The Ugly Girlfriend(4)

“LaToya,” he said, happy to see her. Stepping aside, he motioned for her to come in. “Wasn’t too hard to find, I hope.”





“No, I just locked the address into my GPS,” she said, stepping inside. Her feet echoed on the tile floor.





He stepped outside the door and looked at her car. “I love those things. Did you have yours customized?”





“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, looking around. She ignored his small talk. How big of mess did he have for her?



Mitch closed the door and walked behind her. “So, do you want to walk around and take a look?”





“Do you mind?”





“No, not at all.” He clasped his hands together. “Would you like something to drink? I have soda, water, beer...”





“No, I’m fine.” She walked slowly through the large corridor and checked out the many large rooms piled high with unopened boxes.





Good grief, she thought to herself. This place is a wreck.



“And you say that you’ve been here a year?” she asked, taking out a notepad and pen.



“Yes. When I first arrived here, I had a crazy work schedule that I just assumed would calm down at some point. Needless to say that it never did.”



“So you want my team to go through all the boxes too?” She scribbled something on her pad.



He looked at her hands. “No, some of those boxes are going to be picked up soon. My ex is coming to get them in the next couple of days.”



LaToya looked back at him. He had a pained looked on his face. It must have been a touchy subject, but she had to find out what exactly he wanted.



“I can have those boxes out in the garage by the time that you’re ready to start the process, if she fails to collect them. It’ll just be my things in here by the time that you start.”



“Okay.” She put her foot on the first step of his wooden stairwell and looked back at him for approval.



“Please, go on,” he urged.



His eyes told her that he had a very uneventful life. Most single men had places that they didn’t want the cleaning service to invade. They would always walk her through each room, scanning it first for inappropriate objects like panties, dildos, porno. If they spotted something, they would immediately grab it up and stuff it away for later. Only later, she would get the contract and find it anyway. She had just about seen everything since she started her business. However, Mitch let her meander around alone. Yep, uneventful.



As she made her way up the crowed staircase, she noticed that he kept averting his eyes to the front door.



Holding on to the stairwell banister, she looked down curiously at him. Was he trying something?



“Are you waiting for someone?” she finally asked.





“Yes, but she won’t be here until 3:45,” he explained. “We’ve got plenty of time.”





“Alright.”





LaToya went up the stairs and looked around at each of the disheveled rooms. The huge master bedroom was basically an office with a bed in it, piled high with papers and coffee cups, blueprints and binders. The guest bedroom down the hall had been turned into a home gym, and the last bedroom was locked. She twisted the doorknob and then let go. Maybe this was his private place. Every man had one. There was no telling what was inside. And she didn’t want to know.



She looked at the bathrooms, the game room and the study and then came back downstairs. He was still standing in the same spot with his brown, leather boot propped up behind him on the wall.



“Are there any other rooms?” She asked looking at his foot.



He quickly removed it like an admonished child and looked at the small dirt mark it left on the satin-finished paint. “Yes, there are more down each hall,” he said, bending down to wipe the mark. Realizing it would need more care than a touch, he finally raised back up and guided her to the main hall. “The living room, dining room, uh, the kitchen are down this corridor. It’s a real monster in the kitchen, by the way. And the den and the media room are down the other corridor along with a guest bathroom and a few closets and what not.”



She walked behind him, watching his every move. He seemed nervous, which was typical for new clients. No one ever really liked having someone in his or her home.



After quickly looking through the other rooms with him, she finally made her way to his disheveled kitchen, where she sat down at the paper-covered table and pulled a contract from her backpack.



He sat down across from her with a cup of coffee and put the white porcelain to his lips.



“And this gets me services three times a week?” he asked, still looking down at the paper.