Page 16 of Making It While Faking It
TREASURE GROVE
Ifeel like I’ve been clobbered with a baseball bat, one of those plastic ones that T-ballers use, as I ride alone in the elevator up to Achilles’s place. My hands fly up to the sides of my head, and my fingers massage my temples. Ooh, my headache aims to get the best of me. But I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nostrils. I’ve already gotten through the process of getting checked in as a resident. They fingerprinted me so that I have touch access to all the amenities, including Achilles’s private gym and spa and indoor swimming pool.How fancy.But that’s not all. I’ve been assigned my own parking spot in Achilles’s private garage on the seventy-eighth floor.
Is Achilles home?Another wave of nausea ripples through my gut, and I inhale deeply to let the cool elevator air dissolve that sick feeling.I hope not.
It’s Saturday. Unless he is a workaholic, which I suspect he is—all uptight people like him are—then he has to be out. Contrary to what my life has looked like since diving headfirst into renovations, I am not a workaholic. If last night’s brawl hadn’t happened, I would no doubt be having brunch with a few friends and then making dinner for another set of friends. I love throwing dinner parties. I fear now that I’m living with the Grinch Who Stole Happiness, I won’t be able to host as much.
I hug myself tightly as chills climb up and down my arms. After my dad left, I accepted the fact that I’m not feeling so well. It’s common for me to become stress sick, and after the month I’ve had, I think that is what’s happening to me. If I’m going to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow night’s dinner, then I’ll need to go to bed early tonight. But that’s going to be impossible. I’m too nervous. I am not ready to see Achilles.
Maybe he’s out to brunch with his girlfriend, or boyfriend. People are really puzzled about which sex he prefers. His sexuality has been in question for many years. I never paid attention to the rumors because I never felt the need to. Not until Paisley started up with Hercules did I have to think about another Lord brother. But Achilles has never been seen in public with a woman who isn’t his mother or with a man unless it’s one of his brothers. Personally, I think he’s been subject to unfair scrutiny. When a man who looks like him isn’t womanizing or spruced up with the love of his life, then people go looking for a reason why he’s not shoving himself into a box. His looks are top shelf—chiseled jawline, sensual mouth, and bedroom eyes that can peer into your soul. But by the way he’s treated me thus far, I can seriously understand why he’s single. He’s a storm cloud, and nobody wants to be rained on every day of their lives.
The groan that gets trapped in my throat has almost become a sob when the elevator comes to a stop.I’m not ready yet, I think as I stare at my reflection in the gold-paneled walls as they slide open. Dark semicircles invade the skin under my red eyes. I have that walking-dead-like appearance, not vivacious at all.
“Please don’t be home,” I say with a heartfelt whisper. Admittedly, I don’t want him to see me this way.
The doors finish opening, but my feet stay glued to the elevator’s floor. I’m waiting to be closed inside again. Maybe I can go home and sleep in my bed for the night. I could use the familiarity. Especially since I don’t feel so well. I cough into my balled fist, and the sound carries through what appears to be a foyer.
My burning eyes blink at the golden-yellow and white chevron travertine marble floors. They’re quite stunning, and expensive. I know this because I considered using them in the restaurant. Although the stone is very pretty, it’s not reasonable for high foot traffic. But still, it’s so peaceful beyond the elevator car. It’s as if time has been frozen stiff. Without giving it another thought, I step out onto the marble floor and look up.Wow, the ceiling is so high and domed, reminding me of a glass birdcage.
“Hello,” I call, and my voice echoes back to me.
Journeying farther out, I take note that to my right lingers a spiraling staircase that leads to a second level. I turn left, and the view makes me wince as I grow tense. A tall wall made of glass gives me the willies. I gape at the hazy sky layered with warm, humid clouds. They seem to be watching, as if they know they’re making me uncomfortable. I never liked being this far off the ground. When we were kids, my dad took Lynx and me to the Eiffel Tower, and the whole time, I clung to Leo’s long leg like a cat avoiding water. That fear is the reason my parents never bought an apartment similar to this one. I would’ve never felt a moment of peace.
Unfortunately, that queasy sensation is back in my stomach. The only thing that stops me from throwing up all over Achilles’s expensive marble floor is the fact that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Also, my attention has been newly stolen by a spotless glass case that resembles a fish tank. Inside, there’s a strange object which looks to be glowing while suspended in thin air.
I move closer to the case as if it’s a hypnotist’s charm drawing me to itself. My head snaps to a tilt when I figure out what it is. The light emerging from a silver pen forces me to squint.
“What in the world…,” I mutter.
“Welcome, Miss Grove,” a woman says.
I jump and spin on my heels to look into the eyes of a slender woman who’s wearing an off-white button-front shirt with a green khaki skirt and black orthopedic shoes. Her expression lacks even a hint of a smile. She would be creepy if her features weren’t so soft and beautiful.
“Hi,” I say in a choked whisper, and I close the distance between us with an outstretched hand.
Without hesitation, the woman shakes my hand. “Hello, I’m Caroline. I’m here to get you settled.”
“Is Mr. Lord home?” I realize I’m not only still holding her hand, but I’m squeezing it in anticipation of her answer, so I quickly let go.
“No, Miss Grove.”
I sigh with relief. “I’m Treasure. Please, call me Treasure.”
“Yes, Treasure,” Caroline says, and I think I see a faint smile building at the corners of her mouth.
It’s a relief to see a change in her dutiful expression. Her tiny smile sort of makes me feel as if my feet are back on the ground—so much so that I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing a party dress with a pair of closed-toe sandals. After my dad informed me that I would be moving in with Achilles, I felt so anxious that I couldn’t do anything but pack up and get it over with already. So I didn’t shower, change my clothes, or wash off my smudged makeup.
“Where is he?” I ask, hoping she’ll say something like “the Bermuda Triangle.”
“He’s working today.”
Ha! It’s just as I thought. He’s a workaholic. I’m itching to ask Caroline if she knows why there’s a pen floating in a glass box, but my cell phone rings, so instead, I ask her to excuse me as I take my device out of my purse.
Viewing the name on the screen, my grin stretches from ear to ear. “Brooklyn!” I say into the device.
“What time is dinner?”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Dinner?”
