“Did you buy this on eBay?” I ask.
He takes the frame from my hand and sets it back into place. Wanting order and control, now that is something that still rings true for Barrett.
“No, that is my undergraduate degree.”
“Then you got an MBA at Wharton?” I ask, noting the other, larger framed diploma.
“Yes, when I realized my father was sick. It was his request and I fulfilled it.”
“So, what did you want to do with your degree?”
“I don’t know. I was young and rebelling against my parents.”
“Ivy league grad. With honors,” I note. “You’re such a rebel.”
“I don’t regret it. It was the best time of my life. Visiting Paris and Milan to travel and study. I still like to collect, as you can see.”
“Oh God, I’d love to visit Paris.”
Barrett motions toward the door again, this time I follow his lead.
“Are you going to be like the Beast and allow me access to any book in your library?”
“What beast?”
“Like in the Disney movie Beauty and the Beast where he holds her captive and she loves to read so he lets her use his library.”
“I’m not holding you captive.”
“Blackmail is a form of captivity.”
“And you’re Beauty in this instance?”
“Belle. Her name is Belle. And, no. If I were a Disney princess, I’d be Ariel,” I motion to my red tresses, “which sucks because I’m not the best swimmer, but if I had a mermaid tail, I guess that would be helpful.”
Barrett stares at me blankly. Clearly, I lost him at Ariel.
“Oh, I know!” I raise a finger into the air as the lightbulb moment hits me. “I’ll add it to the list.”
“Add what?” he asks.
“Using your study. For reading and such. I could make a whole afternoon of sitting on that comfy looking chair and staring into the fireplace.”
“It’s June,” he says grumpily.
“You saw my apartment. Don’t make it a thing.”
He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Fine. Add it to the list. But my desk is off limits.”
My eyes return to the solid wood structure that is Barrett’s desk. Similar to his office, it is clean except for a lamp and a laptop computer. If Barrett was to have sex on his desk, a passionate sweep of all its contents wouldn’t even be necessary. He probably has a specific spot marked for a woman’s ass, maybe a couple of ‘place hand here’ signs if he’s bending her over it. Now I’m thinking about Barrett having sex at his desk. I want to pretend it would be mechanical but something tells me his art history degree isn’t the only surprise in this room.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
“Right,” I say, flustered those dirty thoughts about Barrett have again entered my brain.
On the way upstairs, Barrett walks us through the kitchen, informing me that Rose, his housekeeper, is here every day from seven to five. She oversees shopping, cleaning and other errands for the house. The pantry alone is larger than my apartment.
“Where is the food?”
“Dimitri prepares my meals and portions them out.” Barrett opens the refrigerator to reveal neatly stacked foil tins each labeled for the day and meal. I glance over the options. Mostly protein and a vegetable.
“No cheat day, huh?” I say, then reach for the freezer handle.
It’s empty.
“Do you even realize how much ice cream you could fit in here?” I ask.
Barrett’s response is to roll his eyes and start walking. I think I’m rubbing off on him.
I follow him up the natural wood staircase, stopping as we go to admire the art collection on the wall.
“Marcus will pick us up for work at eight o’clock sharp. Be ready.”
“I like to walk, especially now that I’m this close to my office.”
He nods, clearly indifferent about how I get to work.
“You can stay in this room.” He opens the door to the first room on the right.
Inside there’s a gray wood canopy bed with soft, white bedding. At the foot of the bed, a turquoise sofa sits under a white pearl chandelier. A coordinating oriental rug in teal, ivory and mossy green peeks out from under the bed and sofa.
“It’s perfect!” I exclaim as if Barrett hand chose everything in it for me, which he did not. He didn’t even know I’d be seeing his home until an hour ago. I take my response down a notch. “It’s nice. Thank you.”