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She doesn’t say anything else as she rummages around. She seems remarkably comfortable cooking in my kitchen. If I weren’t so hungry, I might be annoyed. Or maybe not.
It pains me to admit it, but it’s nice having someone in the apartment with me. It’s entirely possible I’ve been ignoring how lonely I am.
I pull a bottle of green juice out of the fridge. The junk food wrappers might have given the wrong impression, but I normally eat a healthy diet. As much as I enjoyed the binge of the last few days, I’ve got to get back on track. My physical well-being this offseason is even more important than usual.
I stop dead as I walk around the counter. “You folded my shirts.”
“Well…yes. They look tidier folded.”
“They’re dirty.” They’ve never been folded with such precision. I lean in to take a closer look. The corners are perfectly aligned. If they weren’t caked in dried sweat, I’d be tempted to wear them again.
“They were on the back of the sofa.” She wrinkles her nose. “Why would you leave dirty clothes lying around?”
Because I’m a bit of a slob. “It’s only a couple of shirts.”
“Six.” Two lines appear between her eyes as she squints at me.
“I wasn’t planning on having guests.”
“Okay,” she says, using the exact same tone my mother uses to convey disapproval.
“Thanks for cleaning up.” I try to sound grateful rather than annoyed.
I swipe up the shirts and stalk down the hallway where I toss them directly into the washing machine. It’s a good thing she hasn’t seen my bedroom. She’d go into a folding frenzy.
When I return, she’s stirring pasta. She throws the veggies she cut into a skillet to sauté. She works efficiently, obviously comfortable cooking without a recipe.
A few minutes later, she passes me a plate and gives me an enormous smile.
She keeps up a steady stream of chatter as we eat. An occasional grunt or nod seems to be enough to keep the smile on her face.
“What now, Ms. West?” I ask as I push my empty plate away.
“My friends call me Elle or Ellie.” Her eyes crinkle around the corners. I can’t believe I thought she was a call girl. What is wrong with me? I clearly need to lay off the porn. Or at least avoid the girl-next-door versions.
I gesture between the two of us. “We’re not friends. You work for me.” Sort of.
Is she aware the assistant gig is bullshit? Does she know Cam sent her to be a babysitter?
She laughs. “Technically, I work for Cam.”
“I’m ultimately paying the bills.”
“Maybe having lunch with you is about more than a paycheck.”
I raise my brow. “You aren’t being paid?”
“I mean…I guess I will get paid if you hire me to do something assistant-like. But I’m not taking money to make lunch. Kelsey asked me to stop by, and suggested you needed an assistant, but she was vague about what you might actually need.” She looks away. “And since you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want an assistant…”
“You made me lunch for free?”
“Well…it was your food. And I didn’t have anything else to do.”
I don’t know how I feel about her making me lunch just because, and I’m not ready to admit how much I’m enjoying her company, so I ask, “Why don’t you have anything else to do?”
She exhales slowly, like she doesn’t want to tell me. “I recently quit my job.”
Cam told me she quit, but he didn’t give me any details. “What did you do?”
