She picked up my device from where it had fallen at her feet. Dark eyes took in the video paused on my screen before narrowing. “Are you trying to do laundry?”
I cleared my throat. “Maybe. Do we have any fabric softener?”
Sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I don’t believe in it. It creates a layer over the towels that makes them less absorptive.”
“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”
“Did I do something wrong? Are you unhappy with my laundry services?”
“What? No,” I insisted. “I’m just . . .” Losing my mind, clearly. Fixated on a woman who thinks I’m a spoiled baby. “Trying to help out,” I finished lamely.
Sophia sighed. “Ian, you pay me—very competitively, I might add—to handle all the domestic stuff. Doing laundry is part of my job.”
“Right, but I can help out. Ishouldhelp out.”
She stared at me like she could see through the layers of bullshit to the truth. God, I hoped not. This was embarrassing enough. “I’m trying to decide if I should be offended. Now, if you try cooking or doing dishes, then I might start to really worry about your sanity.”
My face must have given me away because her eyes widened and she gasped dramatically. “The lasagna? You were serious about trying to make that?”
My face went hot. I’d added the ingredients to Sophia’s weekly grocery list after Amy Judd had shared her recipe with me. Sophia had teased me about it and given me the third degree about why I’d been so interested.
“Maybe,” I confessed.
“Oh my God! That was you who loaded the dishwasher like a rabid raccoon, wasn’t it? I thought it was Georgie. Ian, what is going on right now?”
Fighting a wince, I admitted, “I just realized that I should contribute more.”
My employee and friend stared at me like I’d told her I wanted to learn how to pilot the space shuttle. And maybe that seemed just as likely. To her, I was equally as unqualified to wash a load of towels as I was to break through the atmosphere.
So I went a different route. “Georgie should really be exposed to men in female-dominated roles.”
“Sure,” she replied, flatly. “That’s what we need. More men taking over.”
I blew out a breath. “No, I just mean, don’t you think I should set an example for him? That men can and should do laundry and dishes andclean toilets. I think his future partner or roommate someday might be very appreciative.”
Sophia eyed me skeptically. “I guess. But if you start trying to teach him math, I will take great offense and go back to California.”
Holding my hands up in surrender, I said, “I would never.”
Scowling, she put up two fingers, indicating her eyes and then mine—the universal sign for “I’m watching you, pal.” And then she swooped out of the laundry room.
I sagged against the washing machine in relief.
What the hell was I doing? It had been stupid to try to chip in with the housework. I didn’t know why I’d let Joan’s voice take up residence in my mind. Yes, she’d made some valid points about celebrities and “normal” people. I could see why someone so frighteningly capable wouldn’t be impressed by a twenty-nine-year-old man who still let everyone else take care of him.
Of course, I’d done laundry before I was an actor. When I moved to LA at eighteen, I’d taught myself a lot of stuff that my mother had handled at home—not that that fact helped my case.
But laundromat machines weren’t the same as the one I’d been trying to figure out today. Not wanting to break something in the house I was renting from the Clarks, I’d looked for an online manual first. The YouTube video had put me on the right path. Plus, it had been a long time since I’d thought about where my clean clothes came from. I’d had a housekeeper in LA for years.
Thinking back on Joan’s contempt for celebrities, part of me had wanted to disagree, to force her to see my perspective. But I’d kept my mouth shut. At the time, it had seemed more important to listen to her grievances. I didn’t think arguing would get me anywhere with her. In fact, it probably would have made things worse.
But maybe Joan had never considered that it was easier to hire people to handle certain aspects of my life. She’d never experienced what happened when I tried to do normal, everyday things.
Did she ever stop to think that I didn’t go shopping for groceries or pick up my takeout order because I couldn’t leave my house without photographers and fans cornering me on the street?
When I was home, in Los Angeles, it was easier and more efficient to hire a personal chef to come in a few days a week to stock my fridge with the meals on my nutrition plan. Realistically, I could see how that looked—spoiled, privileged—but it made sense for my life right now.
I wasn’t going to drag Georgie out where people would get in his face or splash his photo across the internet.
