by Kim Fielding
She squealed when he gave it back to her.
By then, several other employees were clustered behind her and peering out at him. “I think there are cars waiting behind me,” Landry prompted.
“Oh, yeah, right. Hang on.” Trinity disappeared for a moment, then returned to give him his milkshake. She paused with his bag of food in her hand. “Hey, um, not to be like, totally nosy or anything. But aren’t you always talking about eating healthy and stuff?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, I do try to encourage a beneficial diet.”
She waved the bag slightly. “This isn’t very… beneficial.”
Shit. Landry thought quickly. “Well, I also believe that we should periodically treat ourselves to something decadent. When we’ve been especially good about something.” Or when we’re longing for a taste of an ordinary, unglamorous life.
“Oh, right. Sure.” Trinity handed him the bag. “Well, you have a good night, Mr. Bishop. And thanks for the autograph!”
“Thank you.” He drove away after a forced smile. But he got only as far as the strip mall in the next block, where he parked between a pair of enormous SUVs. He wolfed down the burger and fries, pausing only long enough for slurps of milkshake. Everything was delicious. Yet when nothing remained but the empty containers, Landry tasted bitter defeat. He put all the trash into the bag, which he placed on the passenger seat. Then he picked up his phone and composed a text.
Fine. Set up an interview with your step-great-nephew-in-law.
Chapter Three
LANDRY watched the security cameras as the car rolled through the open gate and stopped in front of his house. The Benz was more familiar than his own Jag, but the person who emerged from the driver’s seat bore little resemblance to Elaine. He was male, for one thing, not especially tall, but taller and thinner than Elaine. And instead of her practical bob of straight black hair, he had light hair—the actual color unclear on the black-and-white monitor—held back in a loose ponytail. He wore a suit, but even with the screen’s poor resolution, Landry could tell it didn’t sit well on him, and not just because it was inexpensive. Landry suspected this was a man who rarely dressed up. The person—who had to be Jordan Stryker—meandered away from the house toward the edge of the property. He stood for a long moment taking in the view, then straightened his back, turned around, and marched to the front door. Landry shuffled away from the monitor, obscurely embarrassed to have been spying. Jordan rang the bell, and he looked startled when Landry opened the door. “Oh! Mr. Bishop.”
Landry raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, I just didn’t realize….” Jordan blinked rapidly and then seemed to get himself under control. A wide smile appeared, complete with deep dimples and attractive lines at the outer corners of his blue eyes. He held out a hand. “Sorry. I’m Jordan Stryker. Obviously. And I’m really glad to meet you. Thank you so much for agreeing to interview me. I really, really appreciate it ’cause I know you’re super busy and everything and Elaine says you have a lot of stuff going on all the time which is pretty cool actually but probably means you don’t have much time for interviews and stuff.”
They shook hands briefly at the beginning of Jordan’s monologue, and then Landry stood with head cocked, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused. More the latter, perhaps. Although Jordan had to be close to Landry’s age, he had the air of an eager puppy. The kind who slobbered and shed everywhere and probably chewed up your shoes and peed on the carpet but was too cute to be angry at. And he was cute: dark blond hair, slightly triangular face, and those goddamn dimples.
When Jordan paused to breathe, Landry stepped back from the doorway. “Follow me, please.”
He’d given considerable thought as to where to conduct the interview. The study would have been the obvious choice, but that somehow felt too intimate. Landry had sat with the previous applicants in his living room, but he’d felt the urge to act as host rather than prospective employer, and that wasn’t right. So today he led Jordan through the house and out to the backyard.
“Wow, that’s cool how you can open the whole living room up to the outdoors,” Jordan commented, patting a sliding glass door as he passed it. “Makes a lot of sense here where the weather’s always perfect. Back in Seattle we’d probably only get to open stuff up a few days a year.”
Landry answered with a noncommittal hum and took them to one of the patio tables currently shaded by the house. “Please, sit.” He gestured before taking his own seat.
It was interesting to watch Jordan arrange himself. He began with a straight back and knees directly in front of him, forearms resting lightly on the table’s edge. But he almost immediately began to slump and sprawl. Then he seemed to catch himself and sat upright again with a jerk. “I brought my résumé.” He reached for his inner jacket pocket.
“You emailed it to me,” Landry reminded him. “I’ve looked it over quite thoroughly, and I don’t need a hard copy.” In any case it contained little information pertinent to the position.
Jordan relaxed again. “Right. Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Um, wow. Your house is so beautiful. I mean, of course it is, right? Not like you’d be living in a shack or anything. But this place is special. I bet you put a ton of time into making it so nice.”
Jordan’s opinion shouldn’t have mattered, and as an applicant, of course he might try to ingratiate himself. But his words pleased Landry, who had put considerable time and effort into his home.
“You don’t have experience as a personal assistant.” He injected a bit of sternness into the statement, as if it were an accusation.
“No. I mostly worked in stores and restaurants and stuff when I was younger. More recently I’ve been an in-home caregiver for the sick and elderly. Which you know from my résumé already. Duh. Sorry.”
