Billionaire's Runaway Princess Page 4

  “Yes. It is a very difficult language. I worked hard to learn it.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “France,” said Marisol. It was just easier saying that than explaining where Dalyasia was.

  “Oh, then you can read it and tell me what to write.”

  “I could,” said Marisol. “But that won’t help you learn French. Read what is there out loud and then tell me what you think it means.”

  Marisol worked with the girl, whose name she found out was Tolly. She found the girl did understand quite a bit of French. Tolly had problems in understanding why certain words were masculine and others feminine. As the seventeen verb forms used to give Marisol headaches when she studied them academically, she related to the girl’s problems.

  “Just ignore that the word is masculine or feminine. Just learn the word. It’s a holdover from Latin, the root language of French, where each word had a masculine and feminine form. It’s just in French for most words one or the other gender was dropped.”

  Marisol worked with Tolly and helped her to understand the passage. Soon Tolly was working on the translation.

  Sister Mary Agnes came back into the room.

  “Attention, everyone. For those with yellow tickets, you can go to the residence now. Those with red tickets, I’ll pull the drawing for the remaining beds.”

  Sister Mary Agnes pulled tickets from a fishbowl that Peggy held up. Marisol took out her red ticket and listened as the nun called the numbers. It was a relief when her number was called.

  “Nuts,” said Tolly, who tore up her ticket.

  Marisol felt bad for the teen. It must be impossible to go to school while living on the street. For the first time in her life, she felt bad that she grew up in luxury when there were many people with so little.

  “Take mine.”

  “Nah. I have a flop I can hang out at. It’s just that I can’t take a shower there.”

  “What’s a flop?”

  “Oh, you know. An abandoned building that squatters take over. My friends Jake and Jilly live there with a bunch of other people. It’s where I stay when I have no other place to go.”

  Marisol didn’t like the idea of this young girl sleeping in the same building with squatters, not matter how good of friends they were.

  “No, please. I insist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, please. You’ve worked so hard tonight and need a good sleep before you go to school tomorrow.”

  “Gee, thanks. Well, got to go then and get a good bed. Good night and good luck.”

  Marisol watched as Tolly slung her backpack on her shoulder and nearly bounced toward the door that Sister Mary Agnes held open. She didn’t notice Ryan drop into the seat opposite hers. When she turned and saw him she started while he smiled broadly at her.

  “That was really nice of you, giving your bed to Tolly.”

  “No. It really wasn’t. She’s had so little, and it’s the least I could do. Why is she homeless?”

  “We don’t have the full story, but the first time she came here she had cigarette burns on her arms. Peggy tried to get her to go into foster care, but Tolly said she’d rather live in the streets than live with a foster family. We got the impression she’d been in the system, and it didn’t work out well.”

  “But she’s too young to be on her own.”

  “Maybe not. She’s doing well at school, getting Bs, I understand. As long as she keeps showing up here, I don’t worry too much about her.”

  “And when she doesn’t show up?”

  He shrugged. “Then I worry.”

  “This place is very lucky to have you to work for them.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I don’t work here. I volunteer. They need all the help they can get. A place like this faces more challenges than you know.”

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  “No, it’s not. I do what I can to give back. When my mom, and my sister were homeless after my father died, this place became a home to us while my mom worked out different issues with Social Security. It took a while. Those people move slower than a glacier. Part of the problem was that my father kept important paperwork in a bank my mom didn’t have access to. Finally, when we did get Social Security, we were able to move into a rent controlled apartment building that Saint Chris’s owned. In that, we were very lucky. So you can see I have a soft spot in my heart for this place.”

  “And deservedly so.”

  “So what about your story? Why are you here?”

  “It’s not that important.”

  “Sure it’s. Every story is important.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Come on. You can tell me. Tell you what. I’ll save you some ice cream for the next time I come.”

  “Are you sure bribery is the way to a girl’s heart?”

  “Must be. Nothing else has worked.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me. A man like you must have many women after him.”

  “No. I work too much. First my day job, and then here. I’m practically a monk.”

  “A monk, eh? You should take holy orders.”

  “Nah. My mom would have a fit. When Peggy took her orders, my mom made me swear I wouldn’t do the same thing, but if you want, I can act like your confessor. Tell me your deep, dark secrets.”

  “I have none, I swear.”

  “You’re in trouble now. You just swore to a lie.”

  “Well, if you must know my father arranged a marriage for me to a man I can’t stand.”

  “So you ran away.”

  “More like took control of my life, but as you can see that hasn’t gotten me very far.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Saint Chris’s isn’t that easy to find. I think God may have led you here.”

  “You believe in God?”

  “I couldn’t have lived my life if I didn’t.”

  “So many men wouldn’t say that.”

  He shrugged.

  “And who is Peggy? She shares your last name.”

  “She’s my baby sister.”

  “Ha!” said Peggy coming up behind him and gently cuffing him in the ear. “I’m no baby.”

  “Ow!” Ryan wailed playfully.

  “Come on. You know it’s time to lock up.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Ryan. “Just don’t beat me anymore.”

