“Here.” She wrapped the bag in the dish towel and handed it to Michaela. “Put this on your ankle, but give me a second—I’ll fill up another bag with ice so you have more than one ice pack.”
Michaela set the bag of peas on her ankle and let out a sigh before she looked up at Izzy. “I would say you don’t have to do all of that, but I imagine that wouldn’t do any good, would it?”
Izzy shook her head. “None at all, so I’m glad you didn’t bother to say it. Now, do you have any of those gallon plastic bags? The ones that seal.”
Michaela pointed. “That drawer, to the right of the dishwasher.”
Izzy pulled a bag out and surveyed the ice maker on the fridge. “Oh wow, multiple kinds of ice. Perfect.” She pushed a button and crushed ice flew out of the ice maker and straight into the plastic bag. “Now, put one underneath, and one on top. Wrap your ankle in the towel first, though, otherwise it might be a little too cold. And remember that these frozen peas have been used as an ice pack.”
Michaela laughed. “I should label them somehow, just so I know.”
Okay, Izzy had to ask.
“Do you live here? Are you and Beau…？”
Michaela stared at her for a moment, then laughed very hard. “Oh, no, no. I’m his assistant.” She gestured to the kitchen. “And also his cook. I do a little bit of everything around here. But no, I don’t live here. And no. We aren’t.”
Ahh, okay. Though what Beau Towers needed an assistant for, in his long days of not responding to emails and not turning in his book, Izzy had no idea. But then, rich people lived very different lives than people like her.
“Got it.” She was embarrassed now that she’d asked. “Sorry, I was just…wondering.” She should probably get out of Beau Towers’s house now and stop asking his assistant questions. “I should go. Oh, wait—you should take some ibuprofen. Do you have any?”
Michaela hesitated, then shook her head.
“Okay, hold on,” Izzy said. “I think I have some in my bag.” She turned to grab her bag from where she’d set it on the counter and rummaged through it for a minute. Finally, she found the bottle.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
She slowly looked up. And that’s when she saw him. Leaning against the kitchen door and staring at her.
He was big; that was the first impression she got about Beau Towers. Tall, muscular, solid. How had she not heard him walking toward the kitchen?
He looked like an unkempt, unstyled, and very unhappy version of his publicity pictures. Light brown skin, curly hair, a very unruly beard. Gray sweatpants that looked like they’d seen better days, a black T-shirt, and a hoodie that probably cost more than Izzy’s entire outfit.
And he looked furious. Angry and mean. Before she’d worked for Marta, she might have been scared of that look. But now she just smiled and walked over to him. What did it matter if this guy was mean to her? She might as well introduce herself to him, since she was here. And she’d better do it before he yelled at her.
“Hi, Mr. Towers, I’m Isabelle Marlowe, Marta Wallace’s editorial assistant. I’ve sent you a few emails, you might recognize the name? I came here to—”
“I said I didn’t want to talk to you. Did you break into my house to ask me about a book? You should leave.” He raised his voice. “Now.”
She’d expected him to yell at her, and now he had. She hoped Marta would be happy, at least.
“She didn’t break in,” Michaela said. “She helped me inside after I did this.”
Beau looked over Izzy’s head at Michaela, and his whole face changed. He rushed over to her.
“Oh no, Kettle, what happened? Are you okay?”
Michaela gestured to her ankle. “I’ll be okay, but only because of Isabelle here—I went out to check the mail, and I slipped. Thank goodness she was there. She saw me fall, got me inside, and got me ice. Otherwise, I’d probably still be sitting out there shouting for someone to help me in.”
Izzy waved that away. “I was happy to help.”
“Have you taken anything?” Beau said to Michaela. “You should take some ibuprofen.” He looked around, like it was going to appear in front of him somehow.
Izzy sighed. “I was just saying that. I have some right here.”
Beau smiled at her for a half second, before he apparently remembered who she was and scowled again. “I’ll get water,” he said to Michaela, and stalked over to the cabinet.