“Yes, she’s old school. I’ve only just got her to stop singing God Save the King every time I enter a room,” he joked, and she giggled.
“Should I just hum Hail to the Chief under my breath to make her feel more comfortable?” Bella retorted.
“Yes, in fact, that may be just the sort of emergency to spur a cell phone call to you. I need someone at the main house to hum ironically. So difficult to find a good ironic hummer these days. Everyone’s so earnest.”
“It’s the hipsters. I went out with a guy last summer who talked about nothing but his new Hamilton soundtrack. On vinyl. It was the most hipster thing I ever heard in my life. I bet he plays it on a hand-crank phonograph to make his organic heirloom tomatoes grow better.”
“Wow. I thought it was just beards and skinny jeans.”
“Oh, there is so much more, and it is so pretentious. And that’s in the Midwest, so I can only imagine what it’s like in urban areas and on the coast.”
“I don’t travel in those circles, but evidently, it’s an epidemic. Wait—you don’t weave your own cloth or anything, do you?”
“No. I mean, I did build a spinning wheel out of old wood pallets and use it to spin my rooftop garden flax harvest into linen thread and sold it at the co-op for some kale and bean curd…” She laughed.
“That was surreal.”
“Thanks. I came up with it myself. No, I don’t weave. I don’t say ‘locavore’ or talk about craft beer like it’s a religion either.”
“Remind me to stay out of the dating scene in Arkansas. I wouldn’t survive.”
“You’d be mobbed. You don’t have a scraggly beard, and you don’t sound like an unemployed self-righteous douchebag.”
“Thanks. I took extra communications courses at Wharton to avoid douchiness.”
“Right. It was nice meeting you, Harvey. You’re a lot more down to earth than I expected.”
“Thank you. And younger, apparently. If I have a Metamucil emergency, I’ll know who to call.”
“Yes. I could take care of that for you,” Bella said, embarrassed.
“I hope you like working here. We’re glad to have you at the compound.”
“That sounds so Kennedys.”
“I didn’t want to call it an estate or something stuck-up like that. It’s not an ancestral manor. It’s a bunch of affiliated residential buildings under top-flight security. That’s a compound,” he shrugged as if it were totally ordinary. She smiled at him again, her gaze lingering on his perfect face before she walked out.
Bella was in serious trouble. She had a crush on her boss.
Chapter 4
Harvey Carlson didn’t have time for distractions. A cute new maid was a minor problem. Certainly nothing he couldn’t ignore, though. The major problem was the cute new maid’s adorable personality. She offered to make him Metamucil. She babbled when she was nervous. She told razor-sharp jokes about hipsters. In short, she was a disaster. He liked having competent, healthy, and unobtrusive staff. They were supplied with every advantage to enable them to fulfill his requirements perfectly and without drawing attention to themselves. So here was Bella James, like a lightning rod for his attention.
His pulse had sped up, and he’d put down the stylus he’d been using on his table. He’d, in fact, quit doing anything except talking to her and flirting a little. His mind wasn’t on business or how to dismiss her swiftly, so she didn’t deter his working momentum. Instead, he’d paid attention and been fully present. The corporate world set a high value on Harvey Carlson’s undivided attention.
There were plenty of struggling or not-so-struggling executives who’d gladly pay thousands for the ten minutes of focus he’d lavished on a mere employee who amused him. It had been an absolute waste of time, and he’d be certain she was assigned to work in whichever part of the house was farthest from his office and private quarters. He could tell Marks that the girl’s voice annoyed him or something superficial like that. The housekeeper would not only reassign her, she’d probably have the girl muzzled or have her mouth duct taped or something extreme.
No, better to say he wanted no staff in the vicinity of his office unless expressly summoned. The area would simply have to be cleaned while he was at work. It was a simple matter to remove the distracting maid from his immediate sphere. Out of sight, out of mind. It was as easy as that. Harvey congratulated himself on solving the issue so handily. He messaged Mrs. Marks with the directive for absolute seclusion and silence anytime he was working in his office.
Now Harvey could concentrate on the relevant challenges, the kind that superseded any adolescent attraction he felt toward the cute maid. Like the fact that his mother was coming back to the States from a year in Europe next month, which meant nothing but trouble. She would either demand that he marry a respectable blue-blood immediately or that he avoid any sort of romantic entanglement lest he end up like his father.
When he died, Harvey’s father was married to wife number five, a twenty-nine-year old restaurant seating hostess turned heiress when she outlived her wealthy husband of only eight months. She wore a red bandage dress to the funeral and generally made dear old dad look ridiculous regardless of what she was wearing. So he would be damned if he did (like Dad) or damned if he didn’t and thus died without an heir, or something like that. Harvey had been hearing the same contradictory arguments from his mother for the last decade and her time in Italy had given him a nice year off from her constant harangue.
He needed to clear the permits for the acquisition of the Jakarta plant and speak with the legal department about the debt load from restructuring. He also needed to quit thinking about Bella and whether she was going to take advantage of the staff pool. He’d had a lap pool installed two years ago for his employees, and it had proven a good investment both in fitness and morale. He’d only been there himself on the day they opened the pool and had a cookout to celebrate.
Otherwise, he gave his employees their privacy. He didn’t want them standing around while he swam laps by the main house, so it stood to reason they’d prefer their boss to leave them alone while they swam. It seemed rude to drop in and demand to know if they were enjoying the pool or if they’d noticed any health benefits from it. Still—he might need to spend more time building positive relationships with his employees. He often took one division or other out to lunch at corporate each week—this week had been the Accounting staff at the new empanada restaurant. It made sense to socialize a bit with his domestic help as well. Build loyalty and mutual respect, that sort of thing.
Harvey decided that after he called legal and checked on the permits for Jakarta, he’d stroll over to the staff pool and see if it was being put to good use. That should give them time to complete her tour. Not that he was even timing his visit casually to coincide with the swim an Arkansas girl would be unable to resist as she settled in. Her presence had nothing to do with his plan. He was building positive rapport with staff. It was just good business practice. That’s all.