Room-maid(2)

“She’s a beauty,” I said, trying to get back on her good side by complimenting the Ferrari.

Her broad smile indicated that I’d accomplished my task as we slid onto the soft-as-butter leather seats. “She is. Are you still planning on buying a car of your own?”

“I am.” I’d only recently acquired my license. It hadn’t been necessary growing up since my family’s drivers had always taken me everywhere I needed to go. My mother had often wondered aloud why Huntington women would even need a driver’s license. It made “no rational sense” to her.

Not surprisingly, neither one of my sisters had a license.

And neither one of them had their own personal car, either.

I felt great pride that I’d be the first in my immediate family. “I’m even thinking about getting a used car.” If that didn’t send my mom into a fit of vapors, I didn’t know if anything ever would. My mother refused to touch anything that had been used by someone else, which included such things as hotel sheets and duvets, towels at the gym, and bathrobes at her favorite spa. It gave me a small, rebellious thrill to plan on buying a car that had been previously owned.

“You should try the Ares dealership.”

“Ares?” I echoed her recommendation. “Isn’t that the car rental company?”

“Yes, but once their cars hit a certain mileage they sell them. So you can get an, er, used car that’s been reasonably looked after and presumably kept up well.” She said the word used the same way my mother did: as if it were an unsightly and invasive mole that should be beaten over the head with a tack hammer for daring to disturb her prizewinning roses.

“I’ll check it out.” We reached the outskirts of the downtown area and I realized I didn’t know if our apartment-hunting tour was over. “Did you have any place else to show me or are we calling it a day?”

Frederica drummed her red-lacquered fingernails against her steering wheel. “There is one more possibility I’ve been considering. But it’s really unorthodox.”

More unorthodox than murder apartments and bug paradises? “How so?”

We came to a red light and she reached inside her Prada purse to pull out her cell phone. She quickly thumbed through a couple of screens, mumbling something about Instagram before the light changed. She handed me her phone and then pulled forward.

On the screen was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my entire life. And that included all the men in movies, magazine ads, and TV shows. He was . . . stunning. Golden-brown hair with piercing blue eyes, a jawline that was so killer it was begging for its own Lifetime movie, and a brilliant, warm smile that could melt the coldest, frostiest heart.

“He’s . . . he’s . . . he’s . . . wow,” was all I could come up with. I zoomed in a little on his face. This had to be some filter, or angle or trick of the light. Nobody was actually this gorgeous.

As if she could read my mind, Frederica announced, “He’s even better looking in real life.”

My mouth gaped. That was just . . . not possible. How could it be? I was sitting here assuming he was just one of those people the camera loved. To be fair, the camera didn’t just love him; it also brought him flowers every day for a month, sang him ballads, and wanted to meet his parents.

I kind of wanted to do that, too.

“Who is this?” I finally choked the words out. I mean, if I was going to be introduced to his family, I should probably find out what his name was first.

“Tyler Roth. I met him at the Wesleys’ charity ball. Something about underprivileged iguanas. Anyway, he was standing in a corner all by himself and my heart just went out to him. Nobody that delicious should ever be alone.”

I nodded, fervently. In total agreement. The still-functioning part of my brain that hadn’t been rendered a drooling mess by his photo wondered what Frederica’s unorthodox plan concerning Tyler was. Maybe she wanted me to marry him and then I’d have someplace to live. If her plan involved me eloping with him to Vegas, I had the sneaking suspicion I was probably going to agree.

“And he told me that he travels quite a bit for his job and that he’s been looking to find someone to live in his apartment and look after his dog, Pigeon. She has some anxiety issues and he doesn’t want her to be alone. Isn’t she a beautiful dog?”

She pointed at her phone and it was only then that I realized that there was also a dog in the picture. A golden retriever. “Yes. The dog. Beautiful.” Not that I could really tell as my gaze quickly drifted back to Tyler.

“Tyler also needs someone to clean up the apartment. He’s had some bad luck with housekeepers lately. And in exchange for looking after Pigeon and cleaning, he’s willing to offer a rent-free room. I told him I’d keep an eye out for a good candidate.”

While I had zero experience with caring for dogs, I had even less with housekeeping. “I would have to clean?”

Frederica seemed to have either forgotten how spoiled I’d been or didn’t consider it to be an obstacle. “Mm-hmm. You’d be his roommate who cleans. Oh! His roommaid!” She eased her Ferrari over to the side of the road and grabbed her phone back. I felt a little bereft at losing it. “I’m going to text my attorney and see if I can trademark that word. Roommaid.” She let out a little laugh at her own cleverness.