Chasing Wishes (12 page)

"It’s perfect," I tell her. "I can work with this. It’ll be awesome by the time I’m done with it."

It takes us three more trips to get all the boxes up to my bedroom, and Cassie babbles non-stop about Terrence’s beautiful estate the entire time. The chandelier, the woodwork, the etched glass windows... maybe she’s the one who should live here instead of me. She’s fallen so totally in love with it that she's admiring the carved details on the banister while all I want is a roof and a paycheck.

Cassie finally goes silent as the last of the boxes makes its way into my closet, and then she starts to cry.

"Oh, Cassie..."

I lean in to give her a hug and she squeezes me back tightly as she sniffles into my ear.

"I’m going to miss you, slutface," she whimpers. "Promise you’ll come visit?"

"I promise," I tell her. "Just let me get my feet under me and figure out what I’m doing, and then I’ll make sure we spend lots of time together, okay?"

She gives me such a tight hug that I feel as if I’m going to pop.

"Seriously, Cassie," I wheeze. "We’ll be down at Ollie’s Bar and making fun of our bosses again soon enough—it’ll be just like old times."

She releases me from her death-grip and nods as she wipes her teary eyes, and then before I can say anything else, dives back in for another hug. She’s so adorable.

"Good luck," she whispers. "Don’t lead him into traffic, okay ctraom her de?"

I laugh and shake my head as I wriggle free from her embrace.

"And look out for open manholes," she blurts out, joining in on my laughter. It’s always seemed so strange to me that laughter can be infectious, but for as long as she’s giggling, I can’t seem to stop.

"I’ll call you next week to let you know how I’m getting on," I tell her as I show her down the stairs and to the front door. "I’m sure I’ll do something terrible, and you can mock me mercilessly for it then."

"Oh, that’s a given," she chirps brightly, already cheering up. She starts down the path and then waves to me over her shoulder. I wave back to her from the doorway until she finally reaches her car, and then I close the door.

The door actually echoes as it swings shut, and then the house is dead silent but for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer, its copper pendulum swinging languidly back and forth. It’s almost eerily quiet now.

"Well... might as well make myself at home and figure out where things are," I say to nobody in particular. I need to hear
something
, even if it’s my own voice.

Columbus is still asleep in the sunlight, and he doesn’t even move as I step over him and wander through the first arched doorway on my right and into the living room. Or is it the sitting room? No, the next room to the east is the sitting room, judging by the lavender and ivory color coordination and the dusty teacart that clearly has never once been used. I stand in the doorway between the living and sitting rooms, glancing back and forth between them, and I can’t help but believe that nobody’s used either room in years. No amount of antique vases and paintings of vaguely Victorian figures will ever make an unused room feel lived-in. Only lying on a couch with your feet up, occasionally spilling drinks, and laughter can bring rooms to life, and it’s been a long time since this part of the mansion has experienced any of those.

The kitchen, on the other hand... someone definitely lives here. It’s a sleek, modern room with recessed lighting and dark stone countertops, and a whole forest must’ve gone into its making. The architect opted for wooden cabinets, wood-paneled walls and hardwood floors, and it takes me forever to find the refrigerator because he even went so far as to wood-panel the refrigerator door and build it into the décor. I might never have found it if not for the ice dispenser carved into the woodwork.

The fridge is empty except for a pack of sliced deli turkey of unidentifiable expiry, a pitcher of iced tea, and a laminated schedule for the chef and grocery delivery. He had the week off and will be back on Monday.

Columbus whines behind me, and when I turn around and look down at him, he lifts one paw and begs for a treat. It just figures that he’s awake now that I’m in the kitchen.

"So now where do I go?" I ask him, tossing him a slice of turkey. He inhales the treat and, of course, says nothing. "This place is practically empty. Does your master actually live here?"

He flops over on his side and then falls asleep on the kitchen floor, and I sigh and head back to the grand foyer. There’s still one door on the first floor I haven’t tried, and when I yank open the heavy, brass-trimmed double doors to the south wing, I stop dead in my tracks in surprise.

The elegant décor of the house ends across the threshold, replaced instead by indus ctea

I wander in and look back and forth in amazement at the glass-walled laboratories on both sides of the hallway, each one like a strange, technological zoo exhibit gleaming beneath its recessed fluorescent lighting. It’s as if I stepped out of a historical classic and into a science fiction novel. Microscopes, beakers, large devices with more buttons and lights than I’d know what to do with... I have no idea what half of this stuff even is, but there’s an awful lot of it.

A scientist in a full-body suit that looks as if it’s meant to ward off zombie plagues glances up at me through the glass and then returns to whatever he’s working on in a tiny Petri dish. This is downright surreal.

A woman loudly clears her throat behind me, and I nearly leap out of my skin and spin around.

Charlotte, Terrence’s lawyer, glares at me with piercing blue eyes, tapping her foot with her arms crossed. She looks just as unhappy to see me now as she seemed when she gave me Marcus’ card a week ago.

"You can’t be back here, you know."

"Sorry about that," I apologize. "Terrence said I had free access to..."

"To the house, yes," she interrupts. "But not to the laboratories. Our clients have secrecy agreements regarding their research and—no offense intended—you have no idea what any of this stuff is and have no reason to be back here. I’ll show you out."

"I can show myself out just fine, Charlotte."

"Follow me, please," she says coldly, pointing to the door.

Charlotte’s heels click loudly with each step as she escorts me back down the long, glass walled corridor. She’s a good six inches taller than I am and walks with a long, confident stride, and I have to hurry to keep up with her.

