Read Billionaire's Runaway Princess for Free Online Page B

building saying that I don’t pay you well enough to buy clothes. I tell you what. When we get to the apartment we’ll go online and order some stuff for you.”
    “You shouldn’t,” protested Marisol.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll take it out of your first check…and second, depending on how much of a spendthrift you’re.”
    “ Moi ? A spendthrift? How poorly you think of me, sir?” She glanced up at him coyly batting her eyelashes, and he chuckled.
    “I wouldn’t invite you to my house if I thought poorly of you. Here, let’s get a taxi.”
    Ryan hailed a cab and they sped down the New York streets at a break neck pace. They were tossed around in the vehicle as the cabby sped up, hit his brakes and then sped up again. Marisol almost felt she was on a carnival ride. To the left passed the tall trees of Central park and she shivered thinking of her near collision with danger.
    The cab pulled up at a Park Avenue apartment. When they entered Marisol immediately felt at ease. The gleaming marble of the floors and walls were felt familiar and comforting.
    Ryan inserted a key in elevator and they rode to the twentieth floor. The door opened up to a wide space. A sunken living room was ahead with gas fireplace on the furthest wall surrounded by white marble. A kitchen area sat to the left and a number of doors in dark wood marched down a line to the right. All the furniture had clean modern lines. White leather sofas ringed the sunken enclosure.
    “You have a lovely home,” Marisol said.
    Ryan shrugged. “It’s not much,” he said. “It’s just me, and I have it for when I’m in the city on business. When I’m not here, I’m with the family in Litchfield.”
    “Litchfield?”
    “It’s a little town in Connecticut.”
    “Is that where you’re from?”
    “No. We’re from Brooklyn, but when I came into some money, I bought a house for my mom there to get her out of the city, but she visits often. Here, let me show you your room.”
    Ryan led her to from the livingroom and past the kitchen to a separate hallway behind it.
    He opened a folding door that revealed a washer and dryer. They were big things and almost as tall of her. Marisol scrunched her nose. Saying she would take the housekeeper job was one thing, but contemplating the actual work was quite another. And those machines looked intimidating. How was she ever going to learn how to work them?
    “And here is your room,” he said pushing open a door next to the washer and dryer. Marisol peered in. The walls were white as well as the furniture. And the it held a dry stale air like someone hadn’t occupied in some time.
    “How long have you’ve been without a housekeeper?” she said.
    The tips of Ryan’s ears blushed red, and he looked away when he spoke.
    “My last housekeeper didn’t live here,” he said.
    Marisol’s suspicions piqued, but she didn’t have anything but his word to go on. So far everything he said has been on point.
    “There’s an en suite bath at the door to the left, I think,” he said stepping into the room. He opened the door and was greeted by a closet. “Oops, sorry, it’s here,” said going to the door on the right. “I rarely come to this part of the apartment. I’ve seen this room precisely once, when I toured the apartment before I bought it.”
    “It’s very nice,” said Marisol.
    “Now,” he said returning to the hallway, “I believe this is the linen closet.” It was a sliding door and when he pulled it opened it displayed rows of towels and linen, neatly folded and arranged by rooms marked on the shelves. Master bedroom, first guest, second guest, and in the corner on the last shelf labeled second guest in the corner was the marker “maid’s room.”
    “Very organized,” said Marisol dryly.
    “I believe that’s because of the color combinations in each of the rooms. Mine, the master, is done in dark red and brown, the first guest, light blue, and the second guest, yellow.”
    And the maid’s