RUSH (City Lights, #3)(28)

I nodded. The walk-in was a mess but somewhat intoxicating. The air hung heavy with the scents of expensive clothing and cologne, overpowering anything else. Fine suits, pants, and dress shirts lined both sides of the walk-in but looked unused.

I followed Lucien to the bathroom that was on the opposite side of the room as the windows. It was a huge, cavernous space, and the most beautiful—and unique—I had ever seen. Done in modern, vibrant colors: the pebbled tiles in the enormous shower and around the huge soaker tub were a gorgeous blue-green color, while the double sinks were swathed in yellow marble. But for the mess of towels lying in piles on the floor, and remnants of messy tooth brushing in the sink, it looked like something out of a home and garden magazine.

“Wow, Lucien. I’ve never seen yellow marble.”

“Mrs. Lake was forever redoing the house to suit her fancies. The result, I’m sure you’ve noticed, is no unifying theme to the décor.” His cell phone rang and he held up one finger. “A moment, please.”

Lucien left to take his call…and kept going, all the way to the second floor. I made a face at the messy bathroom, not terribly eager to clean it, and then Noah spoke. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“I hired a cleaning service,” he said from the desk by the curtained windows. “You’re laundry, food, and errands only.”

“Oh, I thought I’d be cleaning too,” I said, coming into the bedroom. “I just assumed…”

“You assumed wrong.”

Noah had turned slightly so that his handsome face was in profile, his gaze on the wall in front of him, one ear bud in, one out. He didn’t say anything more and I began to understand how many social cues we take from people’s eyes; their facial expressions, when and how they look at you. Noah couldn’t look at me, so I found myself wondering what to do next.

“What are you listening to?” I asked lightly. “Good book?”

“Good enough. Tour’s over.” He turned his back to me. The ear bud went back in and he pushed some button on his device.

Noah, on the other hand, had his own brand of social cues.

Downstairs, Lucien finished his call and I told him what Noah had said about hiring a cleaning service. “I thought cleaning was part of my job duties.”

Lucien’s smile came back, brightening his entire face. “That was Noah’s idea, ma chere, and I’m quite astounded by it. Never mind the fact he seems to have adjusted to the idea of you living here with lightning speed, he has allowed us to hire another stranger to come into his space to clean.” He rocked back on his heels, pleased. “If that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.”

I frowned. “But why hire and pay another person? Why not just let me do it?”

Lucien raised his feathery white brows and shrugged coyly. “Je ne sais pas. You’d have to ask him. And if you do, I’d be curious as to the answer as well, for while the Lakes are paying for your salary, the cleaning service is coming out of Noah’s own pocket.”

I scrunched up my face. “How? He doesn’t even have a job.”

Lucien lowered his voice. “During his tenure with Planet X, much of Noah’s expenses were paid by the magazine. As a consequence, he saved the bulk of his pay, hardly spending a dime.”

“Oh. That’s smart.”

Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, now, I’m mistaken. He did have one indulgence: an old car. A 1968 Chevy Camaro. Black with white detailing, if I recall. You Americans would call it a ‘muscle car’ or ‘hot rod.’ He had it restored to its former glory and would race it now and then, giving his mother a fresh dose of worry every time. But Noah always loved to move fast and that car, I’m told, was the love of his life.”

“Where is it now?”

“Stowed in a garage in Florida. I have broached him on the subject of selling it. Once.” He raised a brow meaningfully. “Once.”

I could only imagine how that went over, but I could understand why Noah held on to it. As a keepsake of his former days where speed and danger were his norm. And to think, it was now holed up in a dark garage somewhere, never to be driven again.

“And now, my dear, we come to the most important of duties.”

Lucien pressed a slip of paper into my hand. It was a prescription order, signed by several doctors and listing my name at the bottom as “authorized to refill.” There were several anti-depressants listed, and a drug called Azapram. I’d never heard of it.

“This is the refill order for Noah’s medications. He won’t take any of the mood meds so you don’t have to bother with those unless he asks, but the last, Azapram, is for his migraines. He is only permitted twelve tablets at a time, as this drug is extremely powerful—and likely addictive—but it must it be refilled before he runs out.” Lucien pressed the paper into my hand. “I cannot stress this enough. Noah must never run out of these pills. If he were to do so, and then suffer one of his migraines, I shudder to think what would happen.”

I shivered. “They’re really bad, these migraines?”

“They are abominable.” Lucien’s blue eyes clouded with sadness. “I remember, in the days before they created this drug, his suffering. Only morphine could stop the pain that wracked my poor boy.”

I felt my throat go dry. “Does he get them frequently?”