Page 11 of Maid for My Billionaire Boss
They were a treasure to me.
I’d scoop them up, studying each one before stowing them safely into a wooden chest he had given me. He never treated me like an interruption and when the stories ran out, we’d do “man things” like build ship models together or play Chess. Even though it abruptly ended, those moments—stolen from the night—grounded me more than anything else I had lived through.
I yanked on the shoestring cord which illuminated the single light bulb, letting my eyes wander along the wood panel walls, taking in each memory. My favorite: a model of an American Schooner that we had built together. Okay, he did most of it while I sat on his lap and drank root beer, but it felt like a group effort.
Behind that hung an old, tattered map—one he had used in his youth before modern technology. A trail of red ink outlined the routes he had taken connecting the port on Long Island all the way to Canada, England, Panama and through the canal. I let my fingers trace each route as I had done since I was a boy, and then around Cape Horn, where I always stopped. A single point, traceable on any map and where the Atlantic meets the Pacific and where he was last seen, or as I chose to reference it as—where he rests.
Staring at that spot of my dad’s finality on the map always did everything to help put things into proper perspective for me. There wasn’t much I felt I couldn’t face when I thought about what my dad went through. Even a stupid investor meeting—as nauseous as that made me—was trivial compared to that.
Seven
Atalie
Ihatedtoadmitit, but Mrs. Michael had been right about the dress being huge on me. It looked like a giant sloppy sack of potatoes. I used the belt Tonya had sent along, cinching it tight.
Now I was a potato sack with a belt.
I don’t think I ever felt less elegant, but I lifted my chin and set off. My job was to wear this sack of potatoes and conquer this dinner party.
The doorbell rang, and I thought it was the guests, but instead, I met Trey at the door as he received his food order in eight large bags. “Wow, that’s a lot of food.” I eyed the row of sacks he had made by the door. “What did you order?”
“Jane likes seafood, so I went with a shrimp and rice thing.”
Grabbing two bags, I carried them to the side buffet in the dining room to unpack them and found two large containers of rice from each bag. “I found the rice,” I said and dumped two of the containers into a holding dish. Then I replaced the other rice containers in a sack to move them to the kitchen oven to hold them as extra. I opened the next bag and found two more containers of rice. I closed those back up and set them aside as well and called over to Trey, who was bringing me the rest of the bags. “Boy, you ordered a lot of rice. Do you have the bag with the shrimp?”
Peeking in one sack, he reported, “Uh, this one is more rice.” His brow lowered, as he opened another sack which thankfully had a different shaped container and he pulled it out to find one breadstick.
“I don’t get it,” I said, as one was such an odd number.
“I’m pretty sure when I made the order it was for one basket of bread. They must have thought I wanted just one.”
“Okay, well, we shouldn’t set that out because there isn’t enough for everyone.” I raised my chin, trying to see in the next bag. “What else do you have?”
He opened the last sack and as soon as his eyes hit the bottom, he let out a confused chuckle and pulled out a small bowl with a clear lid, displaying six small shrimp. “I ordered six,” Trey explained. “I meant meals, but it looks like they gave me only six shrimp instead.” Before either of us could answer, the doorbell rang, and Trey’s eyes grew large. “They are here, and we have nothing to serve.”
Already knowing we had no other food in the house because I had just cleaned out the fridge, I stared back. “What do you want me to do?”
He pulled out his wallet, slid his credit card out, and handed it to me. “You order a pizza and I’ll stall.”
I took his card, then added in a thoughtful voice, “I’ll invent some sort of appetizer with what we have, and you can serve drinks until the pizza arrives.”
He took a longer than average pause while he looked at me and offered a heartfelt, “Thank you.” Lowering my eyes, I smiled sweetly and said, “No problem.” I hurriedly grabbed the bags of rice, moving them to the kitchen where I recruited Josiah to help me fashion creative-looking plates of breadstick bites.
“Good thing rich people are used to small portions,” I said as I picked up my tray en route to the dining room.
As soon as we were through the door, I heard, “He is a handsome young man.” My eyes followed the voice, landing on one of the women at the table. It didn’t take a genius to see this woman was wealthy—or at least she wanted people to think she was—with layers of heavy gold chains around her neck, and diamonds on almost every finger.
I lowered my tray, taking one plate off, placing it in front of her. “He’s my amazing helper.” I smiled politely, then I looked across the table at Trey. He had this nervous grin on his face, highlighted with a flustered glow on his cheekbones. Even though this was his party, he looked oddly out of place sitting in the middle of two couples and he appeared to be doing most of the listening. It was cringey to watch as I served the rest of my appetizers, and I was glad to be able to disappear back into the kitchen.
I had assumed the conversation would warm up to laughter and smiles, but when I came back out to serve the pizza, it seemed to be even more awkward with both couples carrying on their own separate conversations. “Can I get you anything else?” I waited for instructions.
“No, thank you,” Trey said. I started to leave, but he got up and followed me back into the kitchen. When we were out of their earshot, he planted his eyes on mine and the worry I had seen earlier in the dinner had obviously leveled up. “I don’t think anyone wants to eat. They prefer drinks and keep looking at their watches.”
Perfectly on cue, the woman—who I had spoken with earlier—appeared in the kitchen door, leaning in like she didn’t dare take a step farther inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt but can you grab my coat?”
Trey went stone-faced, his eyes sending out warning signs of alert. I waited for him to take control of the conversation and convince her to stay—or shoot, say something—but he just stood there gawking. It floored me how a businessman could be so inept when it came to working a crowd. So, I sprang forward, placing a soft touch on her forearm, and in a disappointed voice, asked, “Already? You haven’t had a chance to see the art collection upstairs.” I made up words as I spoke, but it sounded good once they were out, so I went along with it. Her eyes locked on the front door, a little too longingly, but I urged, “You won’t regret it.”
She relented with a shrug. “Maybe a little while longer.”
