and to give her a quick tour of the house.
The bastard.
As much as I love and respect the guy, he’s made more work for me. I haven’t decided which room to allocate her and I’ll wait for her to come to me. At least the house is big and there are plenty of rooms so I won’t have to run into her.
I sit down to write but the words don’t come easily. Too much has happened today. Rob doesn’t understand how much this new setup is going to derail me. I was already struggling to do that simple task—sit down at my desk, put my favorite pen in my hands, and start writing, always on loose sheets of paper, with my notebook of plot points and characters to hand.
I always write a few chapters longhand, then let that sit before I go back and tweak it. Later, I type it up into my computer for what will form my first draft, and I flesh and deepen things as I type. I chisel at some things that are not needed. Working this way, the story transforms, changing, and growing, and becoming a story worth telling. Once the first draft is complete, I’ll read it again, and fix it, then read it some more, and fix it some more. I do this for as long as it takes to perfect the idea that was once in my head as it takes form on paper. And during that entire time nobody but me gets to read it.
But I haven’t been able to do this since my mother died.
Those six pages are all that I’ve managed.
With these new changes to my day, I am determined to finish this book so that I can get back home to my normal routine and get my life back. I look through the loose sheets of paper and read through what I’ve written.
It’s rubbish.
Then I look through my notebook hoping for inspiration but the doorbell rings. The interruption knives through my concentration. I glance at the clock and am shocked to see that it is late evening. I’ve lost track of time. The doorbell rings again, and I ignore it.
The new housekeeper has already failed in her first task. “Mary!” I roar, not wanting to get up. She won’t hear me. The house is too big and she could be anywhere. I’m going to need a bell or something to summon her with. Or get a pair of walkie talkies so that I won’t have to physically look for her.
“Answer the goddamn door!” I bellow, my rage simmering as I am forced to leave the cocoon of my study. “
I hear a shout and banging on the door. I head towards it and open the damn thing myself. Two curious faces stare back at me. One of those faces belongs to the new housekeeper. What the hell is she doing outside?
“It’s Ma-ree,” she says.
“What?”
“It’s not Mary. Ma-ree.”
I blink at this woman telling me how to pronounce her name. This woman who should not be here. This woman I am stuck with as a punishment from Rob who foolishly thinks it will help me to finish my book.
Now there’s an incentive if ever I needed one.
“I thought you were inside. Where did you go?” My eyes shift to the guy standing next to her.
“I had to get my stuff. Rob told me to move in as soon as possible.”
“I bet he did,” I grumble.
“This is Jamie,” she says quickly, introducing me to the grinning idiot. He’s had a smile on his face the entire time. I sense that any moment now he’s going to ask for my autograph or a selfie. Of course, I’ll have to decline both.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Maddox.” The guy holds out his hand. I refuse to take it, and I turn away. I have words to write.
Or words to pretend to write.
Or a chair to try to sit in and pretend to look busy in.
I walk away to return to my den and leave them talking. She tells him she’ll be fine but by the tone of his voice, the guy doesn’t seem to think so. Then the door closes, just as I approach the door to my study.
“Wait!” The housekeeper’s loud yelp pierces through me, forcing me to turn around.
This.
This is what I did not want.
Or need.
Tight-lipped, I turn around and glare at her.
“These are for you.” She hands me a bag which I refuse to take.
“What is it?”
“Take a look, you