8. James
JAMES
This is where William Chapman lives? The location was decent, but the building wasn’t any nicer than my place in Queens.
I knocked twice, then took a step back. I’d agreed to take Donna Wells’s dog a month early because she was heading to Europe and the little guy was too fragile to fly. But I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep the job through the summer, not if it meant letting Emily anywhere near Theo.
The door swung open, and William’s dark eyes peered up at me. “James? What are you doing here?”
He looked nothing like the guy at that party. Instead of tight-fitting chinos outlining every curve of his perfect ass, he wore baggy sweatpants. His T-shirt was an oversized monstrosity, and his glossy black waves were gone, replaced by dry wisps of product-free hair.
“I would’ve buzzed, but someone let me in. I just came to get—” I started.
“Shit, you’re here for your shirt, aren’t you? I’m sorry. I took it to the dry cleaners this morning.”
“Actually, I came—”
“You probably won’t want it back when you see it anyway. There’s no way they’re getting that stain out. How about I just pay you? Is a hundred enough? I could probably swing two hundred.”
I nearly told him the truth, that I was there for the dog, but I wondered how high he’d go. Would he offer me a grand for my thirty-dollar shirt? “Mind if I come in?”
He looked puzzled, like nobody had ever asked him that before. “Uh, okay, sure.”
Nothing about his apartment suggested wealth or fame. Crayon scribbles covered the refrigerator door—the same stick figures, trees, and lopsided houses Theo had drawn as a child—and I recognized the IKEA couch and cube shelf.
Something warm bumped my foot, and I looked down to find a Yorkie the size of a slipper, its milky-white eyes peering up at me.
“Sorry, that’s my mom’s dog, Atticus,” William said. “He’s super old and can’t really see, hear, or smell, but he’s nice.”
I bent down and stroked the pup. “Aww, poor little guy.”
“Trust me, Atticus doesn’t need your sympathy. That dog lives better than most people could ever dream of. In fact, someone’s coming by soon to whisk him off to my mom’s lake house in Vermont.”
I sat up. “Are you telling me your mom’s dog has his own personal assistant? That’s gotta be the most degrading job ever. What kind of loser would take a gig like that?”
William shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it depends on how you look at it.
People will do just about anything for a paycheck, and at least this job doesn’t kill people or destroy the planet.
I mean, I’d way rather be my mom’s dog-sitter than some crooked politician, voting whichever way the money blows.
Do you have any idea how scary it is to run active-shooter drills with five-year-olds? ”
“Huh, never thought of it that way. Still, this dog-sitter guy can’t have much self-respect or ambition. He’s probably hideous, too. I bet he lives in his mother’s basement and uses her handicap pass to score prime parking.”
“Or he’s a genius who’s figured out there’s more to life than buying shit. And I’m sure he’s not hideous. In fact, I bet he’s super hot.”
I smiled, even though he wasn’t actually talking about me. “Oh yeah? Why do you say that?”
“Because my mom’s idea of feminism is acting like a pervy old white man. Let me put it this way. If you want a job working for my mom, you don’t need an impressive resume. You need an impressive headshot.”
I puffed out my chest and gave him my most rakish grin. “What about me? Do you think I’d get the job?”
His blush was fucking adorable. “Oh, yeah, you’d be my new daddy for sure.”
I laughed, relieved I hadn’t totally lost my charm. I scooped up Atticus and headed for the couch, but there was nowhere to sit. The cushions were covered with dozens of black-and-white composition notebooks.
“What are all these?” I asked.
“Oh, just my students’ homework books. If I don’t draw a smiley face on every page, they get upset.” William began stacking them on the coffee table. “It takes forever, but it’s my own fault for doing it that first time. Now, they won’t let me stop.”
I sank onto the cleared spot. “Want some help? I draw a mean smiley face.”
He settled on the arm of the chair opposite me and rubbed the back of his neck. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s probably better if I do it myself. It’s a confidentiality thing. I can’t even tell you their names.”
“That makes sense.” I situated Atticus on my chest and ran my hand down his bony back. “So . . . how are you doing?”
William frowned. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me. How are you really? I heard what happened.”
He winced slightly, but quickly masked it with a smile. “It’s whatever. I just feel bad for Ryan.”
“Wait, so you and Ashbury aren’t together, then? I assumed he was the boyfriend Miles was talking about, the one who’s ‘way hotter than Derek Hall.’”
William scoffed. “You know perfectly well I don’t have a boyfriend. Miles is just an asshole.”
I had figured as much, but I appreciated the confirmation.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I can give you some cash now and the rest next week, if that works. Do you have Venmo?”
“I’m not here for your money, dude. Your bodyguard already paid me, remember?”
“Yeah, but not all of it. Plus, Miles basically forced you into it.”
“He didn’t force me. I wanted to help.”
“Why?”
He asked the question with such genuine sincerity that I was compelled to answer honestly. “Because you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
He met my gaze, then looked away, busying himself by folding the blanket draped over the back of the chair. “Well, if you’re not here about the shirt, then why are you here? Are you looking for Miles?”
I shook my head. “I’m actually here to pick up this guy.” I cuddled Atticus against my chest. “I’m your mom’s new dog-sitter.”
“What? Really?”
“Yup, looks like we’re gonna be roomies this summer.”
William’s face drained of color, and he scowled, which was not the reaction I was hoping for.
“Assuming I can figure out what to do with Theo, that is,” I added.
“Who’s Theo?”
I hesitated, then lied, not wanting to get into why I was raising my nephew. “He’s my son. He’s eighteen now, so, in theory, I should be able to leave him home alone. I just don’t trust him not to burn the place down. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good kid. Just a bit of a free spirit.”
“Why don’t you just bring him, then? My mom won’t care. She’ll probably put him to work. I mean, someone has to skim bugs from the pool and freshen up her drink.”
“He actually is a decent bartender, not to mention a phenomenal cook.”
“There you go. My mom’s probably hiring a personal chef anyway. Just tell her your son will do it.”
No, I couldn’t bring Theo. He’d blow our cover. “Would you wanna eat food prepared by an obnoxious teenager?”
“Don’t worry about me. I might not even go, and if I do, I’ll probably just cook for myself.”
“What do you mean, might not go? Your mom said you’d be there the whole summer helping your dad run lines.”
He looked away. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“You mean because of Derek?”
He winced. “Yeah, among other things. Here, let me help you carry Atticus’s stuff down. Did you drive or take a cab?”
I wasn’t ready to leave yet, but I didn’t want to push my luck. “I drove. My car’s just a few blocks away.”
We made two trips, hauling an absurd amount of dog gear: pill boxes, orthopedic pillows, pee pads, beds, a six-month supply of wet food, toothbrushes, toothpaste, a suitcase of toys, snacks, a mortar and pestle. There was even an IV drip and a leather-bound manual.
Leaning against my car, I said, “Now, I know I don’t get a vote, but, for what it’s worth, I hope you decide to come up and keep me company. It can get pretty lonely out in the sticks.”
His pupils dilated, and his nostrils flared. Was he always this responsive?
“I don’t know,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “We’ll see.”
I grinned. “Mind if I drop by in a couple of days and grab the shirt? I think it’d make a cool souvenir.”
“Uh, sure, no problem.”