“So what qualifies you for this position?”
“I like to help people—I really do. Like, make their lives easier. That’s what I did with my other jobs. Even when I was a store clerk, I tried to figure out what customers needed and wanted, and I did my best to make them happy. And of course when I care for people, it’s my job to make them as comfortable as possible, to do all those little things for them so they can enjoy life as much as possible. Plus I pretty much have no life of my own, which means I can devote myself to my boss 24/7. I might not know all the details of how to do this job, but I’ll learn them—fast. The most important thing, Mr. Bishop, is that I know how to take care of people. It’s my superpower. And it’s what I love.” He patted his heart as if to demonstrate his sincerity.
This response surprised Landry, who’d expected something closer to I’m a hard worker who learns quickly. Jordan’s words felt more sincere than the standard generic assertions. Something about Jordan intrigued Landry, and it wasn’t just his handsome face.
Landry sighed and allowed himself to lean back. He didn’t want to be influenced by his loyalty to Elaine or the allure of Jordan’s good looks. He needed to be a businessman, dammit, rational and perceptive. Ruled by his head, not his heart or his dick. He had no use for his heart and his dick—beyond the biological necessities, of course.
Jordan was taking advantage of Landry’s quiet to look around more carefully. Landry watched as his gaze skimmed over the pool, rested for a moment on the view, and then moved to the pool house, where the collection of paintings was visible through the glass wall.
“What’s that?” Jordan blurted, pointing at the pool house. He grimaced and dropped his hand. “Sorry. You’re the one who’s supposed to be asking questions, not me.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you expect this job to entail?” Hey, that was a clever one. Score a point for the rational brain.
Jordan scratched his upper lip while he considered. “Elaine told me some of what she does. Driving you places, setting appointments, doing errands… things like that. But maybe I could just summarize?”
“All right.”
&nb
sp; “I think your personal assistant makes sure your life runs smoothly. They concentrate on the details so you can give your energy to your work and the other things you want to do instead of sweating the small stuff. If an assistant is really good, they figure out what you need before you do.”
That was an accurate précis. Maybe Elaine had coached him.
Landry laced his hands and set them on the tabletop. “You haven’t remained at your previous positions very long.”
“I think the longest was, um… two years? Around that. But yeah.”
“Why?”
“In a few cases, I quit because the place wasn’t run well. Sometimes the management just sucks, right? Like this one restaurant, they used to be great, but they started cutting corners. They were treating the whole staff like crap, which was bad enough, but they also found sneaky ways to screw over the customers.” He shrugged. “I got tired of being shortchanged and having to make excuses to people who’d laid out a lot of money for a meal.”
Landry knew enough about the food-service and retail industries to find Jordan’s story credible, but he raised his eyebrow again. “Were all your employers unscrupulous?”
“No, no, some of them were fantastic. But…. Okay. I’m gonna be honest. When I was younger, I used to be flaky. I got fired sometimes for fooling around during slow times at work or being late. And I got bored easily, so I’d want to try something else. I promise I’m more settled now. I’ve loved my caregiver placements. I’m good at taking care of people, I really am.” Jordan sighed. “I don’t think I’m very good at job interviews, though. People tell me I don’t have a good filter. But I think I could become a truly great PA—I wish I could show you that.”
He looked… distressed wasn’t the right word. Tired. Yes, that was it. As if he’d been making enormous efforts for a long time and was almost too fatigued to go on.
“Why don’t you tell me why you want this particular position.”
“Well, I want to try something new. I want a fresh challenge that builds on what I already love. I think I’d be good at this. But also… okay, this is gonna sound weird, but I can’t think of a better way to put it. I want to make a difference to someone. Long-term.” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with emotion. Pretty eyes. “It’s great to take care of people who, you know, are too sick to do it all themselves. But that doesn’t last. They get better or… or they don’t. I want something more. I want to make a real difference in someone’s life. Help ease his way so he can fly.”
“I’m not a project.” Landry’s tone was sharp.
“I know. You’re a person. And you’re super successful and super busy. But I can help smooth over all the bumps. I’d love it if now and then you could realize how well your life is flowing, and you could spend a second or two thinking, Hey, that Jordan’s really worth the bucks I’m paying him.”
Damn it. Well, at least Jordan hadn’t said hella even once, and he didn’t want to be an actor. And there was something so bright about him. A vitality that called to something deep inside Landry’s soul.
Landry leaned forward. “Let’s discuss the details, shall we?”
SOME of the details were easy. Jordan could start immediately, which meant he’d shadow Elaine for her last few days on the job. He said his parents would ship his belongings down from Seattle. He was perfectly satisfied with the salary and terms of employment Landry offered. And when Landry gave him a thorough tour of the property, explaining how things were supposed to work and what chores he expected to be completed, Jordan asked good questions and took notes on the back of his résumé. He also enthused about the house and furnishings, but not so much as to interfere with the business at hand. And he hung on Landry’s every word, even during the explanation of how the garbage collection worked.
Other details proved more complicated. Such as transportation. “What kind of car do you own?” Landry asked as they stood in the kitchen.
