“No!” she replies quickly. “He’s very fair. He pays more than enough and always tips us well. But he’s—” She pauses, chewing on her lip.
“What?” I edge closer.
“He’s a bit standoffish. And never talks, you know. Like he doesn’t say hi or bye.”
I edge a little closer. “I think I know why.”
“Why?”
I look around, pretending I’m scared of onlookers. “He is very shy. And very awkward. He’s probably scared of you.”
“Oh, Dios mío.” She places her open palm to her chest once again. “That poor boy.”
“He is.” I nod. “So don’t even think he’s bad or something.”
“He’s just scared?”
“Yep.” I pop thep. “Very much so.”
“To think of it, I remember when I was working for his parents?—”
“You worked for his parents?” My ears perk up.
“Yes. For like ten years before I started working for him.”
Interesting.“What happened?”
“His father used to be a…” she mumbles something incomprehensible under her breath.
“What?”
She mumbles again.
“What?”
“A dick!” she nearly yells. “He was a dick.”
“Oh.” That’s all I can say without bursting out laughing. “How so?”
“He was always making them kids trying to compete with each other.” Her voice is full of disapproval, and I second that. “But he always put a lot of pressure on the eldest one. Even when that poor boy was little, he was never allowed to be little. I remember how devastated he was when they came back from the trip to his nana, and their father never let them go there again.” She starts nodding her head. “It’s their mom’s mom, you know. I’ve never seen her myself. And I don’t even remember when I’ve seen Mrs. King the last time.” The woman looks around as if to check that no one joined our little duet. “Now it actually makes sense what you said about him being shy and awkward. Now I see that. With pressure from his father like that, anyone would turn cuckoo.”
Well, look at that. I meant it as a joke to loosen her up around the house, so she doesn’t think ill of Ezra, but it’s turning out to be true. Unfortunately. Looks like we’re truly more alike than we both are willing to admit.
We chat some more before I bid her goodbye and walk to the elevator. Even growing up with rich parents, we’ve never had a penthouse because it was in bad taste to live inside the city. Rich suburbs were a way to show off to everyone what you were made of.
When the elevator’s door chimes open, I step outside only to meet George, the driver from before. He rises to his feet as soon as he sees me.
“Mrs. King,” he says with a short nod. I’m beginning to dig this new name of mine.
“Hello, George. Please, call me Maeve.”
“As you wish, Maeve. Where shall we go?” He motions for me toward the glass door outside.
“Are you sticking to me today like a guard?”
“More like a chauffeur, to drive you around the city as you please. So you don’t have to walk around this dangerous place.”
I level him with a stare.
