Chapter 11

“MS. SCOTT,” Preston said on Thursday morning. “I have a standing engagement on Thursdays, so I would appreciate it if you would leave early and take a long lunch. Plan on being back about two o’clock.”

“Certainly, Mr. Carver. I’ve looked over your grocery list and noted a couple of items that we should have added. I’ll take care of that over my lunch break.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s what I depend on you for. After lunch, let’s plan on finishing the hotel model and positioning it on the map. You are doing a good job on the painting.”

“Thank you, sir. Have a good lunch.”

Erin picked up her jacket and headed for the elevator. Jacqueline had told her to expect this. When she’d looked at Mr. Carver’s grocery order, she recognized two of the dishes he was planning. She quickly checked his kitchen and discovered he was missing two ingredients that she would normally use if she was cooking. It was a little cheeky, she supposed, but better to have the ingredients on hand than to reach a critical part of the recipe and not have them.

Mr. Carver’s routines were rather comfortable, even though she’d only been in his office three and a half days. She didn’t mind the domestic work and found some of the office work challenging. She’d started with editing drafts of an outline for a presentation that would soon be given to the board, and forwarding them to Mr. Duval. Then Mr. Carver had shown her the model painting supplies and she’d begun painting the miniatures that would be placed on the terrain map. It was almost like working on handcrafts, and she’d always enjoyed that.

She ate her lunch in the deli section of the supermarket. She figured she might as well get her own groceries while she was there. She had plenty of time to take them home before returning to work.

While she cruised the aisles, she saw a guy in a gray hoodie sweatshirt and caught her breath. No. It wasn’t Jerry. Under the open front sweatshirt, the guy was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt. He wore no mask, and had a full gray beard. It reminded Erin that her regular lunch customer would be at the diner today. She should have gone there to greet him and tell him of her good fortune in landing the job. She knew Dolores would take care of him and tell him where she was, but it would have been better if she’d told him herself.

She would consider going to the diner next week. It wouldn’t be too late to tell him then.

She got back to the office right at two o’clock. If she judged him correctly, punctuality was important to her boss. He was at his desk, head down over his project. She quickly hung her jacket and took the spices to the kitchen. She’d taken time while brewing coffee in the mornings to check the organization of the space. His spice drawer was unsurprisingly in alphabetical order. She carefully moved the bottles to insert the two she’d purchased. Then she hurried back to her desk.

“Miss Scott!”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is ready for you to paint.”

She went immediately to his desk and he pointed to a model of the hotel. He had a sheet of color samples and bottles of paint.

“This is the color of the logs I want on the bulk of the hotel. You should be able to tell what is concrete and should paint the windows so they have the appearance of glass.”

“I can do that.”

“Of course. Take it and g-go!”

“Are you well, Mr. Carver?” Erin asked, concerned at the tone of his voice. “Can I get you anything?”

“J-j-just take it. I’m going up ... stairs to r-r-r ... sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

Erin gathered up the model and the paints and took them to a secondary work table next to the larger model. The light was better on this table than at her desk, so she was able to carefully examine the tiny lodge-type hotel and the paints. He’d spent some time the previous day carefully explaining the painting process and color palette, showing her some of his techniques. He’d even supplied a kind of lab coat she could wear to protect her suit. He’d been remarkably patient, not at all the short and grumpy attitude he’d just displayed. She supposed his luncheon engagement must not have gone well.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, conscious that at any time he could come to the railing and look down at what she was doing. She quickly checked her calendar to be sure he had no appointments or virtual meetings this afternoon. He was clear. She started painting.

About thirty minutes later, he came back down the stairs looking far more refreshed and pulled together. He looked over her work and nodded, then returned to his desk where he had drawings open on four screens.

They worked on in silence until five o’clock. Erin cleaned her brushes and made sure everything was in its proper place, then circulated around the room resetting cubes and making sure everything had been wiped down once again. In his bedroom, she smoothed out the bedding where he had apparently lain down on top of it.

“Good evening, Mr. Carver,” she said once she’d retrieved her jacket and turned off her desk light.

“Yes. Good evening. Better day tomorrow.”

Erin left.

He hadn’t meant to be so short with his assistant, but... Damn it! He’d gotten used to his once-a-week lunch in the diner and actually liked the waitress, Maizie. They didn’t talk much, but it was ... comfortable. He’d even imagined that he might ask her out that day.

But it had been a disappointment. Another girl—a bumbling trainee—had been wearing Maizie’s nametag. The owner of the diner did her best to fill in and told him Maizie had succeeded in getting a new job and was no longer at the diner. He knew she’d gone through some rough times, including a divorce and selling her house. He wished her the best in the future. But he just hadn’t considered that would mean he would no longer see her.

It had ruined his lunch. He wasn’t sure what the special of the day was. He’d eaten it, head down and eyes shaded. It would have been much better if Maizie had served it. That wasn’t even her name! Well, it was the end of an era. That was all.

Preston had resolved last fall that he would make some changes in his life. He would conquer his irrational anxiety over being out among people. It was why he’d agreed to the one disastrous date his mother set up for him. And it was why once a week, he pretended to be someone else and went out to eat the special at the little diner. He’d intended to choose a different restaurant each week, but having met Maizie and discovering how accommodating she was to his quirks, he’d never gone anywhere else.

In all this time, he’d learned very little about her. She’d mentioned planning to start a family, but then her disastrous divorce changed her plans. Her husband must have been a real idiot to cheat on a treasure like Maizie—or whatever her real name was.

If she’d been my wife, I’d find a way to show her how important she was every day.

That was a laugh. As if she’d even consider dating him unless she knew how rich he was. If he could just be Jerry, like he’d told her he was, maybe he’d stand a chance. If he could find her. Perhaps he could get Ms. Scott to search for her. He thought she would just consider it part of her job.

Not that Ms. Scott wasn’t pleasant company in the office, but she was an employee. He’d automatically erected some mental barriers against thinking of her in any other way. She was a good co-worker. She liked things perfect, just like Preston did. If he could keep from blowing up at her whenever something went wrong, maybe he could keep her as an assistant.

He hadn’t wasted time on niceties with her. In fact, he’d given her tasks he wasn’t sure Mrs. Armstrong could have handled. In her first week, she’d been his interface with Duval and compiled his notes on the upcoming board meeting. She’d proven herself capable in painting the models he gave her. She’d spotted a missing ingredient for his Saturday meal, and had replenished his moisturizer, even though he hadn’t mentioned it was running low.

His mother had either done an extraordinary job of training her, or Ms. Scott was a natural. He could even imagine them becoming friends, sort of. Nothing more, of course. She was an employee first and foremost.

He thought of Maizie again. It was silly. He didn’t really know what she looked like. She wore a mask in the restaurant, just as he did. He thought her hair was blonde, based on a few strands that escaped from her little waitress hat. She had nice legs. The diner uniforms stopped about mid-thigh and showed an expanse of lovely bare leg down to her ankle socks and tennis shoes. The waitress uniforms were not form-fitting, but Preston had immediately jumped to the conclusion that she was pretty.