Billionaire's Runaway Princess (4 page)

“
We’ll
have to walk a couple blocks to get a street where a taxi will pick us up.”

“That’s okay,” said Marisol. There was something fresh about the New York streets at night, as if the darkness shoved the ugly into a deep hole.

“Where’s your knapsack?” said Ryan as they walked.

Marisol shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Wait. You literally left with the clothes on your back?”

Marisol stifled her next response—that these clothes weren’t even hers.

“
Comme ci comme ça
,” she said with a shrug.

“So you have no clothes,” he said darkly. Ryan looked her over as if trying to parse her secrets.

Marisol was touched by his concern but also felt uncomfortable with his scrutiny of her personal situation. She didn’t want him to find out who she was. He might feel like he would have to turn her into the authorities or back to her father. “Why? Were you looking to take me out on a date?”

Immediately Marisol regretted her snarky words meant only to make him back off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“And I’m sorry I’m being so nosey. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. “But don’t worry about me.”

“The hell I won’t,” said Ryan. “I won’t have the other housekeepers in the building saying that I don’t pay you well enough to buy clothes. I tell you what. When we get to the apartment we’ll go online and order some stuff for you.”

“You shouldn’t,” protested Marisol.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take it out of your first check…and second, depending on how much of a spendthrift you’re.”

“
Moi
? A spendthrift? How poorly you think of me, sir?” She glanced up at him coyly batting her eyelashes, and he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t invite you to my house if I thought poorly of you. Here, let’s get a taxi.”

Ryan hailed a cab and they sped down the New York streets at a break neck pace. They were tossed around in the vehicle as the cabby sped up, hit his brakes and then sped up again. Marisol almost felt she was on a carnival ride. To the left passed the tall trees of Central park and she shivered thinking of her near collision with danger.

The cab pulled up at a Park Avenue apartment. When they entered Marisol immediately felt at ease. The gleaming marble of the floors and walls were felt familiar and comforting.

Ryan inserted a key in elevator and they rode to the twentieth floor. The door opened up to a wide space. A sunken living room was ahead with gas fireplace on the furthest wall surrounded by white marble. A kitchen area sat to the left and a number of doors in dark wood marched down a line to the right. All the furniture had clean modern lines. White leather sofas ringed the sunken enclosure.

“You have a lovely home,” Marisol said.

Ryan shrugged. “It’s not much,” he said. “It’s just me, and I have it for when I’m in the city on business. When I’m not here, I’m with the family in Litchfield.”

“Litchfield?”

“It’s a little town in Connecticut.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“No. We’re from Brooklyn, but when I came into some money, I bought a house for my mom there to get her out of the city, but she visits often. Here, let me show you your room.”

Ryan led her to from the livingroom and past the kitchen to a separate hallway behind it.

He opened a folding door that revealed a washer and dryer. They were big things and almost as tall of her. Marisol scrunched her nose. Saying she would take the housekeeper job was one thing, but contemplating the actual work was quite another. And those machines looked intimidating. How was she ever going to learn how to work them?

“And here is your room,” he said pushing open a door next to the washer and dryer. Marisol peered in. The walls were white as well as the furniture. And the it held a dry stale air like someone hadn’t occupied in some time.

“How long have you’ve been without a housekeeper?” she said.

The tips of Ryan’s ears blushed red, and he looked away when he spoke.

“My last housekeeper didn’t live here,” he said.

Marisol’s suspicions piqued, but she didn’t have anything but his word to go on. So far everything he said has been on point.

“There’s an
en suite
bath at the door to the left, I think,” he said stepping into the room. He opened the door and was greeted by a closet. “Oops, sorry, it’s here,” said going to the door on the right. “I rarely come to this part of the apartment. I’ve seen this room precisely once, when I toured the apartment before I bought it.”

“It’s very nice,” said Marisol.

“Now,” he said returning to the hallway, “I believe this is the linen closet.” It was a sliding door and when he pulled it opened it displayed rows of towels and linen, neatly folded and arranged by rooms marked on the shelves. Master bedroom, first guest, second guest, and in the corner on the last shelf labeled second guest in the corner was the marker “maid’s room.”

“Very organized,” said Marisol dryly.

“I believe that’s because of the color combinations in each of the rooms. Mine, the master, is done in dark red and brown, the first guest, light blue, and the second guest, yellow.”

And the maid’s white
, thought Marisol. Then she thought over the arrangement on the shelves and the color-coded towels on the shelves.

“There is a bathroom for each bedroom?”

“Of course,” he said. “But usually only one or two are in use at any one time. And the half-bath.”

“Half-bath?”

“For guests to use when they visit.”

Marisol didn’t know what to say. In the palace where she grew up, there was one bath per floor, which was considered generous compared to the average home.

“Now,” said Ryan, “That door at the end of the hall is the service entrance. You’ll receive deliveries and service people there. I don’t care, but the Homeowners Association is quite particular about this. It’s in the manual.”

“Really?” A manual? To tell where people should arrive? She didn’t know such a thing existed.

Ryan started moving again, and Marisol realized this was a man that never rested. His muscles were coiled like springs and he nearly bounced when he walked.

“Of course, this is the kitchen, dishwasher, range top, ovens, and microwave. I don’t eat here much, but when I do, I’ll expect just simple meals. Mostly I order out, so you won’t have to do much cooking.”

