11. Tatum
11
TATUM
O kay, it’s official. Rich people are way too trusting. Or maybe it’s my boss who’s lost her marbles. Who sends an address, gate code, and the location of a hide-a-key in an email labeled important info? My employer, that’s who. Or maybe I think too much like a shady person, and I’m the problem. Who knows? Regardless, I’m late. Pressing a little harder on the gas, I try to stay focused on the winding road, though my eyes keep straying to the houses lining either side. Mustard yellow, lavender gray, hydrangea blue, sage green, and creamy white colonial style houses. Each is gated with stretching green lawns leading to the front of picture-perfect homes and expertly manicured flower beds that look straight out of an agriculture magazine.
Absolutely—and annoyingly—gorgeous.
When I reach the address, I roll down the driver’s window and type the gate code into the keypad.
The wrought iron gate jerks to life, opening and letting me enter the pristine fortress as the ocean air filters through the open driver’s side window and into the cab of Rory’s car. Thank goodness she’s able to walk to and from her classes without needing a vehicle. Seriously, I owe her one. Or you know, a thousand. Salt clings to the air, and I breathe in deep, grateful my best friend decided to settle down somewhere so freaking beautiful.
Once I pull into the driveway, I cut the engine and grab a cleaning bin from the backseat loaded with all the supplies listed in my employer’s email. Heading to the side of the yard, I search for the not-so-well-disguised rock beneath a hydrangea. I pick it up and flip it over. The hide-a-key is inside like the email said it would be. Satisfied, I walk up the stone steps to the front door and insert the key. It works. My lips part as I take in the tall ceiling, winding wood stairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows giving the perfect view of the backyard, which happens to be the freaking ocean.
“Holy shit.”
Don’t get me wrong. My dad played NHL hockey. We’re definitely comfortable financially, and I was exposed to plenty of fancy shindigs, experienced a plethora of extravagant vacations, and had some pretty epic birthday parties. Not to mention the fact that my parents’ best friends included other professional hockey players. And the Buchanans. Who are the Buchanans, you might ask? They’re Rory’s parents, who are freaking bajillionaires. So, yeah. I’m used to expensive shit. But this? This is something else entirely. Maybe it’s the view. Maybe something in the air is going to my head. Maybe it’s because the ambiance isn’t tainted by being located in Lockwood Heights so I can actually appreciate it instead of resenting it. Honestly, I don’t really care about the reasons. All I know is I am officially speechless.
“That’s it. I’m moving in,” I announce to the empty house when my phone rings.
Setting the bin of cleaning supplies on the marble floor, I pat my pockets and pull out my cell, finding my best friend’s gorgeous face staring back at me from the screen.
“Hey, Rore,” I answer.
“Hey! How’s the place?”
“Uh, freaking beautiful?” I offer. “I’ve already decided I’m moving in.”
“Already, huh?” she quips.
“It’s not like you couldn’t use the extra space.” I head up the stairs but stop at the landing. There’s a perfect view of the waves lazily rolling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “So, is the sky bluer here? Is the sand whiter or something?”
“What are you talking about?” Rory asks with a laugh.
“I’m just saying, the colors I’m seeing from this view are so picturesque, I might actually vomit.”
“Just as long as you clean it up,” she replies.
With a scoff, I continue my journey to the second floor. There’s another couch, television, and bookshelf in the middle of the space, along with a handful of doors leading to various rooms. I peek inside the first one.
“So? How is it?” Rory prods.
“Massive bed. Massive window. Massive fluffy rug. Massive closet. Massive bathroom.” I tick off everything I see like it’s my grocery list, though I’m more than impressed. “Wanna bet when the owner’s home, there’s a massive ego in here, too?”
She snorts. “Nice.”
Closing the bedroom door, I move to the next one and give the knob a twist.
“Well, damn,” I mutter. “Someone likes staying in shape.”
“They have a gym?” Rory asks.
“Yup.”
There are free weights, a squat rack, a punching bag, a treadmill, a yoga mat. You name it, it’s there. Along the walls are tall, wide windows, giving a perfect view of the ocean like the one by the stairs. I close the door, continuing my perusal. Giving Rory a play-by-play, I find another bathroom, a laundry room, and two more bedrooms. Yup, it’s the whole shebang. When I reach the last door, I realize it’s cracked. Curious, I push it open. “Holy shit, there’s a music room.”
“A music room?” she asks.
“Yup, a full-blown music room.” I flick the lights on, and my jaw drops. Half a dozen guitars in a rainbow of colors sit mounted along the wall. On the opposite side is a set of drums and framed posters of different bands from the eighties, nineties, and two thousands, along with a bookshelf of records. I squint and move toward them, realizing they’re signed. The posters.
“Rore, you should see this,” I murmur.
“What is it?”
“There are records, posters, guitars, a drumset.” I move to the custom bookshelf and start flipping through the albums. Half of the options I don’t recognize, which is saying something because I’m a sucker for underground bands. The other half vary from Broken Vows to The Who to Rage Against the Machine to…my mouth lifts when my attention catches on Doomsday’s logo. “This is insane.”
