Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Later, as I’m browsing the cheese aisle at the grocery store, my phone buzzes with a new email from Pat. The subject line reads: COLORADO - MAJOR LEAK.
FOUR
CHLOE
This house is insane. Beyoncé levels of insane. I mean, this could be Beyoncé’s house; it’s certainly big enough. I’m standing in the foyer with my bag at my feet, scared to move lest I accidentally break something and have to sell an organ on the black market to be able to afford to replace it.
So yeah, I called Pat and I got the job.
Clearly, my uncle put in a good word for me because all it took was a short phone interview. I didn’t shy away from the fact that I’ve never had a job like this before and I wasn’t sure what all it involved, but Pat said it’s a no-brainer. Above all else, he just needed someone trustworthy. He promised he’d send me over a list of household duties and tasks I needed to do once I arrived on the property, and he made good on that promise.
I read through the list as I was on my way down here on the Jitney. It isn’t all that much work, day to day. Broadly, I’m supposed to supervise daily operations, identify repair needs, maintain property value, commission repair work, and coordinate maintenance workers. I also need to maintain a base level of cleanliness within the house, clean up after myself, dust and vacuum as needed. If time allows, I can help tend the garden, though there is a groundskeeper who’s supposed to be in charge of the outdoor spaces, sport courts, and pool.
To maintain privacy, Pat didn’t give me any information on who I’m working for. I guess it’s not exactly relevant. Pat is my boss. I’ll be reporting to him, and he’ll be the one signing my paychecks. I doubt I’ll ever even see the owners of this house. They’re probably off galivanting in Saint-Tropez. Vacationing with the Kardashians. Laughing maniacally as they swim in a bathtub filled with cash.
Something rubs against my leg, and I jump a mile in the air.
Holy shit. My heart feels like it’s come untethered, dangling precariously by a string. I look down and see an orange tabby cat dancing between my legs.
“Jesus, you scared me!” I say with a laugh.
The cat ignores me, twining around me a few more times before deciding my legs are boring. Then it proceeds to prance confidently into the foyer. Pat made no mention of any pets, but then again, I could have just missed it somewhere along the way. These last few days have been a whirlwind.
Preparing to leave the city wasn’t all that complicated, but explaining to my parents that I was merely going to the Hamptons and not off to literal war was something else entirely. When I told my mom about the job, she wouldn’t talk to me for two days.
“You’ve broken your mother’s heart,” my dad said. “Why can’t you just live here? Haven’t the last few days been fun? Well, besides…listen, Nonna didn’t mean to walk in on you while you were pooping.”
“DAD.”
They eventually came around to it though. Demands were agreed upon. I am to visit at least once a month, and I am to attend Sunday family dinner every weekend via FaceTime, no exceptions.
To further soothe hard feelings, I take my phone out of my back pocket and snap a photo to send to my big family group text.
CHLOE: I’ve arrived! Look at this place!
In a minute, the replies will start flooding in. My cousins will all ooh and ahh. My mom will ask if I’ve locked all the doors. My dad will want to know if they have Sub-Zero or Wolf appliances.
I decide first I should give myself a tour. In all, it takes me fifteen minutes to traverse the whole house. I passed six bedrooms, or was it seven bedrooms? A home office, media room, library, game room, living room…room…room…room. You get it. It’s absolutely absurd that anyone would need this much space. My entire extended family could fit into this house four times over. Sunday dinners in this dining room would be an absolute pleasure, no one cramped next to another.
I know nothing about design, but I know this place is nice, the sort of house you’d see on the cover of one of those architecture magazines you flip through in the waiting room at the dentist’s office while you prepare your lie about how often you floss. Easy, after every meal. Doesn’t everyone, doc?
The house is situated on a bunch of land and faces a private pond. From one of the bedroom windows, I even saw a slightly neglected garden out back I can’t wait to explore.
My favorite space so far: the kitchen.
It’s a chef’s dream. It has an open layout for cooking and entertaining, cabinets stretching all the way to the ceiling, marble countertops, and a separate butler’s pantry for prep work. The two sets of double ovens and the industrial-sized fridge hidden behind sleek white paneling would have my dad salivating. I’m more into the pot and pan selection and the knives; they’re exactly what I would buy if money were no issue.