Billionaire's Runaway Princess (5 page)

“Don’t forget this,” he said and he put his phone to his ear turning away from her.

Marisol
entered the third bedroom and felt along the wall until she found the light switch. On the left hand wall was a long bank of doors, so she assumed this was the closet. She slid the doors open and was astounded to see a bunch of women’s clothing in many different sizes. Where did all these come from? Did Ryan have a rash of girlfriends that left clothing behind?

She looked through and found a couple nightgowns that looked they could fit, and some skirts and blouses. Well, this should do her until she got something else. Certainly with a washer and dryer on hand she’d have clean clothes, if she could figure out how to use them.

Well, she had the computer and the internet had tons of information.

She gave one last glance at the closet and shook her head. Maybe Ryan Kelley wasn’t the sunshine and light that he portrayed himself to be.

Marisol walked across the huge apartment to her room. Shedding her clothes, she slipped on one of the nightgown and fell onto the bed. She didn’t even bother to crawl under the blankets she was that exhausted.

***

A sharp bang and the sounds of swearing made her start. Light was seeping from the skylight she didn’t notice last night. Reasoning it must be morning, and that she should working, she bolted out of bed and discarded the nightgown on the floor, and threw on a skirt and one of the shirts. She flew into the kitchen when the sounds of male distress grew even louder.

“What?” Marisol said, when she saw Ryan fumbling with a frying pan. “What are you doing?”

He smiled sheepishly, a grin that melted her heart.

“I thought I’d make us some breakfast, but I’m really bad at this.”

“I see that,” said Marisol seeing scrambled eggs burning in the pan. “I’ve never seen black scrambled eggs.”

“It’s a deep South delicacy, blackened scrambled eggs.”

Marisol crinkled her nose. “I see you lie as well as you cook. What did you do to your hand?”

“I touched the handle. I didn’t realize it would be hot.”

“You seem to have dangerous cookware as well.’

“Mom always made it look easy.”

Marisol opened the refrigerator doors until she found some ice. She then rummaged through the drawers of the cabinets until she found a dishtowel. Combining the two, she pressed it to Ryan’s hand.

“I thought you said you had a busy day,” she said gazing into his crystal blue eyees

“I do, but we aren’t meeting until nine and I thought—”

“I see what you thought. You were just trying to scare up some work for me. This place is so clean that you really don’t need me.”

“Oh, there will be filth eventually. As a matter of fact, I need to you to do something right now. Call the dry cleaners and get my blue suit here rush, and call up San Lucio’s and get us some breakfast. I’ve ruined the pan, it seems, so we’ll just order out. I’d like steak and eggs, with rye toast and a side of hash browns. Order whatever you’d like.”

He turned his head and looked at her with a critical eye. “Where did you get those clothes?” Ryan did sound happy that she was wearing them.

“In the closet in the second guest room. There are certainly a lot of clothes there. Where did they come form?”

“It’s one of my projects,” he said cryptically. “But really, do make sure you order some proper clothes today. And go ahead and order rush delivery.”

Marisol looked down at her clothes, wondering what gave Ryan offense.

“Whatever you want, Mr. Kelley.”

“And stop calling me Mr. Kelley. Call me Ryan.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” he replied flatly. “Now, please take care of those things while I take a shower.”

Marisol’s throat went dry when she thought of Ryan undressing and stepping under the shower head naked. Why didn’t she think of this before she took this job? She was living in single man’s apartment. Her father would never approve of this. Not that he frequently approved of anything she truly wanted to do.

Still a wave of nostalgia and longing hit her. She missed her father even if he was overbearing.

But she hurried to retrieve the computer and power it up and got the phone number. Then she realized she didn’t have a phone she could use to call them. She checked for an email address and found it and panicked again because she didn’t know the address of the apartment she worked for.

Then she remembered something. On the rare times she’d visited Antoinette in New York, whenever the ditzy girl needed something, she called her doorman. Marisol hoped this building did have a doorman and that he was inclined to help a hopelessly incompetent princess, who apparently couldn’t dress herself without help.

She went to back entrance, where she surmised there would be some sort of communication device to receive calls from the desk. Marisol found it behind a small metal door at the side of the back entrance. She lifted the handset.

“Hello, hello,” she said feeling stupid that she didn’t know the right thing to say.

“Mr. Ryan?” said a gravelly male voice.

“No. My name is Marisol. I’m the new housekeeper, and I’m just getting acclimated. I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you call Mr. Kelley’s dry cleaners and ask them to rush his blue suit? He needs it rapidly.”

“Sure thing, Marisol. I do that for him all the time.”

“You do?”

“Sure thing.”

“Then do you also order his breakfast from a place called San Lucio’s?”

“On occasion.”

“Then please, can you do that too?”

“His usual then?”

“If it’s steak, scrambled eggs, rye toast, and hash browns.”

“Sure. Miss Marisol.”

“And would you order a croissant and fruit bowl for me?”

“You got it. Need anything else, just give me a call.”

“Thank you—”

“Danny. Just call me Danny. After Mr. Ryan leaves, come and see me at the front desk, and I’ll give you a key to his apartment. Mr. Ryan tends to forget about things like that.”

Within a half-hour, both the suit and the food arrived at the back door. Both delivermen held out the credit receipts with eager looks on their faces. She didn’t understand why until she saw the line on each one that said “gratuity.” They were looking for tips. Marisol panicked again, not having a clue as to what amount to tip them. She scribbled in twenty dollars, realized she made the mark for euros, crossed that off, then wrote the sign for US dollars. They both left with big grins on their faces.

