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“My. Name. Is. Arden.” I grip the handle of the mop tighter.
“Arden.” She turns the name over in her mouth like it tastes sour and cheap. “I’m Bree.” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t forget it.” She spins on her heels and disappears up the stairs.
Mind reeling, I turn to Camilla. “Is she here a lot?”
“She was last summer,” she sighs. “She’s one of Cooper’s regular girls.”
“He has multiple girlfriends?”
She shakes her head and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepen. “They’re not girlfriends. They’re female friends who stay over. Cooper’s never had a real girlfriend here as far as I know. I’ve been their Nantucket chef for fourteen years now. I’ve known him since he was a child.”
“So you only work for them during the summers?”
She nods, offering a small smile. “I live on the island year-round. I’ve been here for forty-two years. Raised three children here. They’re all grown up and living on the mainland now.”
Wow, so she’s a local, and if I had to guess I’d say she’s in her sixties, which means she really knows her stuff. She’s going to be useful when I have questions, but of course, I don’t want to bother the woman too much. She seems busy as hell.
I wrinkle my nose. “I still don’t know which one is Cooper and which one is Ethan.”
I remember what rooms are occupied from my tour yesterday, but I haven’t been formally introduced to anyone here besides Camilla and Mrs. King herself. And I’m pretty sure Mrs. King has already left for Manhattan. And who knows when I’ll finally get to meet Mr. King. I don’t know much about the man, except that he runs a billion-dollar media empire and probably doesn’t have a lot of time to vacation in Nantucket. He seems like the kind of person who buys luxury real estate as an investment––not to actually enjoy it for any length of time.
Either way, I still haven’t figured out if the man from the pool and the bonfire was Ethan or Cooper. Considering the girl that man was kissing last night was blonde and not a brunette, I’m going to guess he was Ethan, but who knows? This is a whole other world than the one I’m used to, and making out with one woman on the beach and bringing another home to sleep with could be a regular thing around here. Just like having “regular girls” is a thing for Cooper King.
“They’re fraternal twins,” she says, “but they look a lot alike. You’ll figure it out quickly, though it helps to remember that Cooper has the brown eyes and Ethan has the blue.”
“Where to?” I set down the mop and rub my palms against my shorts.
“Upstairs, third door on the left,” Camilla instructs, finishing off the drinks and sealing the lids on tight before handing them over. They heat my palms and smell mouth-watering. Definitely better than the cheap stuff I’m used to. I salivate, tempted to taste one, but I won’t, nor will I ask her to make me one. But I did watch her carefully and think I might be able to pull off a decent coffee for myself tomorrow morning. I prefer iced. Does that mean I just make a regular coffee and pour it over ice? I have so much to learn.
She returns to her meal prep and I need to hurry and get this over with so I can finish the floors and get out of her hair. Cleaning isn’t easy work, but no doubt cooking gourmet meals is harder. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it, would probably burn the whole house down before managing anything half as decent as what she can produce.
Ignoring the tension in my chest, I climb the floating stairs and gently knock on the door. Nobody answers so I knock harder and the coffee sloshes around in the cups. I go still, wincing as I wait for it to settle. Spilling it wouldn’t be a great way to introduce myself. I stand in the hallway and gaze at the crisp white walls with the occasional piece of expensive-looking artwork, then down at sleek hardwood floors. I love the upscale modern design, but it’s probably going to be a pain in the ass to keep this house clean. Every speck of dust, every smudge, every grain of sand trudged in from the beach—all will be glaringly visible in here.
I wait for the door to open, but nothing.
“I got your coffee,” I call out.
And then I have the thought that Bree and Cooper are having morning sex in there and I should just leave the coffees in the hallway for them to retrieve when they’re done.
The door flies open and I step back, taking in the man from the pool. He’s a force, looming over me. And he’s shirtless, that dark brown hair perfectly tousled from sleep. His boxer shorts sit low on his sinful hips and I instantly blush. And not just from the low boxers––it’s the obvious morning wood he’s sporting under those boxers that has my attention.
Dear God.
And his sleepy blue eyes? They’re heavy on me. Taking me in. Traveling me up and down like they’re not quite sure what they’re looking at. Emotions flash behind those pretty eyes, shock and then sadness, anger and then forced indifference. It all happens so fast that I nearly miss it and have no idea what to make of it.
Is he angry that I spoke to him? His mom said I wasn’t supposed to speak to them unless spoken to first. Shit. Day one and I already screwed up.
“Who are you?” he asks dryly.
My cheeks flood with heat and I could kick myself. Why, oh why, do I have to blush so deeply? I swear, it’s the curse of the redhead.
“I’m Arden. The new housekeeper,” I offer brightly and hold out the coffees, careful to keep my gaze up and not on his distracting nether regions. “I can’t remember whose is whose. Sorry about that.”
“You woke me up.”
“Uh––” I mean, technically I’m just the delivery girl. Bree woke him up. “I’m the housekeeper. I didn’t know you were sleeping, I apologize.”
“So you’re living here then?” His lips thin, those bedroom eyes lingering on my hair for far too long. Being a redhead, I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
