9. Hailey
9
HAILEY
As Grant had said, the guys went out on Friday night. They didn’t wear suits this time, but they still looked good. Grant had on a leather jacket and jeans. Theo had on an olive green button-down that looked good with his eyes. Ian was dressed in tan slacks and a Henley shirt. It was nice to see him looking relaxed. Bennett was the only one who looked uptight. He had on a rust-colored button-down shirt that didn’t go well with his skin tone.
Good.
Nelson was the only one I didn’t see leaving. He was probably up in his room, which was fine with me. In a funny way, he was growing on me. He was the least polished and certainly the least showered among the men, but he kept to himself and made no demands of me.
I liked that in a frat boy.
It would have been nice to take the time to study for my class, but instead, I had to prep for something else. I spent hours flipping through that cookbook someone had left me, trying to find a meal that would be fancy enough for Bennett but also not so difficult that I couldn’t do it.
That was a tall order.
Finally, I decided on a recipe for beef tenderloin medallions with red wine reduction. I’d never tried a red wine reduction, but I found a demonstration online from a guy with a cooking channel. He explained the process in a way even I could understand, which was pretty remarkable since the chef was a good-looking guy in his mid-twenties.
Seemed like everyone who gained any online fame had to have a gimmick, and his was that he was shirtless under the white apron he wore. I kept getting distracted by the way the muscles in his biceps moved as he stirred. Or the light coating of hair on his well-defined pecs.
Those were things I never used to notice. Maybe living in a frat house with lots of good-looking guys was supercharging my hormones or something. The important point was that I learned some new cooking techniques, not that the instructor was hot.
Nevertheless, I bookmarked his channel for future reference.
Then Saturday morning I got a rude awakening.
Literally.
I woke up from a deep sleep to the sound of knocking on my door. Knocking that didn’t stop.
Blearily, I looked at the time. It was just after seven.
I pulled on my robe, pushed my hair out of my eyes, and stumbled to the door.
Blinking, I pulled it open. A wall of male chests blocked my vision, and I had to tilt my head up to bring the smirking faces into focus.
It was Bennett and Grant.
“Did we wake you, Sleeping Beauty?” Grant looked smug, as if he’d caught me doing something shameful.
I had bedhead and probably red marks on my face. So if he’d been hoping to catch me looking like a sex kitten in the morning, he was probably very disappointed. Good.
But they were still my bosses. “Is there something you need?”
“I wanted to inform you that there will be four of us for dinner tonight,” Bennett said, as if he couldn’t have sent that information in a text.
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” I kept having to blink rapidly to bring his face back into focus. It had been a long week, and I was still groggy.
“Do you work in the mornings on Saturday, too?” Bennett asked.
“On Saturdays I volun— tarily go to my other job.” Oops, I’d almost revealed that on Saturdays, I helped out at the nursing home that had taken such good care of my grandfather during his final weeks. They didn’t need to know that I was headed toward an optional task. Bennett already seemed determined to cut into my mornings as much as he could.
Grant cocked an eyebrow. “How many jobs do you have?”
“A few.” That was all the information they were getting.
His gaze traveled down my body, and I almost gave a smirk of my own. If he’d thought he’d see me in a skimpy little nightgown, he was sadly mistaken. The dark blue terry cloth robe, which had once been my grandpa’s, covered me as thoroughly as a parka would have.
“Well, clean the first floor when you’re back,” Bennett said.
“My room could use a little housekeeping,” Grant said. “For my bed, I prefer hospital corners and a brunette on my pillow. I mean a mint on my pillow.” He winked. “I always get those two words mixed up.”
I had to look away from the intensity of his blue eyes. He was so over-the-top good-looking. If you did a search for “handsome young American man” he’d be in the top ten search results. Maybe the top five. But his personality definitely wasn’t first-page material.
“I wouldn’t hold your breath about either,” I said, and Grant laughed.
The morning at the nursing home passed quickly. There was a lot to do there, and I was happy to help. My friend Naomi drove us. I’d originally met her at the nursing home when my grandfather was there. I still didn’t know her all that well, but she was nice, and an excellent massage therapist. Needless to say, she was very popular among the nursing home residents.
The nursing home was in Sloane’s Summit, about twenty miles outside of Haverford. I enjoyed the ride. I missed driving, and it was great to see the mountains. Hell, it was great to talk to another woman. Lately, most of my conversations had been with good-looking but stubborn frat boys.
