CHAPTER 154: CHAPTER 154 WRONG IDEA

When he leaves the room, it’s as if a storm has passed overhead to wreak havoc elsewhere, in the hallway, perhaps.

Danica breathes a sigh of relief, grateful that he’s gone. She hears him on the phone, his voice deep but melodious. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so acutely aware of someone else before.

She must stop thinking about him and concentrate on cleaning! She finishes dusting the piano, though she can’t shake the uncanny feeling that he’d been watching her while she cleaned.

No. That’s impossible.

Why would he be watching me?

Maybe he’s checking on her cleaning capabilities like Ximena.

Danica smiles at the silly idea and realizes she feels a great deal warmer than she did when she arrived. She isn’t sure if the heat is within the room or within herself.

Warmed by his presence.

Her ludicrous train of thought elicits another smile. As he’s out of the room, she seizes the opportunity to run and fetch the vacuum cleaner. The Boss is at the end of the hall leaning against the wall, all long legs and restless foot-tapping. He is talking into the phone in a low tone, but he watches her as she goes into the kitchen.

She carries the vacuum cleaner into the living room to find him back at his desk but still talking on the phone. He rises when he sees her. “Hold on a minute, Jacob. Go ahead,” he says to her, and he waves in the direction of the room, granting Danica permission to vacuum as he leaves once more.

He’s undone the black hoodie he’s wearing. Underneath she sees a gray V- neck T-shirt that has a black winged coronet and LA 1781 written on it. She flushes as she notices a little chest hair peeking through the top of the V.

In her mind she hears the sister’s voice scolding her in that tone she has: Danica! What are you doing!

I am looking at a man, sister Grace.

A man I find attractive.

A man who makes my blood run hotter.

She imagines the sister’s scandalized expression, and it makes her smile.

Oh, sister, it’s so different outside the orphanage. Men. Women. How they behave. Their interaction.

Danica’s mind goes to a darker place. To him.

No. Do not think of that man.

She was safe now.

And she must concentrate on keeping her job.

The vacuum cleaner is a make called Henry. Painted on his red cylinder are two big eyes and a smile. Whenever she sees Henry, she can’t help but smile. She plugs him into the wall and begins to vacuum the rug and the wooden floor. Fifteen minutes later she’s finished.

The Boss is not in the hallway as she pulls Henry back to his sleeping place in the laundry room cupboard. Danica gives him a friendly pat before shutting the cupboard door and heading into the kitchen.

“Hi,” the Boss says as he comes into the kitchen. “I have to go out. Your money is on the console table. You can lock up and set the alarm?”

She nods, so blinded by his broad smile that she has to stare down at the floor. But inside her, joy unfurls like a morning glory because he’s leaving and she’ll be able to play the piano.

He hesitates for a moment before holding out a large black umbrella.

“You’re welcome to borrow this. It’s still raining cats and dogs outside.”

Cats and dogs?

Danica stunned. She glances quickly at his face, and her heart skips a beat at his warm smile and this generous gesture. She takes it from him. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“You’re welcome. Until Wednesday, Danica,” he says, and he leaves her alone in the kitchen. A few moments later, she hears the front door close.

Danica stares at the umbrella. It’s old-fashioned, with a wooden handle and a gold collar. It is exactly what she needs. Marveling at the Boss’ generosity, she wanders into the living room and sits down at the piano.

She props the umbrella up against the end of the keyboard and in honor of the terrible weather begins to play Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude.

**********

*LORENZO*

I basked and glowed in the wake of Danica’s whispered “Thank you.” I am ridiculously pleased with myself.

I’m finally able to help her with this small gesture. I’m not accustomed to doing good deeds, though I probably have an ulterior motive for my kindness, a motive I don’t want to analyze too deeply right now, as it might confirm I’m the shallow fucking bastard I think I am.

Still, I feel good about this gesture, and it’s a novel feeling.

With renewed energy I bypass the lift and fly down the main staircase to the ground floor. I’m reluctant to leave, but I have a meeting with the board and various contractors at the Mayfair development.

***************

Walking around the baby grand piano, I think about Danica stretched across it while she was buffing the ebony to a glossy shine. It gleams under the chandelier. Who would have thought I’d be so attracted to a woman in a nylon housecoat and large pink panties?

How could she have worked her way under my skin in such a short time? I know nothing about her, except she’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. The women in my life are bold and confident and know what they want and how to ask for it. She’s not like that. Demure and totally focused on her job, Danica seems reluctant to engage with me...almost as if she wants to be invisible. She confounds me.

Her shy acceptance of the umbrella comes to mind and makes me smile. She was so surprised and appreciative, and I wonder what her life must be like that she’s so grateful for such a simple gesture.

I sit on the piano stool and read through my first manuscript, recalling her face as she pored over the score. Perhaps she reads music. Maybe she even plays. And part of me wants to know what she thinks of my composition. But I realize I’m just speculating. My only certainty right now is the dull ache in my groin.

Fuck it. Go out and get laid.

But instead I stay at the piano, playing each song over and over in turn.

