“Who exactly are you?”
She tilted her head with amused curiosity.
“I’m Alexis,” she said. “Richard’s girlfriend.”
The word hung in the air between us.
Then she smiled brightly.
“And you must be the housekeeper.”
She laughed lightly, clearly pleased with her own observation.
“That makes sense,” she continued. “Although Richard usually hires staff who dress a little more professionally. Are you new here?”
I looked down briefly at the jeans and soft gray sweatshirt I had thrown on that morning because Saturdays were the only days I allowed myself to dress comfortably after a long workweek.
Apparently that made me invisible.
“I’ve been here for twelve years,” I said calmly.
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Housekeepers always exaggerate how long they’ve worked somewhere,” she replied. “Just tell Richard I’m waiting in the living room.”
She dropped onto the sofa.
Then she casually placed her feet on the coffee table that Richard and I had purchased together during the first year of our marriage, a piece of furniture we had spent an entire weekend refinishing by hand because we could not afford to replace it at the time.
“Could you bring me some water?” she called toward the kitchen. “With lemon. And please don’t put too much ice in it.”
I walked into the kitchen and filled a glass.
Leave a Comment