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“Good thing I’m coming to stay with you,” I say, smiling. “Someone will finally give your house some use.”
“That’s one benefit,” he says, grinning back. “Truth is, I have a full staff back at the house. They keep it all running without me. Plus, there’s Jenkins, and he lives there full time.”
“Jenkins?” I ask.
Ethan looks a little bashful, which is incredibly endearing on him. “Jenkins is my butler.”
I laugh out loud, shaking my head. “You’re kidding?”
“I’m not kidding,” he says, laughing along with me. “I really have a live-in butler named Jenkins.”
“That’s the most cliché rich person thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” He grins and leans back in his seat. “It’s all status stuff. I don’t need Jenkins, but he does make my life easier.”
“How so?”
“Simple stuff,” he says. “Jenkins runs the household. Pays the bills, manages the staff, makes sure food is ready when I’m there, makes sure nothing is wasted. You’ll meet him soon.”
I suddenly feel very, very nervous. We drive into a more residential area of town, one of the richest neighborhoods in the city. I’ve been here before, of course, but only while walking through. I live in the south part of the city, or at least I used to. Now I’m homeless, but I probably won’t tell him that.
Nobody wants some homeless, ex-addict girl living in their house. I need to keep some things secret from Ethan, because otherwise I’m afraid he won’t like the truth.
The car pulls up out front of a large beautiful building. It looks like an old brick row home, but it’s much wider, with many windows. It’s immaculately kept, which I assume is the work of Jenkins.
“Home sweet home,” Ethan says, getting out of the car. He comes around and helps me out, even carrying my bags. He waves off the driver, tips him, and sends him off.
The car speeds away and we walk up the stoop. Ethan hits a button on the buzzer, pauses a second, and then another buzzer sounds. He pushes open the door and we step inside.
The entryway is beautiful. The floor is all hardwood, gleaming and immaculate. Modern art is hanging on the walls. There’s a stairwell to the right, a door to the left, and a French door to the right, next to the stairs.
Ethan walks straight ahead and I hurry to follow him. I gape at everything we come across. The hall opens up into a large open space that’s obviously at least two townhouses wide. There’s an immaculately furnished living room area with a ceiling that goes up at least two stories. Back into the other townhouse, to the left is a large modern kitchen with beautiful appliances. I can’t help but stare all around me.
I’ve never seen anything so nice in my whole life. I knew he was rich, or at least I knew it on some abstract level. But now that I’m seeing his actual objects and the house he lives in, I can really appreciate it.
The place looks like a museum or a high-end hotel or something. It’s absolutely spotless and nothing is out of place. As we move into the kitchen and Ethan tosses his wallet and keys onto the counter, a door off to one side opens and a man steps out.
“Jenkins,” Ethan says, smiling. “We have a guest.”
“Do we, sir?”
Jenkins is an older man, short and thin, maybe in his sixties. His white hair is slicked back but his crystal clear blue eyes are sharp and intelligent. He looks at me appraising, but he doesn’t smile.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to him.
“Charmed,” he responds without looking at me.
“This is Aria. She’s going to be staying with us for the next month.”
Jenkins pauses and I catch the slightest surprise on his face. “A month, sir?”
“Yes, Jenkins,” Ethan says. “Please prepare the second room for her.”
His surprise is even more evident. “The second room, sir?”
“Am I speaking clearly?” Ethan looks at me, smiling.
I just shrug, feeling too awkward to respond.
He sighs and looks back at Jenkins. “Don’t give me a hard time, please.”
“Of course not, sir.” He turns to leave.
“And be nice to Aria, damnit!” he calls out as Jenkins disappears.
“He doesn’t like me,” I say.
“He’s just an old curmudgeon. Doesn’t like change.”
I smile at that. “You have a butler.”
“I have a butler.”
“A cranky, old butler.”
“It’s a regular British estate.” He grins at me. “Want a tour?”
“Of course I do.”
