Landon (In Safe Hands Book 1) (2 page)

* * * *

“Zoe,
wake up.” Ethan’s grinning face is blurry when I drag my eyes open. “How much
did you drink?” he asks, amused.

“More
than I should have.” My head thumps in tandem with my heart.

“You
look like shit. I’m going to Zach’s to swim, okay? I might stay the night.”

“Have
you eaten?”

“Yes,
mother,” he groans good naturedly.

“There’s
a ten on the dresser. Take it in case you want to grab a burger later.”

“Thanks.”
He hops off the bed.

“And
take your phone!” I call to his retreating back.

“Got
it.”

I’m
tempted to go back to sleep, but it’s nearly noon and I need to do laundry
today. After a hot shower, a couple of ibuprofen and a ton of ice water, I feel
almost normal. The apartment seems too quiet since the boys left, so I turn on
the T.V. for company while I gather the dirty laundry.

Whew,
Ethan’s clothes reek. The boy takes two showers a day and I still have to
Febreze his room. Teen boys produce a stench that would put any skunk to shame.
After stripping the beds, I drag the three filled laundry baskets to the living
room. I’d give anything to have a washer and dryer, but our apartment doesn’t
have hook-ups. If my car was running, I’d take them to the laundromat, but
today I’m stuck with the crappy little laundry room provided by management. If
I can snag a washer.

Luckily,
all four washers are free. I plunk in a boatload of quarters and set the timer
on my phone so I know when to come back. My stomach growls, reminding me I
haven’t eaten.

After
a nutritious lunch of gourmet toaster waffles, I set to cleaning the house. By
evening, the laundry is done, the apartment’s clean and I have no idea what to
do with myself. Maybe Frannie’s right. I do need a boyfriend, or at the very
least, a fuck buddy.

Visions
of Landon looming over me, naked and sweaty, invade my thoughts. The feel of
his lips, how his tongue moved over mine. He may be a rude Neanderthal, but
I’ll bet he’s a monster in bed. He just looks the type.

I
settle for a bag of popcorn and a new book on my Kindle. Tomorrow, I have to
find a new job.

I’m
up early the next morning to begin the grueling task of job hunting without a
diploma. It doesn’t seem to matter to employers that I was homeschooled my
entire childhood. As far as they’re concerned, GED equals dropout. Of the three
help wanted listings I circled, one was only part time, one was cleaning up a
strip club—ew—and the last went to an automated voice mail message saying
they’d be accepting applications after four this afternoon and to call back
then.

The
latter is for the evenings and nights job, and since there’s an address listed,
I decide to apply in person instead of calling back. I don’t want someone to
beat me to it. After throwing on some slacks and a blouse, I grab a cab and I’m
on my way.

I
expect to pull up outside a business, but the cab stops in front of a sprawling
house. Not big enough to be called a mansion, but enough to announce to the
world, “I’m rich.” They must be looking for domestic help. The cab driver
shakes his head at the tip I give him, grumbling as he drives away, probably
assuming I live here and can afford more. Yeah, right. I’m applying to clean
their toilets.

Boards
creak under my feet when I climb the steps to the wraparound porch. The place
could use some upkeep. Maybe it’s been empty for a while. “Come in,” a deep
voice calls when I knock. “Close the door behind you.”

It
takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer environment, and when they
do, I blink, sure I must be hallucinating. “I’m impressed, Ms. Difficult. I’ve
had women regret turning me down and want a second chance, but never had one
show up at my house.”

Fuck
a duck. Landon smirks at me while I gape at him. How unlucky can I be? When I
finally find my brain, I turn and head back toward the door. “This was a
mistake.”

His
hand clamps onto my shoulder. “Wait, Zoe…”

“I
came to apply for the job, not to feed your ego. I didn’t realize you live
here.”

Comprehension
dawns on his face and he asks, “The cleaning position?”

“Yes,
only the phone number and address were listed, not your name.”

“I
see. Well, the position is still open. Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk
about it?” He gives me a smile I’m sure usually gets him his way.

“Uh…no
thanks. I’m going to go.”

“The
starting rate is twelve dollars per hour,” he states as I reach for the door.
My shoulders slump. I only made eight-fifty at the hotel and I’ll be lucky to
make that anywhere else. Twelve dollars would really help Ethan and me out of
the hole.

Steeling
myself, I turn to face him. We need to get one thing straight. “I won’t fuck
you or provide any sexual favors. I’m not a whore.”

His
smile stretches. “Are you willing to clean, organize, wash laundry, and run
errands?”

“Yes.”

“Then
let me show you around.” He certainly needs someone to clean.

Expensive
antique furniture fills most of the rooms, but it’s thick with dust, and
cobwebs crawl up most of the walls. The library is a jumbled mess of books,
piled on the shelves and spilling onto the floor. His kitchen is a little
better, but still needs a good scrubbing.

As
he takes me through the house, he explains, “My uncle lived here alone until he
died a few months ago, leaving the house and its contents to me. I need someone
to help get it in order and then to do general housework in the evenings. Do
you have any issue with working late? Kids at home?”

“No,
no issues.” My personal life is none of his business. “I can work late.”

“Good.”
He grins. “I like to sleep late, so I don’t want anyone banging around in the
mornings.”

“I’m
a night owl. I have afternoon classes so evenings work well for me.” Am I
really trying to talk him into giving me this job? After the dirty stuff he
said, and kissing him, it’s probably a terrible idea. But twelve bucks an hour.
I’d have no problem fixing my car, paying my rent and bills, and even have a bit
left over. Maybe I could afford to add Ethan to my car insurance, so he could
get his license.

He
leads me into a room obviously decorated by a man. “This is my office. You
won’t clean in here.”

