always put him first, and she had, oh, so willingly done that until her parents’ problems had rearranged her priorities and proved to her beyond any doubt that Carl was not the kind of man to be counted on in a crisis and definitely not someone she would want to marry. Even so, the hurt and disillusionment of the break-up had lingered on, making her disinterested in men in general.
Especially handsome men who always put what they wanted above every other consideration.
It certainly wouldn’t be good for her to get interested in Ethan Cartwright, she fiercely told herself. Nevertheless, he had shown enough concern for her crisis to give her this job, which gave some credit to his character. On the other hand, he could well afford it, so maybe not too much credit. Paying her salary was probably only a drop in the bucket to him, totally negligible. However, her own pride insisted she earn it as best shecould and it was about time she set about doing something active instead of churning over feelings that had nothing to do with work.
Anxious to be in hearing distance when the chandelier people and the architect called at the house, she remained inside, taking up Ethan Cartwright’s invitation to check out the rest of the rooms. He’d set up a computer work station in his office. The utility room was already furnished with a washing machine and clothes dryer, ready for his use. She noticed there was a handy chute in one corner for dirty clothes to be dropped down from upstairs. Very convenient. The powder room under the staircase was positively luxurious—mostly gleaming white with artistic touches of black and silver.
The bedrooms upstairs were huge compared to most modern standards, all of them with built-in cupboards and en suite bathrooms. The master suite, which was the only one furnished and obviously being used, was enormous. Not only did it have its own private bathroom with a jacuzzi and a shower big enough for two, but a large dressing room, as well.
Daisy could hardly believe there was nothing out of place in any of these rooms. No towels left on the floor, no toiletries sprawled over the vanity bench in the bathroom where she could still smell the lingering scent of his aftershave cologne, which undoubtedly occupied a shelf in the mirrored cupboard above the vanity bench. She didn’t look for it, uneasy enough about this much intrusion of privacy.
It felt weirdly intimate just staring at the colour coordinated rows of clothes in his dressing room, with the matching shoes precisely lined up in specially maderacks below them. It had surprised her that his bed had been made, not left in disarray, but all this…was Ethan Cartwright obsessively neat or did he simply like everything in order?
Daisy shook her head in sheer bemusement. She’d never known a man who wasn’t messy—her brothers, her father, past boyfriends, Carl in particular, stepping out of their clothes, leaving them on the floor, piling dirty dishes in the sink, shoes being dropped wherever they took them off. They didn’t actually expect a woman to clean up after them. Mess didn’t seem to bother them. She wondered why Ethan Cartwright was different.
Even the kitchen had been absolutely pristine, though he must have made himself some breakfast since he was living here. All the stainless-steel appliances had been gleaming and there hadn’t been so much as a wipe smear on the black granite bench tops. Curiosity drove her downstairs to check his pantry. Sure enough the shelves were packed in precise order, sauces and spices lined up for easy access, other staples grouped together. It was certainly the most efficient way to organise a kitchen. Maybe he was a genius at time and motion.
Daisy couldn’t help being impressed by this aspect of his character. She was a bit of a neat freak herself, liking to know where everything was so she didn’t get frustrated hunting for mislaid items, wasting time that wouldn’t need to be wasted if a bit
Especially handsome men who always put what they wanted above every other consideration.
It certainly wouldn’t be good for her to get interested in Ethan Cartwright, she fiercely told herself. Nevertheless, he had shown enough concern for her crisis to give her this job, which gave some credit to his character. On the other hand, he could well afford it, so maybe not too much credit. Paying her salary was probably only a drop in the bucket to him, totally negligible. However, her own pride insisted she earn it as best shecould and it was about time she set about doing something active instead of churning over feelings that had nothing to do with work.
Anxious to be in hearing distance when the chandelier people and the architect called at the house, she remained inside, taking up Ethan Cartwright’s invitation to check out the rest of the rooms. He’d set up a computer work station in his office. The utility room was already furnished with a washing machine and clothes dryer, ready for his use. She noticed there was a handy chute in one corner for dirty clothes to be dropped down from upstairs. Very convenient. The powder room under the staircase was positively luxurious—mostly gleaming white with artistic touches of black and silver.
The bedrooms upstairs were huge compared to most modern standards, all of them with built-in cupboards and en suite bathrooms. The master suite, which was the only one furnished and obviously being used, was enormous. Not only did it have its own private bathroom with a jacuzzi and a shower big enough for two, but a large dressing room, as well.
Daisy could hardly believe there was nothing out of place in any of these rooms. No towels left on the floor, no toiletries sprawled over the vanity bench in the bathroom where she could still smell the lingering scent of his aftershave cologne, which undoubtedly occupied a shelf in the mirrored cupboard above the vanity bench. She didn’t look for it, uneasy enough about this much intrusion of privacy.
It felt weirdly intimate just staring at the colour coordinated rows of clothes in his dressing room, with the matching shoes precisely lined up in specially maderacks below them. It had surprised her that his bed had been made, not left in disarray, but all this…was Ethan Cartwright obsessively neat or did he simply like everything in order?
Daisy shook her head in sheer bemusement. She’d never known a man who wasn’t messy—her brothers, her father, past boyfriends, Carl in particular, stepping out of their clothes, leaving them on the floor, piling dirty dishes in the sink, shoes being dropped wherever they took them off. They didn’t actually expect a woman to clean up after them. Mess didn’t seem to bother them. She wondered why Ethan Cartwright was different.
Even the kitchen had been absolutely pristine, though he must have made himself some breakfast since he was living here. All the stainless-steel appliances had been gleaming and there hadn’t been so much as a wipe smear on the black granite bench tops. Curiosity drove her downstairs to check his pantry. Sure enough the shelves were packed in precise order, sauces and spices lined up for easy access, other staples grouped together. It was certainly the most efficient way to organise a kitchen. Maybe he was a genius at time and motion.
Daisy couldn’t help being impressed by this aspect of his character. She was a bit of a neat freak herself, liking to know where everything was so she didn’t get frustrated hunting for mislaid items, wasting time that wouldn’t need to be wasted if a bit
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