"Have you given any further thought to my offer to represent you against Verta?" she asks, not bothering to look at me. "I can’t do it myself since I’m representing them—conflict of interest and all—but my partner would gladly take..."

"No thanks," I interrupt, shaking my head. "I appreciate it, but I’m not big on the whole litigation thing and I’m better off with Terrence anyway."

She doesn't say anything, but her eyes narrow and the corner of her mouth twitches for one brief moment. As quickly as the emotion broke through, she covers it up again and restores her cool, professional façade.

I was envious of Charlotte’s appearance when I first met her—envious of her perfect skin and slender physique that somehow only has curves where magazines say a woman ought to have them. Now that I have a chance to look at her more closely, though, what I notice more than anything else is the cold, harsh face defined more by straight lines and sharp edges than gentle curves. If she’d just smile once in a while and maybe turn off whatever alien device she’s using to generate that ‘I’m better than you’ aura she’s projecting, she’d make a much better first impression.

"Hey, before I go, can I quickly talk to Terrence?" I ask as we reach the doorway back to the rest of the house. "I just want to let him know that I’ve moved in and—"

"He’s busy," she cuts me off. "I’ll pass along your message."

"But—"

"Irene," she says coldly, "my job is to protect this company and Terrence’s assets, not to help you."

"What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?" I ask, staring incredulously at her.

"It means that I didn't want you living here but had no say in the matter," she hisses at me through gritted teeth, practically skewering me with her pointed glare. "You’re a liability to Terrence at best, so don’t push your luck."

Before I can say another word, she shoots me an irritatingly polite smile and then shuts the door in my face.

T
here’s a knock at my door just before eight o’clock the next morning, and I fold over the page in my book and hop down from the window seat. He called me over the intercom on my nightstand and woke me up about an hour ago, and although I wasn’t expecting Terrence to be up quite so early, it’s a work day and I’m ready and waiting.

"Coming!" I call out as I throw on my shoes.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to dress while working as his assistant, so I’ve opted for a simple black polo and gray slacks. It’s vaguely professional in a retail sort of way. I can’t imagine that Terrence is looking for arm candy; at least, I certainly hope he isn’t.

Terrence is waiting for me alongside Marcus when I yank the door open.

"Good morning!" I gush with nervous, bubbly enthusiasm. "So nice to see you!"

"You as well, my dear," says Marcus, nodding approvingly at me. Good—the outfit works.

"Ready for your first day?" asks Terrence with an off-kilter smile.

"I certainly hope so, sir," I answer, and Terrence groans.

"Sir? I hope I don’t look quite that old, Irene. I’m only twenty-six."

"Really? You're not much older than me, then. I'm twenty-five. Um, not that you look old or anything," I babble, attempting to save face from yet another social faux pas.

"No offense taken," he tells me with a smile. "When’s your birthday?"

"June fifteenth, sir... um, I mean Terrence. Sorry. That’s going to take some getting used to," I stammer. He raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and instead only nods slowly.

"Let the ceremonial exchange of duties begin!" exclaims Marcus, grinning, and he releases his grip on Terrence’s arm and waves me over to his side.

"Okay, so what’s on the schedule for today?" I ask, gingerly looping my elbow around Terrence’s arm.

"I need to meet with my staff in the lab first and then perhaps we can do lunch afterward," he answers, smiling again. "After that, perhaps I’ll weep into my ice cream as I mope about never seeing Marcus again."

I gape at Marcus in shock but he only laughs and shakes his head.

"Oh come on, Terrence. The lab staff needs my help more than you do now. You know that."

"Okay, but I’m going to set off the sprinkler system on you if you start sleepin f"

"But of course; I’d expect nothing less from you. See you down there," finishes Marcus. He winks at me, shoots me a smile, and then hurries for the stairs, his white lab coat fluttering along behind him.

The conversation dies the moment he’s gone, and I stare awkwardly down at my shoes. I’m suddenly acutely aware of Terrence’s arm against mine, his elbow pressing gently against my side. My palms start sweating and my pulse starts racing.

"Relax," he says, turning his gorgeous, sightless green eyes toward me and smiling warmly. "You’re going to do just fine."

"So... to the lab?" I ask, clearing my throat nervously.

"Let’s stop in at the kitchen for a bagel first, please. I didn’t eat breakfast yet."

"Works for me. Which way?"

He just stares back at me until I realize in embarrassment just how dumb my question was.

"Seriously, Irene? You’re asking the blind guy?" he asks, laughing as I guide him carefully down the stairs.

I remember finding it while I was exploring after moving in, but I have no idea where it was anymore. What better way is there to start my first day of work than with a wonderful display of incompetence?

Now that I'm trying to help Terrence make it down the stairs, the job suddenly doesn't seem so easy. He's easily a foot taller than I am, and it feels really awkward pulling him along beside me. I tighten my grip around his elbow and take the stairs one slow, nervous step at a time. I nearly step on his shoes twice—a remarkable feat when walking side-by-side—and he laughs as if my ineptitude doesn't faze him at all.

Laughter or not, he's clinging tightly to the banister with his free hand. He doesn't trust me yet and rightfully not. I could go up and down this staircase on my own all day long without falling, but now that I'm guiding him, I feel as if I'm only one wobble away from losing my balance.

Columbus lies asleep at the bottom of the stairs, snoring lightly as he dreams about whatever it is dogs like to dream, and an idea hits me as I guide Terrence carefully around his sleeping pet. I know
exactly
how to find the kitchen.