I sat down, folding my hands in my lap while she explained my duties. I would basically be responsible for anything related to Mr. Romano’s personal care—his bedroom, his bathroom, his laundry, making sure things were organized exactly the way he liked. She mentioned “preferences” a few times but didn’t go into detail. That part made me a little uneasy. I didn’t know how picky he was. Was he the type to freak out if a towel was folded wrong?
As she talked, my brain kept drifting.
Who was this man?
Why was he invisible online?
Why did he need a personal maid in the first place?
Was he old? A retired businessman with a strict routine?
Or young? Maybe one of those reclusive rich men who avoided cameras like the plague?
The mystery tugged at me in a way that made me more curious than I
