but still, your enemies will try to take advantage of that.”
I thought I’d made that photographer delete that photo? Did another person film a video?