My good mood vanished as soon as I got back to the Rho Kappa Alpha house. Tonight would be my second time preparing dinner for them, and the first time sure hadn’t gone well. At least today I didn’t have to rush to the grocery store. And, thanks to Theo’s advice, and the video from that hot internet chef, it felt like I had a fighting chance to do better tonight.
By the time I heard the guys sit down in the dining room, I was as ready as I could be. Well, the food was ready. Mentally, I was nervous. This job required cooking and cleaning, and I wouldn’t be able to keep it if I could only do half of that to their satisfaction.
I took a few deep breaths and then carried the wine into the room. They were all there—Bennett, Grant, Theo, and Ian—and three of them looked surprised when I entered.
I kept my expression impassive as I approached, but I almost smiled when Theo caught my eye. Keeping his hand at his side, shielded from the others’ view, he gave me a subtle thumbs up.
Well, at least one of them recognized that I’d tried. My hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, keeping it off my face. I was wearing a white t-shirt and the only pair of black dress pants I owned. To top off the look, I’d come across a variety of white aprons in a drawer in the kitchen. I wore one tied around my waist and hanging down almost to my ankles. The internet had called that “bistro style.”
I served Bennett first—as president, he would surely expect that. He said nothing as I poured the wine from his left side. Then Grant. Then Ian because he was closer. I didn’t think that he or Theo would care what order I served them in.
Bennett didn’t say anything nice—but he also didn’t say anything mean, and I felt bolstered as I walked back to the kitchen. The idea to dress up had come to me after my visit to the nursing home today. Old Mr. Drews had been cranky, yelling at me when I made his bed and scoffing at the selection of books I’d brought him from the rec room.
When I was about at my wit’s end, Naomi appeared. She explained to me how Mr. Drews had been a professor in the Langley engineering department, and how he’d been one of the best there was. She called him Dr. Drew, and by the time she left, the old man was much more content.
There was a lesson to be learned there, along the lines of “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Bennett had an inflated opinion of himself. He liked to feel superior. So, if I wanted to get him off my back, I’d have to give him what he wanted. And that, as far as I could tell, was me in a subservient role. It bristled, but hey, it was what I’d been hired for. If dressing like this and trying to act like a professional cook and waitress meant that Bennett scolded me less, then I’d do it. To him, it probably looked like I was doing it to appease him, but I was actually just trying to make my life easier.
My nerves steadied as I served the meal, bringing it out plated like a restaurant dish. I did my best to channel the persona of a discreet, professional waiter at a high-end restaurant. It seemed to help appease Bennett.
When it was time to collect their plates, I noted that most of them were clean. That pleased me—and not just because it might mean that Bennett wouldn’t yell. I’d worked hard on that food and was glad they liked it.
As I gathered the last two plates, Theo got up, gave me a quick smile, and then went out into the front lounge area.
“Get me one of my beers, Hailey,” Grant said. It wasn’t a request, but his entitlement was usually easier to take than Bennett’s grumpiness.
I returned with his bottle at the same time Theo showed up with his own. He also had three undersized wine glasses. He sat down and poured an amber liquid into the glasses, and I realized it was some kind of after-dinner drink. There was a name for that kind of thing, but I couldn’t remember it.
I gave Grant his beer and then turned to leave, but Bennett stopped me. “Wait.”
I turned around, trying to look ready and eager to serve, but Bennett took his time, drinking from the little glass and then wiping his mouth with his napkin. Finally, he spoke again. “We’re hosting a party on Friday.”
Uh-oh. I’d heard all kinds of bad things about their parties.
“You’re expected to help out.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I bit my lip, thinking things through. “What will I do? Prepare snacks?” I had no idea how many students came to that kind of thing.
Bennett rolled his eyes, as if a second grader had said she wanted to fly a commercial airliner. “We have food brought in from a caterer in town. There’ll be over a hundred people here on Friday—you can barely manage to feed four.”
The insult hurt, after how hard I’d tried tonight, but I kept my face neutral. Ian, however, shot Bennett a nasty look.
“You’ll clean up spills, fetch things when needed, and tend the bar,” Bennett continued.
The word fetch was another insult, but another issue was more pressing. “I, uh, don’t know anything about bartending.”
“That’s obvious. You have nearly a week. I suggest you learn.”
“And we can help,” Theo added. Bennett didn’t seem to like that—one of his frat brothers offering to help the staff probably offended his sensibilities, but I appreciated Theo’s offer.
“All right. Anything else?” I wished I could have taken back that last part, but it was too late.