“Um… none. But I can save up my salary and get one.”
Landry frowned. That wouldn’t do at all. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Elaine. She was planning on selling her Benz before she moved to Hawaii anyway, so maybe he’d buy it from her for Jordan’s use.
But another issue overshadowed this one. “Where do you plan to live?” Landry asked.
“Elaine says I can stay with her until she moves. She’s letting me crash on her couch.”
“Will you take over her apartment after that?”
“Can’t. Her lease is up, and they’ve already rented the place to someone else. For way more money. I’ll look around and find something.”
Landry scowled more deeply. Although he paid a decent wage, it would be hard for Jordan to find affordable housing nearby. And Landry didn’t want him living too far away; he needed his PA available on short notice.
Jordan twitched his shoulders. “I, um, could rent a room from you maybe. ’Cause you have extras. Then I’d be right here anytime you need me. I promise I’m totally quiet, and neat too. I’ve been living with either my parents or some of my caregiver clients, so, you know, I’m used to house rules.” He smiled winningly.
On the one hand, Jordan was correct. The house held plenty of room for another person, and Landry having his PA at hand could be very convenient. But Jordan was a complete stranger, and Landry wasn’t used to sharing with anyone but Steve. Besides, Jordan’s mere presence made Landry’s heart beat a little faster than usual, and his cheeks felt ready to flush at a moment’s notice. The man was… compelling. Which Landry didn’t need in an employee.
“I won’t cramp your style,” Jordan said, misconstruing Landry’s silence. “I’ll totally stay out of the way when you have guests over, unless you want me to help with something. And if you have a date over, I’ll make myself scarce. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“I don’t have dates over.” He didn’t have dates, period. He’d gone out with a couple of guys after Steve died, but none of them stuck. They’d been nice enough, but he hadn’t felt an emotional connection. Yes, he became sexually frustrated at times, but he could take care of that solo. Hell, he could write a book on how to take care of it solo. Maybe he should suggest that to Dana instead of the IKEA hacks. Landry Bishop, Master of Masturbation.
And that was not where his mind needed to be right now.
“Pool house,” he said, startling himself and confusing Jordan.
“Excuse me?”
“You can stay in the pool house. It has a full bath, and it’s larger than any of the secondary bedrooms. There are curtains on the glass wall to give you privacy. We’d have to move out the paintings and move in some suitable furniture, but it would work well.”
It made perfect sense. Pool-house residents were common in Los Angeles, and it wasn’t as if Landry were truly using the space anymore.
But Jordan’s pretty mouth turned down slightly.
“You don’t care for the idea?” asked Landry.
“No! I mean, yes! I mean—shit. Sorry. It’s a great idea. I love it. Except I like the paintings. So it’d be kinda cool if they stayed. Otherwise the walls are gonna be blank. Um, unless you have somewhere else you want to hang them.”
Landry didn’t. There wasn’t a truly suitable space in the house—not unless he undertook a major redecorating project—and he didn’t want to put them into storage. He’d chosen those paintings himself. And if he was pleased that Jordan liked them too, well, that was irrelevant.
“They can stay. But you must be careful with them.”
“Cool! And of course. Really, I know my early work history was a little messy, but I’m not. I know how to take care of things.” He moved a step closer to Landry—near enough to touch—and his eyes shone with earnestness. “And how to take care of people too.”
If Jordan’s smile held promises, Landry decided to sidestep them. He just needed someone to pick up his dry cleaning.
Chapter Four
“YOU are a clever man, Landry.”
> Elaine missed the eye roll he made in response, since her gaze was fixed on the burly men frolicking in the pool.
“It’s hot,” Landry said. Which was true—a heat wave had raised temps to near 100.
“Uh-huh.”
“Moving furniture is hard work. They were sweaty.”
“Yes, yes, they were. And you are a humanitarian.”
Landry might have responded with something witty, but then one of the men climbed out of the water—his tighty-whities now completely transparent—directed a wave at Landry and Elaine, and then dove back in. Landry simply sighed.
They both stood there, staring, until bare feet padded on the concrete behind them. Landry turned to see Jordan approaching with a tray of frosted glasses and a large pitcher. “I still say beer’s better than iced tea,” Jordan announced as he placed the tray on a table.
“And something with citrus and tequila or rum might be best of all. But these gentlemen have to return to work eventually and therefore need to stay sober.”
“Yeah, I guess. But you don’t. Want me to get you something boozy?”
Although Landry was tempted, he shook his head. “Not now, thank you. I have work to accomplish today too. But you can help yourself if you like. You’re off duty for the afternoon, so you can get your room settled.”
Jordan glanced at Elaine—already clutching a glass of her famous homemade sangria—then squared his shoulders and looked back at Landry. “I don’t do alcohol. I had some issues with it before. Nothing… I never hit rock bottom or anything, but I’m better off avoiding it. I should have told you before. I’m sorry.”
“If it’s not going to interfere with your job, it’s none of my business.” Landry was glad to see Jordan brighten at his response, and added, “Your new health benefits include counseling, so if you feel you need some help, you can get it.”