“Yes, but that was when there was a whole bunch of people staying here, not just,” she pauses, scowling as she waves a hand at me, “you.”
“You’d rather clean up after ten people than just one?” I drop my voice conspiratorially. “I assure you, not only was I taught to aim in the bowl, I don’t expect you to clean it.”
Rather than looking relieved, her scowl deepens. “I have no problems scrubbing toilets. It’s honest work.” She tilts her head to the side, glaring at me. “But while we’re on the subject—what would you expect?”
I roll my shoulders and ease off the counter, my bandaged foot light on the floor. A few hours ago, I’d been looking forward to a fairly quiet summer. Long runs on the beach. Catching up with old friends. Expanding the charitable foundation Tripp and I started two years ago and taking it nationwide. But now, something new and thoroughly unexpected has piqued my interest.
And her name is Vivienne Radcliffe.
Even better, she might just be the perfect excuse to ward off my friends’ well-meaning but completely unwanted attempts to set me up with every available female in their contacts list.
Actually, I’m living with someone, has a nice ring to it.
“The same thing you’ve been doing for the past four weeks, but for me.”
“Not the same.”
“Well, then, what do you do besides house-sitting and looking after a pack of twenty-something slobs?”
Her lips give a reluctant twitch upward. “I worked for an interior design firm in the city.”
“Worked? As in past tense?”
“Yes. I was an assistant to one of the owners. I have my degree, but it’s almost impossible to get hired for any job of consequence without apprenticing with a bigger name first. I’m not with them anymore though.” She chews on her lower lip for a moment. “I’m considering starting my own firm—I mean, not really a firm, it would just be me. But I’d like to start working for myself. That’s why I’m taking whatever comes my way. If I can build up a little nest egg, I’ll actually be able to give it a shot.”
So . . . maybe not like Missy at all.
“Would a Hamptons beach house be considered ‘a job of consequence’?”
She grabs a dish towel and starts wiping at the counters. “Absolutely. But a job like that isn’t easy to come by, and it’s certainly not going to land in my lap. I’ll have to work my way up, one client at a time.”
“Consider today your lucky day. You’re hired. Take this place from a sloppy share house to—” I pause, glancing at the cheap furniture and impersonal fixtures.
The slam of a cabinet door brings my attention back to Vivienne. Her smile is gone. “Don’t even. I might not be able to afford to rent this place, but I’m not an idiot.”
I watch her as she cleans the kitchen, angrily tossing half-empty bags of chips and wadded up paper towels into the trash bin. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s no sense investing in a place you’re going to just walk away from at the end of summer.”
I hate feeling backed into a corner. “Maybe not, but I don’t intend to spend the next two months living in a place with bean bags and folding chairs.”
“You know, you fired me an hour ago.”
I flash my teeth in a mischievous smile. “Good thing you didn’t listen to me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not listening to you now either.” She disappears into the laundry room, moving another set of sheets from the washer to the dryer. She comes out holding a basket of towels, folding them on the kitchen island as she takes as she takes in our surroundings with fresh eyes. After several minutes, she looks back at me. “You rented this place furnished, right?”
I nod again, not entirely sure what the correct answer is.
“I’m not agreeing to live with you for the rest of the summer. But if you have Seth send the rental company here to pick up all this furniture, I’ll help you choose pieces that will make this place feel more like a home than a glorified frat house.”
“Done.” I lean forward. “How is it that you ended up managing a share house for the summer?”
She releases an embarrassed laugh. “That is a very long story.”
I shrug. “I have time.”
Hesitance flickers in her emerald eyes. “I don’t. I have to go to work.”
I walk into the living room, ignoring the burn as I step on my heel, then slouch into the couch cushions. “Didn’t I just give you a job?”
Vivienne grabs one of the bean bag chairs and pushes it in front of me. “You should really keep your foot elevated.” She waits until I do and then adds, “You offered a job that justifies the free rent. You’re not paying me on top of that.”
I sigh. “Where do you work?”
“Tonight, I’m waitressing at a place in town.”
Tonight. “Where else do you work?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
That’s because I’m damn curious. Vivienne’s obviously struggling to make ends meet, and yet, getting her to accept help is like pushing a boulder uphill. “I have another one. Need a ride?”
She rolls her eyes. “You aren’t going anywhere. It’s not far. I either ride my bike or take an Uber.”
That explains the bike I noticed on the front porch. “What time do you get off?”
“Usually around one or two.”
“You shouldn’t be riding a bike in the middle of the night.”
“If the weather’s clear, it’s fine. When it’s not, there’s always Uber, Lyft, or Hamptons Taxi.”
I frown. “You get into a car, alone, with some guy you don’t know at one or two in the morning?”
“Yes. That’s the idea.”
A damn stupid idea. The psychopath who killed my stepsister had masqueraded as a cab driver. True, he wasn’t an actual cab driver. Just a guy who pulled to the curb in front of a bar and drove off with Krista in the back seat.
Her body, what was left of it, wasn’t found for a week.
“Take my car. It’s out front, keys are on the kitchen counter.” It’s a pointless act of contrition, more for my own peace of mind than anything else. I could give away cars like Oprah and it wouldn’t bring Krista back.
“No.”
“Either take it, or I’ll be waiting for you in the parking lot.”
“I haven’t told you where I work.”
“Believe me, I’ll figure it out.” When you own a cybersecurity company, and are widely considered to be one of the best hackers in the world, with a slew of national and international security clearances, there isn’t much I can’t learn in a matter of minutes.
Vivienne’s mouth tightens with suspicion. “What will you expect in return?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
“Good thing I didn’t whip out the peanut better and jelly, then. Like I said, keys are on the counter.”
She spins on her heel, her skirt flaring up briefly and exposing another few inches of smooth, toned thighs. Nothing I didn’t see when she was in a bikini, but somehow the skirt makes—