“Michaela, it looks like I’ll have a guest for dinner.” He turned back to her. “Meet me at the stairs, I’ll take you to your room. And stop calling me Mr. Towers. It’s just Beau.”
And then he turned around and stalked out of the kitchen as Izzy stared after him.
How had she gotten herself into this?
Beau couldn’t have been serious, could he?
“Any dietary restrictions?” Michaela smiled at her. “Food allergies I should know about? For dinner tonight, and for your stay here, I mean.”
Izzy stared at her. Michaela didn’t really think she was going to stay—for dinner or anything else—did she? But Michaela was looking at her expectantly. So after a few seconds, Izzy shook her head.
“Um, no. No food allergies.”
She should be at the beach by now, reading a book and eating tacos! Why did Michaela have to fall down? Why had Izzy bothered to help her all the way into the house? Why had she lingered to provide her with ice, and ibuprofen, and sympathy? Why hadn’t she fled this house as soon as possible?
“Okay, but is there anything you hate?” Michaela asked. “Mushrooms, eggplant, blue cheese? Are you a vegetarian? I do most of the cooking around here, so I want to make sure it’s stuff you like.”
She was supposed to be on a flight tonight out of LAX! An airport two hours away from here! Why was she talking about her food preferences with Beau Towers’s assistant???
“Oh, um, I like all those things fine. And no, not a vegetarian. Mostly I just hate anything that jiggles.”
Michaela gave her a strange look. “Anything that jiggles? What do you mean?”
People always thought this was weird about her.
“You know, custards, pudding, Jell-O—anything that if you poke it, it jiggles. It’s a texture thing, I can’t stand it.”
Michaela laughed for a while. Izzy didn’t think it was quite that funny. She also didn’t know why she was talking about jiggly food when she’d just handed the keys to her rental car to Beau Towers so he could bring in her suitcase. What was going on?
“That won’t be a problem, don’t worry. And if you think of anything else, just let me know, okay?”
Izzy wanted to ask why someone as nice and competent as Michaela would work for someone like Beau, but she knew she couldn’t ask that. But oh God, Beau must be furious at Michaela for letting her in the house.
“I’m sorry, Michaela. I put you in a bad situation there—letting me in after he’d told you not to.”
Michaela waved that away. “Oh, it’s fine. Beau’s bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
Izzy wasn’t so sure about that. Her doubt must have showed on her face because Michaela laughed.
“No, really, don’t worry. Beau and I have known each other for a long time.” She nodded toward the door. “Speaking of, he’s probably waiting to bring you to your room.”
“Oh. Right.” Izzy picked up her tote bag. “Okay. I’ll go…meet him, then.”
Michaela smiled at her. “Glad to have you here.”
That made one person, at least.
Izzy walked out of the kitchen and down the long tile hallway. She couldn’t believe she’d let Beau Towers get to her, and that she’d snapped back at him. She never did things like that—she got mad, sure, but she kept her anger buried, vented to Priya or another one of her friends later. But she’d antagonized Beau Towers on purpose. And the weird part was, she’d sort of enjoyed it. And now he was about to show her to a guest room in his house?
Marta would flip out as soon as Izzy told her about this, which she would have to do as soon as she got to the room. Pro: At least she had something more to tell Marta about Beau Towers. Con: absolutely everything else.
Izzy stopped in the entryway to wait and looked up at the enormous, curving staircase. It looked like something from a fancy magazine, with wide stairs and big gleaming banisters and a chandelier at the top. This wasn’t a staircase a person would simply walk down, it was a staircase you would descend. Preferably, in a long, trailing gown.
A few seconds later, Beau opened the front door with a bang and shattered the moment. See, this was why people told her that she read too many books—all she had to do was see one staircase, and she’d inserted herself into a fairy tale.
“Follow me,” he growled at her as he started up the staircase. She couldn’t help but notice that he picked up her overstuffed suitcase like it was as light as a feather.