*************

Danica lies on the small folding cot that serves as her bed in her tiny room that she had managed to rent. Her mind is churning, she has so much to do, but her thoughts return once again to the green-eyed boss. She sees him at the piano. His eyes closed, his brow furrowed, and his mouth slack as he feels the music, and later his warm expression as he hands her the umbrella. His hair rumpled and his full lips curved in an inviting smile. She wonders what they would be like to kiss.

Her hand moves down her body, over her breast.

He could kiss her here.

She gasps, embracing her fantasy, and her hand moves farther down, and she imagines that it’s his hand on her.

Touching her.

Here.

She starts to caress herself, stifling her moans, mindful of the thin walls of her room.

She thinks of him as her body builds. Climbing.

Higher.

His face.

His back.

His long legs.

She climbs further. His taut behind. His flat stomach.

She groans as she comes, and, exhausted, she falls asleep. Only to dream of him.

*********

*LORENZO*

I toss and turn in my sleep.

She stands in the doorway. A vision in blue.

Come in. Lie with me. I want you.

But she turns, and she’s in my drawing room. Polishing the piano.

She’s wearing nothing but pink panties.

I reach over to touch her, but she disappears.

And I wake.

Fuck.

I’m hard. Painfully so.

Hell. I need to get out more.

I take quick care of myself.

When was the last time I did this? I need to get laid. Tomorrow. That’s what I’ll do. I turn over and fall into a fitful sleep.

**************

Danica cannot contain her excitement. She clutches the umbrella and enters his apartment. Today she’s pleased to note that the alarm doesn’t sound.

He’s here!

Last night in her narrow bed, she’d dreamed of him again, malachite- green eyes, shining smile, and that expressive face, engrossed in his music as he played the piano. She’d woken breathless and full of desire. And the last time she’d seen him, he’d been kind enough to lend her his umbrella, and it had kept her dry on the way home and all day yesterday.

She’d not received much kindness since she came here, except from Ximena, of course, so his gesture meant that much more. Pulling off her boots and leaving the umbrella in the hall, she hurries through to the kitchen. She is excited to see him.

She stops on the threshold.

Oh, no!

A blond woman wearing nothing but a man’s shirt, his shirt, is standing in the kitchen making coffee. She looks up and gives Danica a polite but warm smile.

Danica recovers her capacity to move and walks through the kitchen toward the laundry room with her head bowed, in shock.

“Good morning,” the woman says. She looks as though she’s just climbed out of bed.

His bed?

“Good morning, ma’am,” Danica mumbles as she walks past her. Once in the laundry room, she stands for a moment to process this crushing turn of events.

Who is this woman with big blue eyes?

Why is she wearing his shirt? A shirt Danica had ironed for him only last week.

This woman is with him. She must be. Why else is she wandering around wearing his shirt? She must know him intimately.

Intimately.

Of course he has someone. Someone beautiful.

Like him.

Danica’s dreams lie in shards at her feet. Her face clouds as disappointment constricts her heart. Sighing, she removes her hat, gloves, and anorak and slips on her housecoat.

What did she expect? He will never be interested in her, she is just his cleaner. Why would he want her?

The small bubble of joy she’d felt this morning, the first in a long time has burst. She puts on her sneakers and sets up the ironing board. Her earlier excitement is a distant memory as she’s forced to face reality.

From the dryer she fishes out his clean laundry, transferring it into the ironing basket. This is her place. This is what she was raised to do: keep house and look after a man.

She can still admire him from afar as she’s done since she saw him naked on his bed. There is nothing to stop her from doing that.

Feeling discouraged, she exhales as she fills the iron with more water.

*******************

*LORENZO*

Danica stands in the doorway. A vision in blue.

Slowly she removes her scarf and lets her plait swing free.

Shake your hair out for me.

She smiles.

Come in. Lie with me. I want you.

But she turns, and she’s in my drawing room. Polishing the piano. Studying my score.

She’s wearing nothing but pink panties.

I reach over to touch her, but she disappears.

She’s standing in the hall. Eyes wide. Clutching a broom. Naked.

She has long legs. I want them wrapped around my waist.

“I made you some coffee,” Carla whispers.

I groan, reluctant to wake. A large part of my anatomy is also enjoying my dream.

Fortunately, I’m on my front, so my erection is pressing against the mattress, hidden from my childhood friend.

“You have no food. Should we go out for breakfast, or should I order us something?”

I groan again, which is my way of saying fuck off and leave me alone. But Carla is persistent.

“I met your new cleaner. She’s very young. What happened to Ximena?”

Shit! Danica is here?

I roll over to find Carla sitting on the side of the bed. “Do you want me to get back in?” she asks with a coy smile, her head nodding toward the pillow.

“No,” I answer, gazing at her lovely but disheveled state. “You made coffee dressed like that?”

“Yes.” She frowns. “Why? Does my body offend you? Or are you pissed off I’m wearing one of your shirts?”

I have the grace to laugh, and I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Danica will get the wrong idea.

Fuck. Why do I care?