Page 17 of Between Takes
“Fine,” he ground out. “Just get here well before ten.”
The way he said it… did I really want to know what time it actually was?
No was the answer. A thousand times no.
He’d called me at 7AM. Yes, I know it’s not an ungodly hour to most people, but we’re talking 7AM on a Sunday after six days of back-to-back early starts. I deserved a lie-in!
He also hadn’t prepared me for the mountain of clothes waiting for me at the dry cleaners.
“Where have you been getting clothes all week if your entire wardrobe was at the cleaners?” I asked when he opened the door to his flat.
I couldn’t see him from behind my towering burden. The doorman had to open the door for me and call the lift. I was shocked I’d made it without losing something.
“I’ve got plenty of clothes left.”
“You own more clothes than me,” I muttered, my shock muffled by the mound of plastic floating in front of my face.
“Why are we talking about clothes? Where’s my suit?” The haphazard stack in my arms started to shake.
“Uh, Shaun, can you wait until I put them down?”
“There’s no time.”
“Yeah, I got that, but they’re heavy enough and they aren’t really stacked—”
He pulled a bag free with a triumphant, “Aha!” The entire pile slid from my grasp until the only thing left in my hands was a pair of denim jeans. I stared at them with growing horror.
“You pay someone to dry-clean jeans?” It was such a gigantic waste of money. They did perfectly fine in a washing machine.
Shaun walked off, none the wiser of my disgust. He had his suit and a crisp white shirt in hand. Nothing else mattered in Shaun Martin-land.
“Aren’t you going to help me clean up your mess?” I called after him, knowing full well I wouldn’t get an answer.
Muttering beneath my breath, I started gathering what I could safely carry. I wandered into the flat, my eyes skidding from polished surface to polished surface.
Everything seemed so… white.
The front door opened into a spacious living room decked out with white walls, light hardwood floors and white furniture. Seriously, even the sofa was white. I’d be terrified to sit on the thing. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up the outer wall spanning from the living room to the top-of-the-line white kitchen. The view of the bay was breath-taking, but somebody needed a serious splash of colour in his life.
“Shaun, where do you want all these clothes?”
“Bring them in here,” he called from somewhere beyond the kitchen.
I found a staircase that led up to a mezzanine and a master bedroom. This space broke the mould on the floor below. A plush charcoal carpet spanned the floor, and the bed was made up with emerald-green sheets. The walls were still glaringly white, but with the promise of a view of the bay from bed, I’m not sure I’d care either.
“Just hang them up in the wardrobe. I’ll unwrap them when I need them,” Shaun said, his voice sounding behind the only closed door in the room.
I did as I was told, trying not to gasp at the size of his walk-in wardrobe. I didn’t know we had these in the UK.
On my fourth trip with the last of the clothes, Shaun stepped out of the bathroom. Any words I might have spoken dried up on my tongue. The man looked good in black. Far too good.
“You could have helped,” I muttered, using the bite of irritation to remind me I did not like him; lusting after him wasn’t sensible.
“Boss.” He pointed to himself and then to me. “Assistant.”
Haha. Asshole.
“Well, in that case, your assistant is taking her day off. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
