Celebrities and their odd quirks.
Kelly proceeded to give me a tour of the property, starting outside. She showed me the tennis court and an insanely beautiful swimming pool outside, with an attached hot tub, of course. There was a grilling station and an area for entertaining with a stereo system, lounge chairs, and a firepit. If Reese were with me, she’d probably think we were at Disneyland or something. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Prince Charming came from behind the bushes for a photo op.
Kelly showed me all the rooms in the house, including Oliver’s bedroom suite. The teenage version of me would’ve freaked out at the idea of seeing Oliver Smith’s bedroom. The grown-up version of me tried my best to keep my cool.
Then, there was the kitchen.
The kitchen was made for masterpiece meals. Not a tool was missing from the cabinets. There were even some gadgets that I was certain I’d have to google to figure out how to use. “What are the guidelines on meals?” I asked as my fingers ran across the marble countertops.
“Oh, you can cook anything and everything. He has no allergies at all, so everything is fair game. Trust me, he’s very laid back.”
The last space she took me to was the west wing of the house, where Oliver’s studio was located. As we walked down the hallways, we passed glass windows looking into the studio space. At first, I assumed he wasn’t in the room, since he was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, he’s hard at work,” Kelly commented, making me raise an eyebrow. She then pointed to the floor, where Oliver was lying down with crumpled-up pieces of paper surrounding him. His headphones were set against his ears, and he had a grumpy look on his face.
“Sometimes he’ll stay in here all day, so don’t be afraid to interrupt him and get him to eat something. It’s more than okay to do that,” Kelly explained.
I stared at the artist lying on the floor, and a small smile fell against my lips. I wondered if that was how he lay when he wrote my favorite song, “Heart Stamps.” Was he spread out on the floor with crumpled pieces of his mind scattered at his sides? Did he close his eyes and move his lips as he mouthed something to himself? Did he cover his eyes with the palms of his hands and tap his feet?
I wondered what his next creation would be.
I wondered if I’d love it too.
After getting a tour of the house, I unloaded all the groceries and filled up the refrigerator pretty quickly. I had a few hours until lunchtime, so I started chopping up some vegetables that I’d be able to use throughout the week.
A few minutes passed before Oliver appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with his headphones on. I looked up from my cutting board and smiled his way. When his stare found mine, he seemed a bit startled.
“Emery. Hello,” he said, formal as ever. He removed his headphones and let them sit around his neck. “Kelly got you settled in?”
“Yes. I’m getting used to the beautiful space. Honestly, I’d kill for a kitchen like this. It’s so open, and the appliances are out-of-this-world fantastic.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“I am.” The nerves that I’d often felt around him began to build up again. “Can I make you anything? A smoothie? A snack?”
“No. I was coming for water, that’s all. I’ll be out of your hair,” he said, moving around me to the fridge to grab himself a bottle of water.
“There is something else I wanted to talk to you about, though, if that’s okay,” I started.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Is everything not okay?”
“No. It is. I mean, it isn’t. What I mean is . . .” I walked over to my purse and pulled out the check that Kelly had given me. “I can’t take this.”
“It’s a starting bonus.”
“No, it’s not. Plus, I found out what you did for my rent, and while I appreciate the gesture, I’d like to pay for that on my own too. So, if you could take those amounts out of my check each week, I’d appreciate it.”
Confusion swirled in his eyes. When he blinked, a flash of regret hit his stare. “I offended you.”
“No. It was really thoughtful, but I can’t accept these kinds of favors. I don’t want anything that I didn’t work for.”
He didn’t say another word, yet he took the check from my hand and then placed his headphones back on. As he began to walk away, he paused and looked back toward me. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He took a deep inhalation and flinched a little as he tried again.
Was it always that hard for him? To gather his thoughts?
“Can you do me a favor?” he asked.
“Anything you’d like.”
“When you make me a meal, can you make enough for Kelly, too?”
“Yes, of course. Not a problem.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and thanked me.
“If there’s anything else you need from me, I’m all ears. Truly, Oliver. I know I’ve said it before, but this job is more than I could’ve dreamed of. Thank you for the opportunity.”
He almost smiled, and I almost loved it.
His full lips parted again to speak, but no words escaped him. Instead, he continued to walk away, leaving me wondering what it was that he’d planned to say.
Later that afternoon, a voice snapped as I was preparing lunch for Oliver.
“Who are you?”
I looked up from the chicken breast I was slicing and smiled at the woman standing in front of me. Cam Jones. The Cam Jones.
Oh my gosh.
I loved Cam Jones.
She looked even more beautiful in person. She was wearing a sports bra, leggings, and a honey-colored wig, and her makeup was done flawlessly. Perfect winged eyeliner, top-notch lipstick. Cam looked like a goddess, and she was standing only a few feet away from me.
I dropped the knife quickly and hurried over to her side, wiping my hands against my apron. “Oh my gosh, hi! You’re Cam Jones. It’s so nice to meet you.” I beamed, holding my hand out toward her for a shake.
She glanced down at my hand and then back up toward me. “And you are?”
“Oh. Right. You asked me that when you came in. I’m Emery, Oliver’s new chef.”
“Chef?” she huffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve been asking Oliver to get a chef for years, and he said it was ridiculous. Who have you worked for?”
“Um, well, no one, really. I’ve worked at restaurants and hotel dining rooms in the past, but—”
“You’ve never worked with another celebrity?”
“No.”
“None? Not even a C-list celebrity? Like one of Alec Baldwin’s brothers or something?”
“No . . .”
“Jesus. Where did Oliver find you? On Yelp?”
“Close.” I snickered. “In a bar.”
“You can’t be serious.” I blankly blinked her way and she gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re serious.” Cam pursed her lips together. “Are you truly a chef?”
“I am. Kind of.”
“Kind of?” She looked at me as if I had a horn growing from my forehead before turning away from me and shouting, “What school did you go to?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly finish my degree. But you know what they say: ‘Does every chef need an education in order to make great meals?’” And by “they” I meant Oliver.