Oh no! Did she tip too much? Was Ryan going to be angry when he saw the bill? She looked the suit and wondered what she should do with it. Bring it to his room? Surely he was done with his shower. What state of dress would he be in?

With trepidation Marisol walked the suit to his bedroom door and knocked on it. There was no answer and she stood there wondering what to do.

“Marisol?” Ryan’s voice came from behind her and startled she jumped. She turned, nearly dropping the suit, coming face-to-face with Ryan dressed only in a robe.

“I was checking some things on the company email. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Here’s your suit.”

He gave her a thousand-megawatt smile. “Wonderful.”

“And I’ll have breakfast out on the table in minutes.”

“Terrific. Thanks, Marisol.”

Marisol wasn’t used to having praise heaped on her for doing such small tasks. Ryan spoke these words so warmly that a blush crept through her. If he ran a large company like she suspected, she could see how people would want to work for him.

He took the suit from her hands. “I’ll dress and meet you for breakfast.”

“Yes, Ryan.”

Marisol rummaged through the kitchen and found dishware. She piled the dishes on top of each other in her rush to get the table ready, but in her haste, she tripped and the silverware and the plates fell to the floor. The plates shattered into many pieces.

“Oh my god!” What was Ryan going to think about his new housekeeper already destroying things on the first day?

“Marisol,” said Ryan. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, some dishes fell.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come sit with me. We’ll eat out of the containers. Just bring some silverware.”

Marisol felt awful as she fetched clean silverware from the drawer. She stepped over the shattered plates and walked into the dining area.

Ryan had already moved the containers to the table.

“You don’t eat much,” he said pointing the lidded container of fruit salad and the croissant.

“I’m used to a simple breakfast. My mornings are…used to be very busy.”

“Oh, I’m not keeping you busy enough.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Marisol, stuttering.

“Oh, and speaking of which, can you bring me a steak knife for the steak?”

“Sorry,” said Marisol, feeling chastened again. If she couldn’t handle the simplest details, how did she expect to hold on to this or any job? He must think her a real idiot.

She found the knife and returned to the table. Ryan wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and had already started on the eggs.

“You’re a great cook,” he said with a grin.

“I’m not any sort of cook,” said Marisol. “Ryan, I think you made a mistake bringing me here. I’m obviously not suited for this kind of work.”

“You don’t like being here?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

“Well, in case you don’t know, I don’t make mistakes. So you’re mistaken thinking I made one. Relax, Marisol. Any new job has a period of adjustment.”

“I’m not sure I should be eating at the table with you. I’ll just take my food and go into the kitchen.” Marisol moved to gather up her food.

“No. Please sit. It’s a pleasure to have someone around I can talk to.”

Feeling uncomfortable, she sat anyway and watched Ryan as he enthusiastically attacked his breakfast.

“Good thing you ordered orange juice,” he said with a grin. “I forgot to ask.”

“I can’t take credit. I called Danny, and he arranged everything.”

“Good move,” he said between mouthfuls of toast. “Always better to delegate when you can.”

“But I should have—”

“What I always tell me people is that the most important thing is for the work to get done. Did the work get done?”

“Well, yes,” she said with uncertainty. She remembered her father holding people accountable for their jobs. Ryan’s concept was a new one for her.

“Okay, then.”

At that moment Ryan’s phone buzzed, and he took from his inside jacket.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I have to take this.”

Ryan stood and disappeared into his office, leaving Marisol alone again. It struck Marisol that she wasn’t used to being alone. There was always someone with her, a security officer, a maid, or her social secretary.

Ryan said that every job had a period of adjustment. Marisol hoped that this was true, because so far, she felt that she was adjusting very poorly.

Marisol heard a buzzing noise that was quite insistent. Worried that she did something wrong again to set off some alarm she followed the sound to the service door to see a blinking light along with the noise.

“Yes,” she said after pressing the button.

“This is Danny. Please tell Mr. Ryan his car is here. He’s not answering his phone.”

“He’s on another call right now, Danny, but I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks, Miss Marisol. Don’t forget to come see me.”

“Of course, Danny, first thing.”

Marisol walked toward the office and found the door open. Ryan was speaking animatedly on the phone.

“Yes, I caught the reports on social media, and no I don’t care,” he said. “Something is definitely wrong.” He listened to whoever was speaking at the other end of the line. Ryan looked up and saw Marisol standing in the door and the tips of his ears went red again.

“Please, just do what I ask,” he said to the person at the other end of the line. “I’ve got to go. Bye. Love you.” He hung up the phone.

“Yes, Marisol?”

“Danny called to say your car is here.”

He looked at his watch and shook his head. “Damn meetings. Okay, I’ll be gone until seven. Please have dinner then. I expect I’ll have a long night working at home.”

With that he breezed past her and walked out the front door.

Marisol stood there stunned. She couldn’t believe the speed with which he moved, or the ending of the phone call. “Love you, bye.” It was said quickly with familiarity, like it was said a thousand times before. He must have a girlfriend.

She was at a loss. Marisol was out of her element and living in the house of a man who obviously had prior commitments. One thing was for certain. She couldn’t keep staying here. Perhaps the best thing was to go back to plan A—find her New York relatives and throw herself on their mercy.