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I returned his smile with a wry one of my own. “Oh, I’m sure.”
As Lucien led me toward the walk-in closet on the left side of the TV, I stole a quick glance at Noah. He wore a black T-shirt and gray athletic pants, and I couldn’t help but admire his long legs and the cut of muscle on his arm visible from under his short sleeves. I only wished he weren’t sitting so slumped over, his elbow on the desk, one hand over his eyes, as if he were in deep concentration.
I hated to even think the word “tortured”—it sounded so melodramatic—but that was the impression he gave. His body was meant for swimming in oceans and racing down ski slopes, not sitting hunched in darkened rooms.
“This is quite the disaster.”
I tore my gaze away from Noah and joined Lucien in the walk-in. I had to agree with his assessment. Clothes spilled out of the dressers and were hanging half-on their hangers, if they were hung at all.
“Nearly all is in need of being laundered,” Lucien said. “Perhaps we can make Monday the laundry day?”
I nodded. The walk-in was a mess but somewhat intoxicating. The air hung heavy with the scents of expensive clothing and cologne, overpowering anything else. Fine suits, pants, and dress shirts lined both sides of the walk-in but looked unused.
I followed Lucien to the bathroom that was on the opposite side of the room from the windows. It was a huge, cavernous space, and the most beautiful—and unique—I had ever seen. Done in modern, vibrant colors: the pebbled tiles in the enormous shower and around the huge soaker tub were a gorgeous blue-green color, while the double sinks were swathed in yellow marble. But for the mess of towels lying in piles on the floor and remnants of messy tooth brushing in the sink, it looked like something out of a home and garden magazine.
“Wow, Lucien. I’ve never seen yellow marble.”
“Mrs. Lake was forever redoing the house to suit her fancies.” His cell phone rang, and he held up one finger. “A moment, please.”
Lucien left to take his call…and kept going, all the way to the second floor. I made a face at the messy bathroom, not terribly eager to clean it, and then Noah spoke. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“I hired a cleaning service,” he said from the desk by the curtained windows. “You’re laundry, food, and errands only.”
“Oh, I thought I’d be cleaning too,” I said, coming into the bedroom. “I just assumed…”
“You assumed wrong.”
“Okay…but, why?”
“You’d prefer to clean toilets?”
“Um, not exactly.”
Noah sniffed and shrugged, as if that answered my question. He had turned slightly so that his handsome face was in profile, his gaze on the wall in front of him, one earbud in, one out. I began to understand how many social cues we take from people’s eyes; their facial expressions, when and how they look at you. Noah couldn’t look at me, so I found myself wondering what to do next.
“What are you listening to?” I asked lightly. “Good book?”
“Good enough.” The earbud went back in, and he turned his back to me.
Noah, on the other hand, had his own brand of social cues.
Downstairs, Lucien finished his call, and I told him what Noah had said about hiring a cleaning service. “I thought cleaning was part of my job duties.”
Lucien’s smile came back, brightening his entire face. “That was Noah’s idea, ma chère, and I’m quite astounded by it. Never mind the fact he seems to have adjusted to the idea of you living here with lightning speed.” He rocked back on his heels, pleased. “If that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.”
I frowned. “But why hire and pay another person? Why not just let me do it?”
Lucien raised his feathery white brows and shrugged coyly. “Je ne sais pas. He insisted upon it. Most astonishing, given that while the Lakes are paying your salary, the cleaning service is coming out of Noah’s own pocket.”
I scrunched up my face. “How? He doesn’t even have a job.”
Lucien lowered his voice. “During his tenure withPlanet X, much of Noah’s expenses were paid by the magazine. As a consequence, he saved the bulk of his pay, hardly spending a dime.”
“Oh. That’s smart.”
Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, now, I’m mistaken. He did have one indulgence: an old car. A 1968 Chevy Camaro. Black with white detailing, if I recall. You Americans would call it a ‘muscle car’ or ‘hot rod.’ He had it restored to its former glory and would race it now and then, giving his mother a fresh dose of worry every time. But Noah always loved to move fast and that car, I’m told, was the love of his life.”
“Where is it now?”
