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He tilts his head looking at me and I fight the urge to squirm. “A non-disclosure agreement.”
I nod, “Yeah I know what it stands for I just don’t understand why you’d ask me to sign one.”
He chuckles.
“Honey, with all due respect, I’m not agreeing to have anyone in my home without protecting my privacy, if you’re not comfortable…” he lets the words hang between us and I feel more uncomfortable. Why is he being a dick? I’m just trying to do my job.
“If you don’t want an organizer I can just go. It’s – it’s okay if this wasn’t something you wanted, and your friend signed you up as some kind of joke.”
He leans back against the hallway wall. “Did I say I didn’t want it?” I shake my head and he graces me with a small smile. This man is stupid handsome and grumpy as fuck. “Alright then honey, let’s go into the kitchen and you can sign the NDA.”
I follow him as he leads me down the hallway through the arch into a sparkling-clean kitchen. Glossy black countertops and white cabinets. This does not look like a guy that’s messy. There is absolutely zero clutter in the space. Maybe he has a cleaning lady, or his wife cleaned up after lunch.
He slides a folder and a pen toward me, and I pick it up to read. I can feel his eyes on me as I go through every line of the agreement. I’m not sure why I wasn’t expecting something like this at this level of wealth but I’m still learning, I guess. I put the form down and tap the pen on the counter.
“I don’t see any problem with this, but I do wonder if it’s possible to film content if I organize. I film the process and then edit it for social media.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen your videos. I’m fine with it as long as you don’t include anything that would identify me as your client. And I want to see everything before you post it.” I smile brightly and sign my name and initials next to each little flag. I watch as he tucks the papers into the folder and suddenly, he’s a little closer to me. He is by far the best-smelling man that’s ever stood next to me. I find myself wanting to lean in and –
“Shall we?” he asks, his voice deep and I blink up at him.
“Hmm?”
“Should we head to the bedroom?” I swear he’s close enough that I need to tip my chin a little higher to make eye contact.
“Bedroom?”
His mouth stretches into a wide, wicked smile. “My closet, you want to see my closet right?”
“Oh – oh, umm yes, of course, Mr. Hart, so sorry. It’s been a long day,” I blush, taking a step away from him to clear my head. His cologne is spicy, and I want to bury my face between those two hard pecs and rub myself all over him. I bet it’s like rubbing a face on a rock. A sexy rock. Sleep deprivation apparently makes me horny.
“It’s Noah, honey.” He places a warm hand on my lower back and guides me down another hallway. There’s carpet here and I look down at my shoes.
“Did you want me to take off my shoes?”
He looks down, “Yeah, go ahead. I try not to wear shoes in the house.” I toe off my heels and let that hand guide me through a set of double doors. The master suite is the largest bedroom I’ve ever seen. More windows dominate the space and there’s a couch in the corner and what must be a custom bed. I can’t even imagine the cost of linens with a bed like that.
He points towards another open door, and I let him steer me through it until we’re standing in a walk-in closet that’s easily the size of my bedroom. And it’s – odd.
I’ve been doing this long enough that I can usually see some sense in a person’s mess. Maybe their space isn’t functional for how they move about the day. Or they struggle with some part of cleaning, like laundry or putting away their clothes. But this mess – it’s like things were organized and then someone came and randomly unpacked things and dumped them into boxes and piles. The piles are color coordinated like specific sections of the closet had been emptied.
I tuck my hands into my pockets and dig my toes into the plush white carpet. The space itself is amazing and thoughtful. One side seems to be dedicated to active wear while the other is regular and formal clothes. There’s a bench in the corner and a large island in the middle that must have been set up for accessories like cufflinks or watches.
“So, what do you think? Can you help me?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s so bad. Seems like you have a pretty good system in place and just need things rearranged?”Is he closer?I can literally feel the heat of his body against my back. If I took one step back, would I be pressed against him? What the hell is wrong with me? Instead of doing what my body wants I take a step forward and walk slowly around the space.
“Hmm, yeah things were working fine when I moved in until they suddenly…weren’t.” I can feel him tracking my movements and my face flushes.
“I see, does your wife have a different closet?” I can’t imagine this space would be too small for two people, but I don’t know how rich people live their lives.
“Umm, no wife. I’m single.” I try to trample the little part of me that’s thrilled to hear it.Be professional, Libby, I tell myself sternly.
“Alright, well if you don’t mind, I can take a few pictures and then come up with a plan. We can schedule some time later this week?”
“You can’t do it now?” I finish my circuit of the closet and stop where I started. Noah angles his body so he’s facing me.
“Well, no, I would likely need a day or so to do the full job. I want to go through and catalog how you currently use the space, perhaps buy some organization supplies, and then create a template for you to make sure it meets your needs.”
