Maid for Each Other(47)

“That sounds on-brand with who I thought you were before.” I dropped to a squat and noticed he had every single flavor of Doritos, all lined up on a shelf.

“I should probably take advantage of this time before I board and get some work done,” he said. “My inbox is overflowing.”

Was it overflowing with Hathaway work or with Roman work, which was still a giant question mark? My curiosity couldn’t take it anymore so I decided to throw out, “So what kind of stuff do you and Roman do, investment-wise?”

There was a brief pause before he answered.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

What a…weird way to not answer my question.

“I don’t. I mean, I’m just curious,” I explained. “Because it’s unique to see two best friends working on investments together in their spare time.”

And by “unique,” I mean suspicious.

“It’s kind of…complicated,” he said, his tone warning me to butt out.

“And it has nothing to do with Hathaway, you said?” I asked.

“What are you trying to ask me, Mariano?” he said, sounding…defensive? Exasperated, maybe. “Spit it out.”

“Okay,” I said, unsure why it felt important for me to know. “Tell me exactly what kind of work you do with Roman, even if it’s too complicated and boring for me to understand.”

“No.” I heard him clear his throat before he said, “I can’t. It’s nothing illegal or immoral, but it’s confidential.”

“I see,” I said, wondering what that could even mean in terms of investments.

“I’d tell you if I could,” he said, “but it’s just one of those business things.”

Like drug-running and embezzlement?

As soon as I had that thought I shut it down, because he’d given me no reason not to trust him. I might not understand what he was up to, but I didn’t have to.

“So, do you fly first class?” I asked, changing the subject while trying to picture him in an airplane.

“I do today,” he said.

“You don’t always?”

“Okay, I do most of the time,” he admitted, which made me laugh because of course he did. If he didn’t mind buying an expensive necklace and then throwing it away, the man would not care about saving money on airfare.

“Do they really give you hot towels?” I wondered aloud.

“Not on short flights, and not on smaller airplanes, but more often than not, yes, there are hot towels.”

“What do you do with them?” I asked, feeling yet again like the rest of the adults in the world had received a life manual that I’d somehow missed out on. “I mean, I know the obvious answer is wipe down your face, but it just seems like such an odd thing to offer.”

“I guess it is, now that you mention it,” he said, sounding amused, like he’d never thought about it before.

“Okay, you go do your work,” I said, “and I’m going to see if you have enough in your kitchen for me to make chocolate chip cookies.”

“My fingers are crossed for you,” he said dryly.

“Sure they are.”

“Talk to you later,” he said.

Before he could hang up I said, “Text me when you land, just so I know you didn’t crash.”

“Are you concerned about me, Mariano?”

I was speechless for a second, unsure why I blurted that out and unsure why his voice sounded like that, like he was smiling and genuinely curious.

“Yes,” I said, my cheeks warm even though no one was here for me to even be embarrassed in front of. “Only because if you die, I’ll probably get kicked out of this place before Friday.”

“I already wrote it into my will that way. You’ll definitely be dragged away.”

“Goodbye, Declan,” I said, rolling my eyes.

This time, before I hung up, I heard his quiet voice. “I’ll text you.”

I smiled to myself, biting my lower lip. “Good.”

After the call ended, I felt a sense of lightness as I immersed myself in a game of hide-and-seek with the ingredients in his massive pantry.

Declan didn’t have any chocolate chips, but he had enough overripe bananas for me to make six loaves of my grandma’s banana bread. He also had a massive industrial mixer, which was something I’d never used before, so I really enjoyed whipping up that batch of yumminess.

But after I cleaned the kitchen and put away the bread, I felt a little lost.

I texted Lauren, but she didn’t respond. Which wasn’t a surprise. She was my very best friend—my only friend aside from co-workers, if I was being honest—but she didn’t have much time for me anymore. She was in love, had found her soulmate, and now he took most of her time.

Which was how it was supposed to be.

She’d found the perfect person for her and they were constantly together.

But it left me feeling lost a lot of the time.

I plopped down on the sofa and tried to see if I could find an episode of Psych, because I was too tired to write at the moment and I wasn’t in the mood for Stephen King.

But sitting there, looking for something on the TV, kind of illuminated just how stagnant my life was.

Because here I was, in a stunning multimillion-dollar apartment, and I literally had no one to call and freak out about it to. No one but my mom, who arguably didn’t really care where I was or what I was doing if it didn’t affect her. Truth be told, I kind of wanted to order a pizza just so I could show the driver that I was doing something exciting.