“Aw, I’m so jealous,” Rory gushes. “It sounds amazing.”
“It really is, but I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“Sure thing. See ya!”
“See ya, Rore.”
Taking the Doomsday vinyl from its case, I start the record player and wait for the familiar notes I had on repeat for years. I still haven’t seen them play live. I almost bought tickets last year but decided against it. I still don’t know why. Or maybe I do. Maybe it’s because, whether or not I’d ever admit it out loud, Doomsday reminds me of Pax, and Pax reminds me of…a lot of things I’d rather not think about. Seconds later, the song starts, and I roll up my sleeves. Time for work.
By the time the house is clean, I’m convinced the owner is my soulmate. Man or woman, twenty or eighty, I don’t discriminate. This person gets me. There’s a sauna, and a gym, and a library, and a gaming room, and a hot tub overlooking the ocean.
Siiiigh . If only I was rich.
Sweat drips down my back, and my body aches. But it’s a good ache. A productive ache. Like after a good workout. When you know you’ve pushed yourself but also accomplished something. And with how freaking awesome every inch of this mansion looks? Well, I can’t help but beam up at it when the garage door opens and the familiar click-click of heels echoes from the hall.
My body freezes, my fight or flight response going haywire in an instant. My boss said no one would be here. Hell, it was one of the biggest perks when I applied. So, what am I supposed to do now?
An older woman with blonde hair pulled into a slicked-back bun stops short when she sees me.
“Hello.”
“Hi?” I offer.
“I assume you’re the maid?”
“Yes, hi,” I repeat. “My name’s Tatum.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Mindy.” Her attention barely drifts over me before she pulls her cell phone out. “Are you finished?”
“Uh, yup.” I grab the bucket from the floor and toss the last rag into it. “I assume you’re the owner?”
“This is one of my client’s residences.”
“Oh.” I hesitate. “Okay. Well, uh, if they would like me to make any changes or…do anything different during my next cleaning, tell them to reach out to my boss and she can pass the info along. Or, if they'd prefer, I can give them my direct number and?—”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
“Got it.” I grab my purse and rifle through it, finding Rory’s keys. “I guess that’s…that.” I nod. “Have a great day.”
“You, too.” She looks up from her phone. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Will you make sure the gate closes behind you when you come in? My client might enjoy the limelight, but having the paparazzi on his private property might put a damper on his day, you know what I mean?”
Enjoys the limelight? Who is the guy?
I stick a pin in the owner’s identity and pick up the bucket and rags. “Got it.”
“Thanks again, Tatum,” she adds.
“No problem.”
After tossing my supplies into the back of Rory’s car, I turn the ignition on and back down the driveway when my phone rings.
“Hey,” I answer. “Perfect timing. I just finished.”
“Yay, me, too,” Rory replies. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“I’m not sure. Are you going to be too busy to hang out with me like you were this entire week or…?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you decided to pop in and turn my life upside down at the drop of a hat, missy.”
“Touché,” I cave as I pull onto the main road. The sun is setting. Different shades of purple and orange paint the sky as a plume of smoke catches my attention.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“What’s what?”
“It looks like there’s a bonfire at the beach.”
“Oh. Yeah, some of the locals throw parties on the beach when the weather’s nice. Once it gets cold, The Pelican’s the place to be, but during the warmer months, it’s usually a toss up between the beach and the bar,” Rory explains.
“So, are we going?”
“You’re not exhausted?”
“Of course, I’m exhausted.” I laugh. “But when has that ever stopped me from going to a party?”
I swear I can hear Rory’s eyes roll through my cell, and she replies, “One day, you’re going to find a guy who convinces you to slow down and breathe.”
“It’s cute how you think that’s true,” I tease.
“A girl can hope.”
“So, is that a yes? You’ll go with me?” I prod.
Rory pauses.
“Please?” I beg. “Or we can dye our hair green…”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was cleaning, I found an unopened bottle of green dye at the house and?—”
“That’s stealing!”
“It was in the trash!”
“You rifled through their trash?” she screeches.
“It was on the top, and I already said it was unopened ,” I emphasize. “Take a chill pill, girlfriend.”
“You have problems.”
“We both have problems,” I remind her. “It’s why we’re best friends. Now, where was I?” I flip the blinker on. “Right. Sexy bonfire or green hair party?”
“Well, since you drive a hard bargain and all…”
I bite back my amusement. “Is that a yes to the green hair?”
“Tatum,” she warns.
“So, it’s a yes to the bonfire?”
Her pause brings a Cheshire grin to my face, proving I have her exactly where I want her.
“Fiiiine,” she drags out, “but you know the rules.”
“You get to shower first, and we need to be ready at the same time because if you sit down, you’ll fall asleep, and then I can kiss my wingwoman goodnight.”
“Exactly.”
“Deal.” My smile softens. “I’ll see you in a few.”