He leaned back in his seat and the expression that passed over his face was one of satisfaction that he didn't seem to try to hide. "I'm covering it. You don't need to worry about it."
He folded the contract in two and then once again before holding it tightly in his hand. Natalie tried to keep her mind on her immediate needs and not on the inexplicable expression on his face and the unrelenting grip he had on the document she had signed. "Do you have access to it?"
His eyes penetrated hers. "What do you need?"
"My clothes," she said simply.
"You'll have them in the morning."
****
Two weeks later, Natalie had a routine established. Her nerves still fluttered whenever Marco was around, but he wasn't around often. He rarely ate in, and he came home from work late at night, and looked at her only briefly with hooded eyes before he locked himself in his study. She had only been asked to cook for him twice, and both times, she had retreated to her bedroom after putting his meal on the table. He was unstintingly polite to her at all times and she attempted her best to remain the same.
The bedroom that he had placed her in on that very first night became hers. She silently wished for the room farthest away from his, but was too afraid to rock the proverbial boat by asking him if she could make the move and she wasn't brave enough to do it without asking. Except for its location near him, the bedroom she was using was extremely comfortable. It came equipped with a flat screen television, a writing desk, a small sitting area, as well as an en-suite bathroom.
The day her clothes had shown up, so had a sleek, thin, state of the art laptop. After she'd finished in the kitchen, she found it on her writing desk, out of the box and ready to go. She'd had the opportunity to ask him about it that very same evening. "I think there's been a mistake. There's a laptop in my room."
"Do you have a computer already?" He had to know she didn't.
"No."
"Then it's for your use. There's wifi in the building."
"Thank you. And thank you for the cell phone as well."
He nodded his head once and then looked back to his own computer screen, dismissing her altogether.
And that had been that. He hadn't bothered to ask if she had a dedicated phone number--so she sent out a mass text message to her contacts informing them of the new number.
Natalie had also spoken to her mother and assured her of her welfare. She hadn't told her the complete truth, only that she'd gotten a temporary job as a cleaner. She'd learned from the conversation that her mom still had the live-in boyfriend. Someday, she reminded herself, her mother would see that he was no good. Until that day came, Natalie consoled herself with the thought that he was very likely only a cheater and a loser; he didn't seem to be a drug user or an abuser of alcohol. He'd never shown any violent tendencies. Hopefully, her mom would come to her senses and Natalie could move back to the small town she loved and the job she knew she'd be welcomed back to at the title company, where she'd worked for the last four years.
As far as work sentences were concerned, so far, hers had been a breeze. She almost felt guilty, and it occurred to her with a flare of conscience that crashing into him had possibly been the best thing she'd ever done. She was so used to long work hours, that taking care of his home, so far, had been the easiest job she'd ever had. Granted, she wasn't earning any money, and she didn't have a car at her disposal, but after a few easy hours in the morning of wiping the counters, running the vacuum and straightening up, the days were hers.
So far, she'd spent them catching up on her sleep, taking long hot baths, and watching scads and scads of cable television--something she'd never had access to before on a regular basis.
Of course, she'd used the computer to Google him. His name was the first thing she'd put into the search engine. She hadn't found out as much as she'd expected, mostly information about his bank. It was a family entity, started by his grandfather in the early days after the Second World War. Its home base was in New York, making her wonder why he made his home in Houston. The major stockholder was Marco, who inherited the majority holding when his paternal grandfather had died. His own father had been killed, in a plane crash alongside his mother, when Marco was a boy of nine. Natalie silently winced for him when she had read that he had been orphaned at such an early age. He seemed to be basically alone now, although he had numerous cousins and a few aunts and uncles spread around the world. He was thirty-two years old, his middle name was Rafaele, but she couldn't find any information on his private life.
She'd given up that endeavor when she'd become frustrated from lack of information and from the sorrow his childhood circumstances caused her. She'd pushed it from her mind and gone back to exploring.
She'd explored the penthouse from top to bottom, and had found the lovely and very private rooftop balcony. The area was designed strategically to block off any high winds, and she'd spent a few pleasant hours here and there working on a suntan she'd never had time for before. She hoped he never caught her during her moments of leisure, but surely she wasn't supposed to be working twenty-four-seven? There wasn't possibly that much work available for her to do.
All and all, except for being nervous around him, she was content with her temporary life, if only it weren't for the nagging guilt that she shouldn't be having such a restful time. She didn't have to worry about anything. Not bills, not food, not her mother's boyfriend trying to sneak into her room in the middle of the night.
Marco had only called her on the cell phone he had given her twice--the two times he wanted to eat in. And now, inactivity making her claustrophobic, she slipped the phone into the pocket of her shorts and laced her tennis shoes. It had been too long since she'd gotten any real exercise, and surely a building as nice as this one had a gym?
She grabbed the extra key card from the entryway table and took the elevator down. In the two weeks she'd been living here, except for the rooftop, it was the first time she'd been out of the penthouse. Suddenly, she was itching to see the world again and decided to take a brisk walk instead of looking for the gym.
Natalie smiled at the concierge as she walked past, and then again at the doorman. She had a ten-dollar bill in her pocket, just in case, and she set out walking at a brisk pace. It was the noon hour, and the sidewalks of Downtown were full of business-type people. She made a mental note of the corner she started from, and made a quick decision to turn right and take off from there. She quickly caught on to the ebb and flow of traffic; how the lights would change, and the wave of people would cross in front of the stopped cars. She walked up and down the streets rapidly for about half an hour before she became out of breath.