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“Three,” he said. “Or ten days in a row per month. Open to negotiation, of course.”
Of course. Anton was a very particular man, but for a guy who was famed for no attachments, he had attached himself to me in a very big way, without even knowing me.
“I think I'll move in with you,” I said. “But I need a place to sculpt.”
His eyes widened a bit at my answer—perhaps our first encounter, when I barged into his office and demanded to know who the hell he thought he was, trying to arrange a marriage with me, had left a more lasting impression on him than my current, slightly softer feelings. Nevertheless, he recovered quickly. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like to keep your apartment as your studio, or something closer to... home?”
Hmm. Studio in Manhattan, or studio anywhere else in the world? Gee, what a dilemma. I opened my mouth to tell him to move my shit to an expensive little corner apartment in one of the arty districts, but then I shut my mouth again. My apartment was mine. Did I really want to leave it behind just because I was technically moving up in the world? “I'll keep my apartment,” I said after a moment. “I like it there.”
He nodded. “Very well. You can pack up your personal effects if you wish, or I can arrange to have that done for you.”
“How fast can it be done?”
“By tonight, if you like.”
I like to keep it real, but not that real. If I didn't have to wrap up my shitty mismatched glasses personally, then I'm not going to. “Yeah, have someone move that stuff,” I told him. “Anyway, what's on the agenda for today?”
A vague look of regret passed over his face. “I'll be in meetings and at work all today, but I will be home in time to take you out to dinner tonight. In the meantime, why don't you take the time to get acquainted with your new home, and perhaps call your, ahem, new personal assistant?”
Personal assistant? Oh, right! Sadie. She is going to plotz. “Great. Coffee with girlfriend, dinner with, um...” I trailed off. “You,” I finished awkwardly.
The shutters behind his eyes closed, and I sighed inwardly. Good going.
“Husband,” he supplied.
“Husband,” I said. “Sorry, it's all a bit sudden and a little weird.”
To my surprise, he rubbed a finger against his temple, and his shoulders relaxed. I hadn't even noticed them tensing. “You are right,” he said. “This is very sudden for you. I'm sorry.”
I could only nod as the car slowed down, and then we were at Anton's house.
*
"Jesus shit," Sadie said when I opened the door later that day, and I have to say I agreed with her assessment. Anton had dropped me off at the house, telling me to explore to my heart's content, then given me a quick kiss on the cheek and jetted off to work, leaving me with a battered suitcase and an overwhelming desire for some McDonald's. I'd called Sadie immediately and told her where to meet me—with a Filet o' Fish—and set about exploring.
And holy shit. A mansion on Central Park West. Even in my father's wildest dreams he couldn't have afforded this place.
Five floors and a basement. That's all I can really say about it. Huge. Wood floors, stained glass, a garden, a terrace, and, high on the fifth floor, the master bedroom underneath a skylight, painted white, lined with bookshelves and filled with light, even on this cloudy day. It was sick. Just sick.
/> I loved it.
"This is just sick," Sadie said. "I love it."
"That's what I thought!" I told her. "But that's not the best part. Anton wants me to have a personal assistant, and I told him I already had one."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You do?"
And I'm the thick one? "You, dummy."
Sadie failed to faint at my feet in gratitude. "What if I don't want to be your personal assistant?" she said. "What do I look like, the help?"
I rolled my eyes and pulled her to the back of the ground floor where the kitchen and breakfast nook stood, looking out onto the garden. "Don't you get it?" I said. "This is free money. You get hired, we spend the day hanging out together, you get paid and don't report back to Anton any of the suspect stuff I do, and we all go home happy."
"What suspect stuff?"
"Like figuring out what makes him tick," I told her. "Here, have some coffee. It took me like fifteen minutes to figure out how to use Anton's crazy coffee maker so you'd better drink some."
Sadie pulled away. "Felicia," she said, which she never says unless she is trying to be serious with me. "What is with you calling him Anton all of a sudden? And why would he want me to report back to him?"