“Go clean the kitchen now. Tomorrow, focus on our rooms and the bathrooms upstairs.” He turned to Grant and started a conversation. Clearly, I was dismissed.
It was a relief to get away from them, but my shoulders slumped as I re-entered the kitchen. A huge mess awaited me. Grant had called me Cinderella when I cleaned his room the other day. It was beginning to feel like that was true. Except I was pretty sure that no handsome prince awaited me. Nor that I could get a pumpkin to sprout wheels and replace my car.
With a sigh, I dove in. Tomorrow was Sunday—it had probably been foolish of me to think I’d get a day to myself. That meant I’d be up late tonight studying. I sighed as I went over to the sink and started rinsing dishes. Oh well. Who needed sleep? More time studying meant less time trying not to roll off of twin sheets sliding around on a king-size mattress.
When I got back to my room, I wasn’t quite as exhausted as I thought I’d be. So it was time to hit the books. My class wasn’t going very well. Professor Whitmore was great, but there was so much reading. When I could, I preferred to do the readings twice. Once to get the gist of the material and the second time to take notes. But I rarely had the time for that kind of thing.
I worked at my desk until well after one o’clock. By that time, I was beat. I shut off my laptop and closed my book. Then my phone buzzed.
No one I knew would be texting me at this time of the night—unless Bennett or Grant decided they wanted a glass of water or a bedtime story.
I thumbed my phone on and stared at the message that popped up.
Why are you up so late?
I frowned, examining the number the message had been sent from. It wasn’t a local area code. I’d never even heard of it before. Was it spam?
But the sender knew I was up. That meant it was someone who’d seen the light under my door or the light in my window from outside.
Who is this? Maybe one of the guys had a second phone number that I didn’t recognize.
A fellow night owl.
That didn’t narrow it down. We were on a university campus. Lots of people were up late. Is this Theo? I texted.
You can call me Night Owl. That wasn’t confirmation or denial. What should I call you?
How about my name? I should’ve ended the conversation and climbed into bed, but for some reason, I didn’t. Maybe curiosity? Maybe stupidity. Who knew. If it turned out I was chatting with a Nigerian Prince, I’d be kicking myself. Not that I had much money to steal.
Nah. That’s who you are in the daytime. After midnight, we become different people.
I don’t know who you are by day or by night.
That’s okay. So who are you? Pick a nocturnal animal.
For a moment I couldn’t think of any. Then a few came to mind. Raccoons. Possums. Bats. Owls—no wait, he’d taken that.
A bat?
I like it. I’ll call you Batty for short.
I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s longer.
Up is down, black is white… nothing’s the same after midnight.
If you say so. Maybe it was my fatigue, but his lack of logic was somehow making sense to me. So how do you use your secret after-midnight identity? For good or evil?
Depends on my mood. Both can be fun.
Who was this guy? Are you in Rho Kappa Alpha? He had to be, didn’t he?
Not sure they let owls join. This guy was good at avoiding answering.
Suddenly, his good and evil idea took hold of me. I’d been good all day, why not be a little bad now? I hope you’re not in the frat.
Why do you say that, my little bat friend?
Because the men here are awful. They’re all stuck up, arrogant jerks. And ugly, too. That last part definitely wasn’t true. As for the rest of it, it depended on the guy.
Really? Seems like they’re pretty popular on campus.
They’re all losers who think they’re big shots.
I’m not going to take the bait, Batty.
I wrinkled my nose at that. ‘Batty’ makes me sound like I’m crazy.
Well, wouldn’t you have to be crazy to live in a house full of guys you describe as ugly losers?
You have a point there.
Anyway, if you don’t like Batty, how about Wombat?
I paused, turning the name over in my head. Are they nocturnal?
No clue. They’re small and cute, though. Like you.
Well, anyone would look cute next to the trolls who live here.
He sent me a winking emoji. You’re really doubling down on calling these guys ugly. Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?
That was another good point. Both? Neither? At any rate, I should get to bed.
Yeah, it’s probably time for you to go crawl into your den or hole or sewer or wherever it is that wombats live.
He’d made me grin again. I’m pretty sure they don’t live in sewers. They’re not ninja turtles. I vowed to do a little wombat research before next time.
Wait, next time? For some reason, the idea didn’t bother me. Goodnight, whoever you are.
Sleep well, my batty little wombat.
I smiled and shook my head as I set my phone on the desk. While I changed into my pajamas, I replayed the strange conversation in my mind. It had been weird. Very weird.
But not unpleasant.