Read Online Timothy by Greg Herren - Free Book Online Page B

the closet. There were also several shirts in the bag, linen shirts in vibrant colors with matching ties wrapped around the hanger. There was an electric blue shirt with a dark red tie, a dark red one with a blue tie, and a beige shirt with a red-and-blue striped tie. I held each up against me in turn so I could see how they looked in the mirror, and again my eyes filled with tears. I had never before owned anything so beautiful. I hung the shirts up next to the suits and folded the garment bag and placed it on the shelf. I couldn’t stop staring at my beautiful new clothes.
    I took a cup of coffee out onto the balcony and sat down.
    Of course, I didn’t have anywhere to wear these clothes—they were far too nice to wear to the office, and while I sometimes got to trail along behind Valerie at posh events, I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me wearing clothes that made me look like an invited guest rather than her lackey.
    As I sat there sipping my hot coffee, beads of sweat breaking out on my upper lip and my forehead, I wondered with a start if it was okay to accept the clothes.
    In any number of novels I’d read, women weren’t allowed to accept expensive gifts from men who were interested in them—such gifts were inappropriate. The proper thing to do was to return them with an air of being insulted.
    But that also presumed that Carlo was interested in me romantically—and I wasn’t sure he was. He hadn’t done anything untoward—he’d never touched me except in passing or to get my attention, and when he had, his touch hadn’t lingered. He hadn’t tried to kiss me or to get me up to his suite—and, I remembered with a smile, I still didn’t know which hotel it was at.
    So I couldn’t return the clothes to him even if I wanted to—all I could do was return them to the Versace store.
    I bit my lower lip. Even if I never had the chance to wear them, I didn’t want to part with them. I didn’t care if it meant something bad. I wasn’t going to get rid of them. Period.
    And if yesterday was any indication, he certainly didn’t expect anything in exchange from me.
    Having made up my mind, I ate my breakfast and finished the pot of coffee. I was debating whether I should call to thank him or simply send a text message—I wasn’t sure of the protocol other than I knew I had to acknowledge his generous gifts—when my cell phone started ringing.
    It was Valerie.
    She sounded horrible, her voice raw and throaty, deep with phlegm. She coughed again as she said, “Did you get everything taken care of?”
    â€œYes.” Valerie never wanted anything more than yes or no for an answer. I had learned that lesson the hard way on my first day with her.
    â€œYou have cleared my schedule for the rest of the week, of course.” She coughed again, her voice raspy and wheezy. “I’ve just sent you an e-mail with the things I need you to take care of today.”
    â€œDo you need to see the doctor again?”
    â€œNo, there’s nothing else he can do for me. I have to take all these damned pills and eventually it’ll run its course.” Her voice took on a venomous air. “I’ll just bet that brat on the plane gave this to me. Why the airlines let brats in first class now is beyond me. They might as well…” She went on like this for a few minutes, but I stopped listening. When Valerie was on one of her rants, she didn’t really require my full attention—all I needed to do was agree periodically when she paused to breathe.
    So while she ranted, I got up and walked over to the closet and stared at the clothes again, a delighted smile on my face as I fingered the sleeves of the jackets and the shirts yet again. Versace—I couldn’t believe I owned clothes from Versace.
    I’d certainly come a long way from that small college town in Kansas!
    As I stood there, vaguely aware