melted under my touch. I flopped on the bed and pressed my cheek against the pillow, careful not to contact the surface with my lips. I’d put on minimal makeup that morning, but I didn’t want to mar the gorgeous linens with my pink lip gloss. It would be a crime!
I pulled one of the pillows between my knees and hugged another one. Breathing deeply, I ascertained that the linens had been changed that morning. I found no scent of a man, and, under the covers, none of those telltale hairs they leave behind.
I lay on my back and surveyed the sexy room.
Who was that girl on the bed?
Oh, it was me!
“Look at that, a mirror on the ceiling,” I said as I waved up at myself. “Hey, Lexie. Is that your real name? Sounds like sexy . Come on, you just made that name up.” I blew kisses up at myself. Damn, my face and body looked good from the ceiling down, with my dark hair fanned out around my head.
Obviously, the mirror over the bed had to go. Grace had left me a step ladder along with the tool box, but I didn’t relish the idea of getting all sweaty, grunting to take down a mirror from the ceiling. The thing could be heavy, and it could even kill me! My untimely demise would certainly hamper my plans to spend that roll of money I was going to get as a bonus.
I could leave the mirror and just move the bed.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said to myself, and I got started rearranging furniture. I slipped off my shoes and left them in the corner.
I’d done a lot of unusual jobs in my three and a half years (I’d say seven years only if I was trying to impress a new client) as a professional organizer. In the early days, I helped hoarders—which is a little like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, if you ask me, but … to each their own! I always figure if they’re not harming themselves or others, some people simply enjoy having and rearranging their stuff. The only problem was, they always seemed so disappointed at the end of a job, either because you made some progress, or because you didn’t.
My boss, Suzanne, upped our rates about two years into the business, which weeded out a lot of the hoarders. We still got a few, but they were the richer ones, who had entire rooms for gift wrapping. My third-most unusual job was organizing a gift wrap room. It took an entire week. No lie.
My second-most unusual job was for a guy who videotaped everything. We came up with an organization system for his physical copies of recordings, and a digital backup as well. That may not sound too strange, but he videotaped the two of us working the entire two days. I imagined some future organizer filing away the recordings of me, filing away the recordings of the previous organizer.
Make a bedroom less sexy? That was definitely my most unusual job. Number one on the list.
Why did Grace hire me to do such a thing?
The gardener had said Mr. Thorne had no wife or girlfriend, so it wasn’t at the request of a lover.
As I rearranged the reading chairs, two-seater sofa, and bed to be less cozy, I concocted a theory. Mr. Thorne was a business man, and single. On the phone the day before, he’d said he had just closed a billion-dollar deal. Therefore, he probably had a lot of business things on his mind, and didn’t want any distractions in his life.
That must have been why he called a phone sex line, and seemed to be a regular. I could understand that. Why take a risk on dating someone and trying to seduce them, only to find out after all that time that you’re not compatible? Something quick and simple like a phone sex line made sense.
I rolled up a red area rug and shoved it in a linen closet, then pushed the bed so that two sides were against the walls, which was a no-brainer. Immediately, the room was less sexy.
In feng shui , both sides of the bed should be easily accessible. You have to pity people in tiny apartments, who don’t have the option. Even with mirrors in the right spots, candles, and live, soft plants, their
I pulled one of the pillows between my knees and hugged another one. Breathing deeply, I ascertained that the linens had been changed that morning. I found no scent of a man, and, under the covers, none of those telltale hairs they leave behind.
I lay on my back and surveyed the sexy room.
Who was that girl on the bed?
Oh, it was me!
“Look at that, a mirror on the ceiling,” I said as I waved up at myself. “Hey, Lexie. Is that your real name? Sounds like sexy . Come on, you just made that name up.” I blew kisses up at myself. Damn, my face and body looked good from the ceiling down, with my dark hair fanned out around my head.
Obviously, the mirror over the bed had to go. Grace had left me a step ladder along with the tool box, but I didn’t relish the idea of getting all sweaty, grunting to take down a mirror from the ceiling. The thing could be heavy, and it could even kill me! My untimely demise would certainly hamper my plans to spend that roll of money I was going to get as a bonus.
I could leave the mirror and just move the bed.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said to myself, and I got started rearranging furniture. I slipped off my shoes and left them in the corner.
I’d done a lot of unusual jobs in my three and a half years (I’d say seven years only if I was trying to impress a new client) as a professional organizer. In the early days, I helped hoarders—which is a little like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, if you ask me, but … to each their own! I always figure if they’re not harming themselves or others, some people simply enjoy having and rearranging their stuff. The only problem was, they always seemed so disappointed at the end of a job, either because you made some progress, or because you didn’t.
My boss, Suzanne, upped our rates about two years into the business, which weeded out a lot of the hoarders. We still got a few, but they were the richer ones, who had entire rooms for gift wrapping. My third-most unusual job was organizing a gift wrap room. It took an entire week. No lie.
My second-most unusual job was for a guy who videotaped everything. We came up with an organization system for his physical copies of recordings, and a digital backup as well. That may not sound too strange, but he videotaped the two of us working the entire two days. I imagined some future organizer filing away the recordings of me, filing away the recordings of the previous organizer.
Make a bedroom less sexy? That was definitely my most unusual job. Number one on the list.
Why did Grace hire me to do such a thing?
The gardener had said Mr. Thorne had no wife or girlfriend, so it wasn’t at the request of a lover.
As I rearranged the reading chairs, two-seater sofa, and bed to be less cozy, I concocted a theory. Mr. Thorne was a business man, and single. On the phone the day before, he’d said he had just closed a billion-dollar deal. Therefore, he probably had a lot of business things on his mind, and didn’t want any distractions in his life.
That must have been why he called a phone sex line, and seemed to be a regular. I could understand that. Why take a risk on dating someone and trying to seduce them, only to find out after all that time that you’re not compatible? Something quick and simple like a phone sex line made sense.
I rolled up a red area rug and shoved it in a linen closet, then pushed the bed so that two sides were against the walls, which was a no-brainer. Immediately, the room was less sexy.
In feng shui , both sides of the bed should be easily accessible. You have to pity people in tiny apartments, who don’t have the option. Even with mirrors in the right spots, candles, and live, soft plants, their
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