  Peggy rolled her eyes. “You’re so abused.”

  “You’ll have to confess to Father Wilson,” said Ryan snarkily.

  “Yes, and say ten Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers for indulging your fantasies of my abuse.” Peggy turned her attention to Marisol. “I’m sorry, Ms. Morrison. You’ll have to leave, but do come in the morning, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

  Marisol looked around the room and saw they were the only people left.

  “Thank you,” said Marisol. “You’ve been very kind.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” said Ryan.

  As they walked to the door, Ryan picked up a jacket at the counter and slung it on his shoulder. He locked the door from the inside and pulled it shut leaving both him and Marisol outside the building.

  He hesitated outside the door. “Marisol, do you have a place to stay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “No. I don’t think so. You obviously don’t belong on the streets.”

  “Oh, I’m obvious, am I?”

  “The Big Apple isn’t known for its gentleness, Marisol, but I have an idea.”

  “What idea?” she said with suspicion.

  “I lost my housekeeper a few days ago. I liked the way you helped Tolly. You did it without thought of return. To me, that shows you’re an honest person. So I’d like to offer you the housekeeper position, on a trial basis, you understand.”

  “I couldn’t. You don’t know me—”

  “And you don’t know me. I understand. I promise on my father’s grave you’ll come to no harm in my home.”

  “I don’t know. You’re tak
ing an awful chance. I could be a secret axe murderer.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, but I think I can defend myself. What do you say? It’s better than sleeping on the street.”

  Marisol had to admit he had a point.

  “A trial basis?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I can leave when I want if it doesn’t work out.”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, Mr. Kelley. I guess you have a housekeeper.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A New Life

  “We’ll have to walk a couple blocks to get a street where a taxi will pick us up.”

  “That’s okay,” said Marisol. There was something fresh about the New York streets at night, as if the darkness shoved the ugly into a deep hole.

  “Where’s your knapsack?” said Ryan as they walked.

  Marisol shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

  “Wait. You literally left with the clothes on your back?”

  Marisol stifled her next response—that these clothes weren’t even hers.

  “Comme ci comme ça,” she said with a shrug.

  “So you have no clothes,” he said darkly. Ryan looked her over as if trying to parse her secrets.

  Marisol was touched by his concern but also felt uncomfortable with his scrutiny of her personal situation. She didn’t want him to find out who she was. He might feel like he would have to turn her into the authorities or back to her father. “Why? Were you looking to take me out on a date?”

  Immediately Marisol regretted her snarky words meant only to make him back off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “And I’m sorry I’m being so nosey. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said. “But don’t worry about me.”

  “The hell I won’t,” said Ryan. “I won’t have the other housekeepers in the building saying that I don’t pay you well enough to buy clothes. I tell you what. When we get to the apartment we’ll go online and order some stuff for you.”

  “You shouldn’t,” protested Marisol.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take it out of your first check…and second, depending on how much of a spendthrift you’re.”

  “Moi? A spendthrift? How poorly you think of me, sir?” She glanced up at him coyly batting her eyelashes, and he chuckled.

  “I wouldn’t invite you to my house if I thought poorly of you. Here, let’s get a taxi.”

  Ryan hailed a cab and they sped down the New York streets at a break neck pace. They were tossed around in the vehicle as the cabby sped up, hit his brakes and then sped up again. Marisol almost felt she was on a carnival ride. To the left passed the tall trees of Central park and she shivered thinking of her near collision with danger.

  The cab pulled up at a Park Avenue apartment. When they entered Marisol immediately felt at ease. The gleaming marble of the floors and walls were felt familiar and comforting.

  Ryan inserted a key in elevator and they rode to the twentieth floor. The door opened up to a wide space. A sunken living room was ahead with gas fireplace on the furthest wall surrounded by white marble. A kitchen area sat to the left and a number of doors in dark wood marched down a line to the right. All the furniture had clean modern lines. White leather sofas ringed the sunken enclosure.

  “You have a lovely home,” Marisol said.

  Ryan shrugged. “It’s not much,” he said. “It’s just me, and I have it for when I’m in the city on business. When I’m not here, I’m with the family in Litchfield.”

  “Litchfield?”

  “It’s a little town in Connecticut.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  “No. We’re from Brooklyn, but when I came into some money, I bought a house for my mom there to get her out of the city, but she visits often. Here, let me show you your room.”

  Ryan led her to from the livingroom and past the kitchen to a separate hallway behind it.

  He opened a folding door that revealed a washer and dryer. They were big things and almost as tall of her. Marisol scrunched her nose. Saying she would take the housekeeper job was one thing, but contemplating the actual work was quite another. And those machines looked intimidating. How was she ever going to learn how to work them?

  “And here is your room,” he said pushing open a door next to the washer and dryer. Marisol peered in. The walls were white as well as the furniture. And the it held a dry stale air like someone hadn’t occupied in some time.

  “How long have you’ve been without a housekeeper?” she said.

  The tips of Ryan’s ears blushed red, and he looked away when he spoke.

  “My last housekeeper didn’t live here,” he said.

