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
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
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