Marisol, stared wide-eyed at the gleaming kitchen, but held in a sigh of relief. She couldn’t to cook if she tried. All of sudden, it overwhelmed her how much she didn’t know. These things, the cooking for and cleaning up after her, were things she took for granted. How on earth was she supposed to do a job she had no clue how to perform?

“Let me show you the den. I have it set up as my home office, and I do quite a bit of work there. If the door is locked, then I’m working on a project and don’t want to be disturbed. Or I have things on my computer that aren’t for general consumption, but today, we’ll get you hooked into some online shopping to get you some clothes.”

“You’re too kind to me.” It was a standard phrase, but sounded hollow to Marisol’s ears. He was being exceptionally kind.

“Not at all.” He opened a door kitty corner to the last door on the right, opening into large room that had book cases going to the ceiling on either side, a fireplace that mirrored the one in the livingroom on the inside wall, and the outside wall three wide panes of glass that looked out on the city of New York lighted with a thousand lights. A huge desk, one that reminded her of her father’s in his office sat in front of those panes of glass.

A large brown leather sofa sat in front of the fireplace. An exceptionally large and beautiful oriental rug ran the length between the desk and the sofa. On the desk were three computer monitors, which was unlike her father’s, but instead of inviting her to sit at the desk, he took a laptop that sat on the bookshelf and motioned for her to sit on the sofa.

“Just a minute,” he said, and he left the room, but quickly returned with two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot.

“Oh, are we shopping while drinking wine?” said Marisol arching her eyebrow.

“I’m assured all the best shops have wine for their customers.”

“Oh, they do,” said Marisol. Then she quickly caught herself. “Or so I’ve been told. You know, to encourage the loosening of inhibitions and purse strings.”

“Tricky, tricky retailers,” said Ryan settling next to her. He poured the wine and offered her a glass.

“Now, I’m no expert,” said Marisol, “But it’s typical for a boss to be sitting with employee drinking wine while she shops?”

“Miss Marisol, there isn’t anything typical about you,” he said. “So I won’t even try to treat you as such.”

“Oh, good answer,” said Marisol with a smile.

He sat very close to her, enough so that their sides touched, as he held the computer and switched it on. He gave her swift glance, one that was innocent and charming, as if he couldn’t wait to show her this toy. His handsome face was very close, and Marisol couldn’t help but notice his blue eyes shining in the flickering glow of the fireplace. They sat there suspended like that a couple seconds, as if on the edge of decision, eye to eye, and Marisol’s heart fluttered. What would it be like to kiss him? To taste his lips and feel his day’s grow of beard against her face? She shivered at the thought of it.

But she didn’t get to know.  Ryan turned his head and looked at the computer again as the screen filled with icons, ready for use.

“Besides, not everything is about you,” he said with a sly smile. “This is the household computer. I, I mean the housekeeper, uses this to order things and services for the apartment. My computer, on my desk, is never to be touched. I have proprietary company information on it and it’s tied to my company’s secure servers, so it wouldn’t help you to get on the internet anyway.”

“I understand,” said Marisol with a nod of her head

“Good. Here is the folder for the different vendors I use. Each one has a website where you can order what you need. It will automatically be charged to one of my credit accounts. Just press ‘order’ or whatever they use for that, and it should be delivered within the specified time frames. I suggest you get familiar with each of the delivery times of different vendors. You can have my dry cleaning picked-up, but if I say I need the suit before their turnaround time, you’ll have to order rush service.”

Marisol looked over the list. It was very extensive, covering everything from food to liquor to repair services. A particular service caught her eye.

“What is this? Maids-On-The-Go? When you have a housekeeper?”

Ryan pursed his lips, and Marisol thought he looked adorable.

“Sometimes I have parties on a moment’s notice. I can’t expect my housekeeper to have everything ready on the turn of a dime. I use them for emergencies.”

Again, the tips of Ryan’s ears turned red, and she began to think that something was up with this whole housekeeper business. A faint shadow crossed her mind that Ryan could be up to no good, bringing a woman he barely knew into his home, maybe for illicit purposes, but no. He’d been nothing but good and kind. Or was this part of an act? Was Ryan Kelley a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Ryan, still with the computer on his lap, called up the website of Lord’s Ladies’ clothing.

“Here, take a look through here.” He handed her the device.

“How, Mr. Kelley, are you so conversant with the websites of ladies’ clothing?” He seemed to do this so easily, Marisol wondered if he ordered a lot of clothing for different women.

“My mom and my sister like this shop. What?” he said, seeing her perplexed expression, “You think nuns don’t like nice clothes?”

“No, it’s just… Never mind.” She paged through the different categories when panic struck her. Marisol realized that she didn’t have a clue as to what size she was. All her former clothes were handmade, so she’d never even thought of terms of sizes before. She looked up the size charts, but the numbers were in inches instead of centimeters, and she didn’t have a clue as to what she measured in English units let alone metric.

She shut the lid on the computer.

“You know what? I’m a bit tired. Can I do this tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said. “You’ll have all day to do what you want. I’ve a busy day ahead of me, and I’ll have to work at the office tomorrow, so you will be on your own. In the mean time, go to the middle door, the first guest bedroom. There is a closet of clothes you can look through. You should find some things to get you through.”

A trilling noise rose up between them, and Ryan fished his phone out of his pocket.

“I have to take this,” he said. “Do you mind?”

Marisol wasn’t used to being dismissed, like she was a servant, and it struck her just how suddenly her circumstances changed.

“Certainly, Mr. Kelley,” she said.

“Marisol,” he said, and she turned hoping that he decided not to take the call after all, but he held the computer out to her.