  Marisol’s suspicions piqued, but she didn’t have anything but his word to go on. So far everything he said has been on point.

  “There’s an en suite bath at the door to the left, I think,” he said stepping into the room. He opened the door and was greeted by a closet. “Oops, sorry, it’s here,” said going to the door on the right. “I rarely come to this part of the apartment. I’ve seen this room precisely once, when I toured the apartment before I bought it.”

  “It’s very nice,” said Marisol.

  “Now,” he said returning to the hallway, “I believe this is the linen closet.” It was a sliding door and when he pulled it opened it displayed rows of towels and linen, neatly folded and arranged by rooms marked on the shelves. Master bedroom, first guest, second guest, and in the corner on the last shelf labeled second guest in the corner was the marker “maid’s room.”

  “Very organized,” said Marisol dryly.

  “I believe that’s because of the color combinations in each of the rooms. Mine, the master, is done in dark red and brown, the first guest, light blue, and the second guest, yellow.”

  And the maid’s white, thought Marisol. Then she thought over the arrangement on the shelves and the color-coded towels on the shelves.

  “There is a bathroom for each bedroom?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But usually only one or two are in use at any one time. And the half-bath.”

  “Half-bath?”

  “For guests to use when they visit.”

  Marisol didn’t know what to say. In the palace where she grew up, there was one bath per floor, which was considered generous compared to the average home.

  “Now,” said Ryan, “That door at the end of the hall is the service entrance. You’ll receive deliveries and service people there. I don’t care, but the Homeowners Association is quite particular about this. It’s in the manual.”

  “Really?” A manual? To tell where people should arrive? She didn’t know such a thing existed.

  Ryan started moving again, and Marisol realized this was a man that never rested. His muscles were coiled like springs and he nearly bounced when he walked.

  “Of course, this is the kitchen, dishwasher, range top, ovens, and microwave. I don’t eat here much, but when I do, I’ll expect just simple meals. Mostly I order out, so you won’t have to do much cooking.”

  Marisol, stared wide-eyed at the gleaming kitchen, but held in a sigh of relief. She couldn’t to cook if she tried. All of sudden, it overwhelmed her how much she didn’t know. These things, the cooking for and cleaning up after her, were things she took for granted. How on earth was she supposed to do a job she had no clue how to perform?

  “Let me show you the den. I have it set up as my home office, and I do quite a bit of work there. If the door is locked, then I’m working on a project and don’t want to be disturbed. Or I have things on my computer that aren’t for general consumption, but today, we’ll get you hooked into some online shopping to get you some clothes.”

  “You’re too kind to me.” It was a standard phrase, but sounded hollow to Marisol’s ears. He was being exceptionally kind.

  “Not at all.” He opened a door kitty corner to the last door on the right, opening into large room that had book cases going to the ceiling on e
ither side, a fireplace that mirrored the one in the livingroom on the inside wall, and the outside wall three wide panes of glass that looked out on the city of New York lighted with a thousand lights. A huge desk, one that reminded her of her father’s in his office sat in front of those panes of glass.

  A large brown leather sofa sat in front of the fireplace. An exceptionally large and beautiful oriental rug ran the length between the desk and the sofa. On the desk were three computer monitors, which was unlike her father’s, but instead of inviting her to sit at the desk, he took a laptop that sat on the bookshelf and motioned for her to sit on the sofa.

  “Just a minute,” he said, and he left the room, but quickly returned with two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot.

  “Oh, are we shopping while drinking wine?” said Marisol arching her eyebrow.

  “I’m assured all the best shops have wine for their customers.”

  “Oh, they do,” said Marisol. Then she quickly caught herself. “Or so I’ve been told. You know, to encourage the loosening of inhibitions and purse strings.”

  “Tricky, tricky retailers,” said Ryan settling next to her. He poured the wine and offered her a glass.

  “Now, I’m no expert,” said Marisol, “But it’s typical for a boss to be sitting with employee drinking wine while she shops?”

  “Miss Marisol, there isn’t anything typical about you,” he said. “So I won’t even try to treat you as such.”

  “Oh, good answer,” said Marisol with a smile.

  He sat very close to her, enough so that their sides touched, as he held the computer and switched it on. He gave her swift glance, one that was innocent and charming, as if he couldn’t wait to show her this toy. His handsome face was very close, and Marisol couldn’t help but notice his blue eyes shining in the flickering glow of the fireplace. They sat there suspended like that a couple seconds, as if on the edge of decision, eye to eye, and Marisol’s heart fluttered. What would it be like to kiss him? To taste his lips and feel his day’s grow of beard against her face? She shivered at the thought of it.

  But she didn’t get to know. Ryan turned his head and looked at the computer again as the screen filled with icons, ready for use.

  “Besides, not everything is about you,” he said with a sly smile. “This is the household computer. I, I mean the housekeeper, uses this to order things and services for the apartment. My computer, on my desk, is never to be touched. I have proprietary company information on it and it’s tied to my company’s secure servers, so it wouldn’t help you to get on the internet anyway.”