Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“You should have at least given me some warning. I was supposed to be over at Lorenzo’s in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, he will be there all day. I’m sure it can wait. Let me know what you think of them. I vetted them all myself.”
There was no use fighting with a Costa woman.
So I just barely stifled a sigh—knowing I would get never-ending shit if I sighed at her—and agreed to let her know how it went.
Then I went ahead and popped into the kitchen where the only thing unpacked was the coffee machine I walked right over to, making a big fucking cup—knowing I would need it—and then walking out into the living room where the hushed voices of several women fell silent as I walked in.
A small chuckle escaped me as I looked around.
Silvano had been right.
They were all pretty.
Just in completely different ways.
I guess I’d done a good job not letting my mother see any preferences I had toward women, because she decided the best way to work around that was to assemble all different kinds.
Tall, short, thin, thick, curvy, athletic. Black hair, brown, blond, red, and even some highlighter colors. Some had it cut long, others short. Curly, straight, braided, you fucking name it.
Some girls had those softer faces, all sugar and honey. Others were more angular, sharp features and catlike eyes.
Fifteen women in all that I was going to need to interview. Because she would nag me about it, sure, but also because I actually did need someone to help me put my house to rights.
Buying the Brownstone had been a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. It went up for sale suddenly, four doors down from Lorenzo’s place. And we all agreed it would be stupid as fuck to turn down that kind of opportunity since houses on this street didn’t change hands very often.
I hadn’t been prepared to move houses, to furnish one and pick paint colors and all that shit.
I was busy.
So ninety percent of my belongings were still in boxes. And the only pieces of furniture I had were my bed, my desk in my office, and several fold-up chairs in the kitchen for when any of the guys came over.
“Alright,” I said, nodding at them, trying to offer them a welcoming smile, despite the intrusion. “I guess the fair way to do this is by who got here first,” I said, looking around, then nodding at the redhead who rose first.
Then it was an exhausting several hours of interviewing, asking the same inane questions over and over, trying to get a feel for the women.
I didn’t know so much about the women I slept with, for fuck’s sake.
But, then again, the women I slept with were only around for a night or two. Just fun. And whoever I chose for a housekeeper was going to be around a fuckuva lot. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to drive me up a wall.
“Thanks for coming by,” I said to a too-bubbly brunette as I led her out into the hall.
Thankfully, she was the last of the day. Because I was getting less and less confident not only in my mother’s matchmaking skills, but my own judgment of character, because I didn’t really feel like I’d clicked with any of the women who had shown up.
I was being too picky.
How much did I have to like someone who was going to be vacuuming and washing linens? And, apparently, cooking. Because they’d all brought that up themselves, leading me to think my mother had mentioned it being a part of the job.
I should have probably asked her how much I was offering to pay these women to do all these tasks.
“I left my cell, email, and all my socials,” the brunette said as I tried to corral her toward the door, feeling a headache coming on, and wanting silence for a couple of minutes before I had to go over and deal with business shit.
“I see that. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch,” I said, going past her to open the door, figuring there was no way for her to keep stalling if I was literally inviting her to see herself out.
“I look forward to it!” she beamed, hiking her purse up on her shoulder.
She was so busy looking at me that she rammed right into someone else who was coming up the steps as she was starting down, sending a folder full of papers, and a to-go coffee cup flying.
“Oh, fuck fuck fuck,” the new woman hissed, dropping down toward the mess, lifting up the papers that were now covered in hot coffee, and actually wiping them against her jeans.
Jeans.
That was… different.
All the other women had shown up dressed like they were either applying for a corner office—business dresses and slacks—or about to go out on the town in their nicest little black dresses and sky-high heels.