Chapter Twenty-Four
I am never going to be able to fall asleep tonight. After Jonathan joined me in his train fort, I dozed off again. When I woke up, he was gone.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, I ask Gerard, “Have you ever taken a nap in the Depot room?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Silver would frown on his staff sleeping in his playroom.”
“You’ve got to try it,” I tell him. “Seriously, I’ll keep watch, so you don’t get found out.”
He shakes his head. “I need this job, so I’m going to have to pass.”
Martin walks in and sits down next to me. “Not much butlering to do with only me here, huh?”
He shakes his head before offering, “I could iron your clothes for you, if you’d like.”
“I don’t wear clothes that require ironing.”
Looking me up and down, and no doubt finding my choice of outfit a little wanting, he suggests, “I could shine your shoes.”
“This job must bore you to death, Martin.” Then I look at Gerard and say, “It must bore you all to death.”
Martin shrugs. “It’s a good job and it pays well, so who are we to complain?”
My two new friends share a look which seems to involve a telepathic question and answer session, before Martin stands up and announces, “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my office,” he says.
“You have an office?”
“Every household manager/butler in Beverly Hills has an office. I need my own phone, desk, and filing system to keep everything in order around here.” He leads the way around the island and stops in front of a large cabinet door.
“Your office is in a cabinet?” I ask, somewhat astonished. Gerard laughs in the background.
“Yes,” Martin answers before opening the door. “Follow me,” he says.
“Martin, I’m not sure you’ll fit in that cabinet, yet alone both of us.” What in the world is going on here? As I think that, I watch Martin fully disappear.
“Go on,” Gerard says. “Unless you want me to go first.”
“You think three of us can fit in there?”
The smile on his face indicates how much he’s enjoying this. Gerard walks around the island toward the same door Martin just disappeared through, all the while saying, “We could fit more than twenty people in there if we wanted to.” Then he disappears, as well.
Clearly, there’s a hidden room. I follow excitedly behind the two men only to discover so much more than a room. There’s a staircase. I proceed cautiously like I’m climbing through the mouth of an unknown beast, but soon find out there is no reason to worry.
At the bottom of the stairs is a large family room kind of setup. There are two couches, ottomans, and side tables all on top of a super plush cream-colored carpet. “This is your office?” I ask in shock.
Martin points to a desk in the corner. “That’s my office. The rest of the space is for the staff while we’re waiting for something to do.”
Gerard announces, “I’ve binge-watched every episode of Dr. Who this year.”
“Not that I’m not thrilled you guys have such great employment, but why does Jonathan have so much staff if he doesn’t need you?”
A look of concern crosses Martin’s features. “He does need us, just not as much as he will when he has a wife and kids.”
“I can’t wait until we throw proper dinner parties here,” Gerard adds.
“Greta and Helga will be great with kids and heaven knows they’ll have their hands full cleaning up after them.”
“You make it sound like a dream home for a family,” I say wistfully.
“More than anything, we want to make this the perfect family home and be a part of nurturing the family that lives here,” Martin says.
“Well, shoot, I want you to be my family,” I tell them. “Of course, I bring parents and a sister with me, but there’s enough room for all of us here.” When I see the look of excitement cross their faces, I hurry to explain, “You know, if I win the lottery and can convince Jonathan to sell me his house.”
“There’s another way,” Gerard suggests with clear mischief in his eyes.
I hurry to dissuade him of any ideas he might be having. “I’m here so that Jonathan can find love in my neighborhood, not with me.”
“Why not with you?” Martin wants to know.
“Because if he were meant to find love with me, I’d know.”
“How?” Gerard asks. “Is that part of your talent, that you know when you find someone you’re meant to be with?”
“Clearly not,” I reply with a degree of frustration at this conversation. “I’m single and haven’t been part of a couple in a very long time. My gift seems to work for everyone but me.”
“Then how do you know Mr. Silver isn’t the man for you?” Gerard persists.
I ignore his question and walk around the room. “How big is that television screen?” I ask.
“Just under seven feet,” Martin answers. “Which is about six feet too big when Helga and Greta are down here watching Outlander. My word, that show is practically pornographic.”
His mortification is evident as two bright spots form on his cheeks.
Meanwhile, if I could fit a seven-foot television in my living room to watch Outlander on, I’d do it in a heartbeat. “So, you all hang out down here when you’re not doing household stuff?”
Gerard sits on an overstuffed sofa and says, “Yes. Now, come join me and let’s talk about this party of yours.”
“How did you know Jonathan said yes?”
“He told me.”
Martin adds, “He spoke to all of us and said that we were to help you in any way we can. He sounded almost excited.”
“He did?” I can’t imagine, but Gerard and Martin have no reason to lie to me.
Gerard says, “I’m thinking heavy hors d’oeuvres. You’ll want primarily finger food, so people don’t have to figure out how to use knives and forks while mingling.”
“Finger food is also inherently sexier,” I add. An unbidden picture of me feeding Jonathan pops into my head—it’s lobster dripping in butter. It runs down his chin taunting me, tempting me to run my tongue over it and give it a little lick. Then, of course, my tongue might accidentally cross his lips where I would have no other choice but to kiss the man like my life depended upon it. Then his lips would part and he’d kiss me back with all the passion of a sex-starved pirate. And then we’d …
“Emily, are you listening?” Gerard breaks through my fantasy.
I quickly fan myself before answering, “Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute.” I hurry to regroup, “I want to serve those little cocktails weenies. I love them.”
Before he has a chance to answer, another voice joins the conversation. “You need to serve bratwurst, ja? Tiny wieners will not inspire romance.” Helga apparently came down while I was lost in my daydream about Jonathan.
I can’t help but giggle at her suggestion. “That might be a bit too sexy, Helga, but I’ll certainly think about it.” In the meantime, I’m hard pressed to think about anything but Jonathan. I kick my feet up on the coffee table and once again let my brain paint some pretty interesting pictures of the two of us.