The Walk-In Read Online Free PDF Page A

struggling to put stuffing into a turkey.
    “Oh, good. You’re here,” she said.
    “Why are you fisting that poor bird?”
    Grace snapped at me, “Because she likes it that way. Mind your own damn business.”
    “Sorry, just making a little joke.”
    Grace’s face softened. “Right. Jokes. I remember those.” She sighed heavily.
    “Did they move Thanksgiving up by a few months and nobody told me?”
    Grace grabbed some more bread crumbs and jammed them into the bird’s open orifice. “Mr. Thorne’s been having unusual cravings.”
    I leaned on the kitchen island—the island that was bigger than my entire kitchen. “What do you mean, unusual cravings?”
    “Mr. Thorne has his struggles, like the rest of us. Nothing that millions of people don’t deal with every day.”
    I frowned at the turkey, wondering what it could be. Grace’s lips tightened, so I knew she wouldn’t be telling me.
    “So, I’m done the walk-in closet and the office. What’s the plan for day number three? Pantry?”
    Grace grabbed a stalk of celery and crunched off a bite. After she finished chewing, she said, “I’d like you to do that feng shui thing in the bedroom.”
    “Really?” My pulse throbbed between my legs at the mention of the word bedroom .
    She said, “I want you to do the exact opposite of what you usually do.”
    I studied her expression for clues, but found little to go on in her lightly-lined but still attractive face. She continued, “Your company makes rooms romantic and sexy, and I’d like you to do the opposite for Mr. Thorne’s room. I don’t care what you do. Move the bed, put it on a weird angle, put garlic in the light fixtures. I want that room two hundred percent less sexy.”
    “I can do that,” I said nonchalantly. “All I need is an eight by ten photo of his mother.”
    Grace nearly choked on the celery she was chewing. “No. No. We need to reduce the sexuality, not kill him.”
    “I can do that,” I said confidently.
    She washed off her hands and brought me up to the bedroom.
    The room was, as expected, adjoining the walk-in closet. The door to the closet was open, so I took a quick peek at my recent handiwork. Yes, everything was perfectly organized. A place for everything and everything in its place, as it should be.
    A sensation pulled at me, below my belly. I also have a place for something, yes I do.
    “I’ll need some privacy,” I told Grace. “The bedroom feng shui is more of an intuition thing.”
    She nodded.
    Intuition? Actually, it’s more of a bullshit thing, but people love to get the story. Oh, I’ve read the books about feng shui , studied the diagrams. Put a mirror on this, have some fluffy pillows on that. Ninety percent of it is just common sense. I mean, who puts a cactus next to the bed?
    “You have four hours,” she said. “Nobody will interrupt you. Mr. Thorne is off on business somewhere, and I’ll be battling turkey and yams downstairs.”
    “I may need …”
    She pointed to a toolbox that was already in the room. “You should have everything here to move whichever artworks and mirrors you must. Please be careful with this one.” She pointed to a painting that was thick with lush flowers, and strangely erotic, for a garden. “It’s not a reproduction.”
    “I’ll be careful, plus we’re insured,” I said.
    “So are we, but this one has sentimental value for Mr. Thorne.”
    “Oh.” I stared at the painting, wondering what it meant.
    Grace backed out of the room and closed the door. The woman had the perfect name, because she really was the epitome of grace.
    The bedroom, now, was another story.
    The bedroom was the epitome of sex.
    Not in a tacky way, like one of those Love Motels you see in foreign movies, rented by the hour to young couples not lucky enough to have even a compact car in which to get their freak on.
    No, the bedroom was sexy in the way that only Egyptian Cotton with Infinity Thread Count can be. The duvet cover practically