Page 27 of The Right Garza
“My bags? Wait, where am I staying?”
He’d been on his way out, but at my question he stops and looks over his shoulder at me like I’m idiot. “Here.”
I stare at him as he disappears through the door, then I turn and do a three-sixty again. Save for the last seven days at his mom’s house, I haven’t lived in a nice place for a while, not since I broke away from Slim and things went to shit, so I’m looking forward to spending the next couple of months—or however long it takes me to figure this job out—here.
I’m checking the kitchen cupboards when Trent returns with my bags.
“I was just thinking,” I say as he dumps the luggage. “I don’t have a car. That’s how broke I am. How am I gonna get around? Uber?”
“I’ll loan you one of the company cars in the meantime. I’ll have one dropped off in a few hours.” He withdraws his wallet from his pocket and plucks out a few bills. “When it gets here, go get yourself some groceries and whatever else for the house.”
I scowl at the proffered bills. “Fuck off. I’m not owing you a dime more. I can buy my own damn groceries.”
“Suit yourself.” He returns the bills to his wallet. “I placed the keys in the front pocket of your suitcase. I’ll email you when I get to the office.”
He playfully tugs at my ear as he turns to leave and I swat his hand away.
“Devil’s spawn,” I mutter at his retreating back.
“Heard that, Hellcat,” he throws over his shoulder.
“I don’t care,” I return in a sing-song voice.
His chuckle travels away with him.
~
By the timeTrent messaged me that someone was on the way to drop a car off for me, I’d already spent two hours giving myself an intensive tour of the property, armed with a pen and a notebook.
Having taken a more up-close observation from room to room, I’ve noticed a bunch of flaws that weren’t noticeable before. A lot of wear and tear and defects.
Though I have no freaking clue what I am doing, I’ve somehow managed to scribble down eight pages of notes, along with a few ideas. It’s a big task indeed, but my debt is even bigger, and things could have been worse. After that failed jewelry dash in Vegas, I could have been injailright now. Or worse, held captive by the Castellos.
Of the two scenarios, owing Trent pales in comparison. I’ve been given a home and full autonomy with only one rule: Don’t fuck it up. So, really, I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m going to approach this with a good attitude and make the best of the situation. On the bright side, I’ll come out of this more knowledgeable than I went in. And if I enjoy it, who knows, it could be the start of something new.
Flipping to a clean page in my notebook, I title itFirst Priorities, then jot down in bullet points:
•Hire an inspector
•Hire a gardener
•Inquire about surveillance
I’ve spotted multiple cameras, but only the ones outside the condo appear to be active.
I’m assessing a room on the second floor when the honking of a horn tugs me to the windows. Outside the stately front gates are two black SUVs, one behind the other. Waiting for me to give them access it seems.
Getting the jingle of keys from my back pocket, I check to see if there’s a fob or something.
Nothing.
I fetch my phone and text Trent.
Me:How do I open the gates?
Trent:There’s a control monitor in the condo and one by the front doors in the guesthouse.
I head downstairs, find the monitor, and spend the next five minutes figuring out how to work the damn thing. When I finally get the gates to open, I head outside. Two SUVs drive up the brick-paved driveway and pull to a stop in front of me.