“Office?”
I snort, and he smiles. There’s a desk and computer against one wall, but the
rest of the room screams man cave. A huge flat screen hangs on the wall
opposite a long black sectional couch. Video games and DVD’s are piled high on
shelves lining a third wall. A mini fridge boasts rows of soft drinks when he
opens it to offer me one.

“Dr.
Pepper, please.” I accept the cold drink and thank him.

“My
favorite,” he replies, throwing me a charming smile. “So, when can you start?”

Shit.
Decision time. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, after the bar?”

“Look,
why don’t we just start over? I promise I’ll treat you like an employee, not
someone I kissed and propositioned.” Amusement flashes through his blue-green
eyes and he extends his hand. “Hi, I’m Landon Clark.”

“Zoe
Page,” I reply with a giggle.

“So,
when can you start, Ms. Page?”

“How
is tomorrow?”

“Four
p.m. to midnight?”

“I’ll
be here.”

I
argue with myself the rest of the day over whether I’m making a huge mistake by
working for Landon. Ethan is thrilled with my job change since it means we’ll
have more money. He works a few evenings a week stocking shelves at the grocery
store across the street for spending money, but I don’t let him contribute to
the bills. He has the rest of his life to pay bills and stress over money. I
want him to have fun and go out with his friends.

When
I wake the next day, I call a local car repair service and arrange to have my sedan
towed to their garage. It will be such a relief to have it back. The wrecker
shows up just in time, and I hand over my keys before rushing off to catch the
bus to class. Cabs are expensive, so I ride the bus whenever I can.

Students
filter slowly into my anatomy class, most looking bored or glum. Not to sound
like a total nerd, but my science classes are the highlight of my week. I adore
science and plan to teach biology until I can reach my ultimate goal. An
evolutionary biologist.

Ethan
shares my interest in science, but his real love is history. I think we’re so
eager to learn because of the way we were raised. Homeschooled by strict
evangelical parents, we were taught the only truth comes from the bible. Our
exposure to science was very limited, and history was mostly a mix of biblical
and military history.

The
first few years on my own were tough, living in a homeless shelter, then a
studio apartment, surviving on peanut butter, and I escaped my worries by
reading everything I could get my hands on. It was like discovering a new world
that already existed all around me. A book on the evolution of the peppered
moth introduced me to the subject I want to build a career around.

Time
flies by as it always does when I’m in school, and before I know it, I’m on the
bus home again. I have just enough time to put together a lasagna for Ethan’s
dinner and make a sandwich to take to work with me.

After
leaving Ethan a reminder on how long to heat the lasagna, I run out to meet my
cab. The bus doesn’t let off near Landon’s house, and I don’t want to be late
on my first day, so I figure it’s worth the expense. A few more days and I’ll
have my car back.

Landon
opens the door with a smile. “Ms. Page, right on time.”

“You
can call me Zoe,” I reply, rolling my eyes. Although, Ms. Page is a step up
from Ms. Difficult.

“Zoe,”
he stresses, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Come, let me show you where I’d
like you to start.”

I’m
lead to a spacious bathroom attached to his man cave/office. “This is the only
bathroom I’ve been using and as you can see, it’s still cluttered with old man
items.” He opens a closet piled high with junk and another cabinet also stuffed
full.

“All
this belonged to my uncle. I need it sorted out and the whole room cleaned.”

The
sound of ripping tape bounces off the walls as he opens a large cardboard box.
“You should find everything you need in here, but if not, just let me know and
I’ll take care of it.”

The
box is stuffed full of random cleaning supplies. Gloves, cleansers, sponges,
scrub brushes and rags are packed under a receipt for the supplies. He
obviously ordered it all online. Who buys toilet cleanser online? Spoiled, rich
men, I suppose.

“I
doubt you’ll find much worth donating in here, but if you do, just box it up.
There are empty boxes in the hall. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“Thanks,
I should be fine,” I reply, setting my bag in a corner.

“I’ll
let you get started, then.” He hesitates and runs a hand nervously through his
hair. “I’ve never employed someone before. I’m glad you took the job, Zoe. I
hope you like it enough to stay.”

His
uncertainty is too adorable, so different from his usual personality. “I’m sure
I will. Thanks.” I give him a reassuring smile before turning to my task, and
he leaves me to it.

Gloves
are definitely a necessity when I tackle the pile in the closet. Most of the
items are what you’d expect to find in a bathroom. Old electric razors and shaving
kits, those pink basins all elderly people seem to have to soak their feet,
ratty, moth eaten robes and housecoats.

I
find more and more female items toward the back of the closet. It’s sad as I
imagine his uncle packed his wife’s belongings away after she died so he
wouldn’t have to look at them. It obviously wasn’t sorted, just stuffed in
boxes. Old makeup is mixed with bottles of outdated aspirin, a hair dryer
shoved in a box with crumbling bars of soap and hair pins. Landon’s right, none
of this is salvageable.

Two
and a half hours later, I have five boxes and three trash bags filled with
garbage, and I’m just starting on the cabinet when Landon clears his throat
behind me. A silly grin lights his face when I jump and spin to face him. “You
scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,”
he says, looking anything but. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Eager
to get a little revenge, I pull an enema bag and tube from the cabinet,
thankful for my disposable gloves. “Should I save your clean out kit?”

“That’s
not mine!”

“Hey,
whatever you’re into is none of my business,” I tease, moving it closer to him
and watching him cringe.

“Gross.
Chuck it and the gloves.” His eyes widen when he sees the empty closet. “Wow,
you’re fast. Take a break. Are you hungry?”

“I
brought my dinner,” I reply, stripping off the gloves and washing my hands.

“Well,
come and eat with me.” Does this man ever ask a question instead of giving an
order?