I hurry to the elevator and call my assistant. She answers after the first ring.
“Quinn, I—”
“This is Quinn. I’m on vacation because my mother is ailing. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” The phone beeps in my ear. I pull the device away from my ear and stare at the screen in dismay. Quinn really went on vacation. Damn it. Now I have to do things for myself.
I scroll through my contacts to see if I have the number for the person who cleans my house. I don’t but why would I? That’s Quinn’s job! I do a quick internet search and call up the first number that pops up.
“Yeah, I need my house cleaned. How big is it? 4,000 square feet I think? When? Today. I’ll remote open the side door and you can go right in. I have a cat but she shouldn’t bother you.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have any one available that can clean your residence today. The soonest opening I have is Wed—”
“Forget it,” I cut the person off. “I’ll pay twice—no, three times as much.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. Really, but I don’t have a crew available.”
I hang up and try another number and another and by the fifth rejection, I’m feeling a little panicked. Time to break out the big guns.
Star. If u hv any feelings at all for ur bro call me asap.
The phone rings as I’m unlocking the door to Quinn’s Mercedes.
“What is it?” Star asks, her tone slightly on edge. “You’re not injured, are you?”
“Nah. I need help finding a cleaner.”
“What’s wrong with the one you have?”
“Nothing, but I can’t get in contact with them. Quinn’s got the number and before you can tell me to call Quinn, I can’t because she’s at her mom’s on vacation.”
“Oh, Mack,” my sister sighs.
“I know.”
“You have too much money,” she accuses.
I rest my phone on the console and let the Bluetooth connect before replying. “We have the same amount.”
“I know but somehow it seems you have more. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s because you’re married and your wife makes you do things that you didn’t have to do before, like go grocery shopping.” I navigate out of the parking lot and arrow the car toward my house.
“There’s some truth to that,” Star admits. “Why do you need your place to be cleaned right now? Don’t you have your staff come weekly?”
“Yeah, but, tonight it needs to be cleaned.”
Star gasps. “Mack. Does this mean what I think it means?”
I can feel heat climbing up my neck. I tug at my collar. “Dunno. What do you think it means?”
“You and Dally are finally getting together. Oh my gosh, wait until I tell Maisie!”
“Wait!” I yell into the phone. “We’re not together yet. This is the first step. You guys need to stay on your side of the city and not interfere.” I have visions of them showing up at my house with balloons and banners congratulating us on losing our virginity to each other.
“I thought you wanted my help,” my sister pouts.
“I just need the name of a reputable cleaning company that can come and make the house look shiny and new.”
“I don’t know if that exists. I hate to tell you this, Mack, but you might have to pick up the house yourself. I feel like it would be good for you. Character building even.”
I glare at the phone. This is why sisters are bad.
“I can feel your angry stare through the cell phone,” Star announces. “I have a couple of free hours this afternoon and will come over and help you. In exchange, you have to donate a fat check to the Skylight Foundation.”
“Done.” I donate regularly to Star’s pet project anyway so this is in no way a punishment.
“And you’ll need to attend the banquet.”
“No.” I hate those fucking events.
“Come on, Mack. We always get such a better turnout when you’re on the guest list. For some reason, the old crones love you.”
“Which is precisely why I don’t go.” It’s like once an old socialite turns fifty, all sense of morality flies out the window. I’ve been groped, pinched, and grabbed more times than I care to count. “Life was a lot easier when I was fat.”
Star snorts. “You hated life as Fat Mack,” she scoffs.
“Fat Mack didn’t have a bevy of face-lifted, Botoxed geriatrics crawling up his dick either. He didn’t know how good he had it,” I lament, but Star’s correct. Fat Mack was a harrowing time in my life. It’s actually hard to remember that I no longer look like the dumpy middle schooler who everyone made fun of. Even though I can feel my own abs and see my bicep muscles in the mirror, there’s still the illusion of Fat Mack that overlays the image in the mirror. Besides, I can’t really figure out why all these women are hot for me now. I’m still the same nerdy person I was before, only I look better on the outside. Looks aren’t worth shit, in my book.