Chapter Six

Stephanie

I follow Alfie up the stairs as he gives me a tour of the house. He says he hired a designer to redesign the interior after he bought it. Perhaps that explains why the exterior has a cottagecore aesthetic and the interior is Hugh-Heffner-bachelor-pad-circa-1980. He should ask for his money back from the interior designer. If this was pass/fail, it’s a definite fail.

He shows me the spare bedroom he’s cleared out for me to use as an office. It’s a decent size, with a large window overlooking the huge backyard. Because the room is empty of black leather, brass, and glass, it’s my favorite room in the house.

There’s white crown molding at the ceiling, wide molding at the floor, and calming pale-yellow walls. It will certainly be the nicest office I’ve ever had, no matter what furniture he buys for it. Maybe if I ask nicely, he’ll forgo glass and brass.

“I want you to get whatever office furniture or supplies you need to make this space work for you,” he says. “I’ve done a bit of research. The George Gorsh stuff is really nice if you want to splurge. That’s what my dad has.”

I smile politely at his generosity but have no intention of buying expensive designer furniture. “Thank you, that’s very kind. But there are a couple of used office supply stores in town. Give me a budget, and I’ll be happy to pick up some secondhand things to get started.”

He nods. “Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m happy to go with you to pick things out if you want a second opinion.”

His offer surprises me. I can’t imagine someone like Alfie, who clearly values his privacy and, if the news articles are correct, rarely leaves his secluded home, would want to go shopping for used office furniture. But I appreciate the gesture.

“You don’t need to—”

“I’m… trying to get out more, since all the publicity. You’d be doing me a favor. Going out alone actually…” He glances at me as if he’s deciding if he should share something private. “It’s not easy for me to be in public.”

He’s acting nothing like the male I met during our first interview. I can’t say I mind this new version of him.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d love the company,” I say. It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize how true they are. Between COVID and working from home, I’ve been kind of a shut-in for several years. It’s been nice talking to another person who is standing in the same room as me.

“Good. Just let me know when you want to head into town.”

We finish the tour and discuss some of his initial priorities for the week. Alfie seems eager to hand off the work he’s been struggling to stay on top of ever since his sales skyrocketed. I’m looking forward to digging in and helping organize things.

“I’m going to go back to my studio,” he says when he’s finished explaining the basics. “I’ll give you a tour of that another day. Today, why don’t you give my website a thorough once-over? I have to tell you how thrilled I am that you know website design. I’m hoping for a major overhaul in the next few months.”

A major website overhaul with what I imagine is a multi-million dollar business? Although I know I can do it, the immensity of the task fills me with dread.

Perhaps he senses my reluctance, because his deep voice croons, “Don’t worry. We’ll tackle the design together. Besides, that’s not at the top of your to-do list.”

He shoots me a link and a list of audio files appears.

“I’d like you to familiarize yourself with my oeuvre.”

Oeuvre? I believe he’s the only person I’ve ever met who knows that oeuvre means the collective works of a musician or artist. Not to mention he effortlessly used it in a sentence. Wow. Ten points for Alfie.

This male may be chock full of animal DNA, but I’m realizing he’s smart as a whip.

“Should I give you combat pay for having to listen to Labyrinth instead of Donna Summer and the Bee Gees?”

“I listened to a few of your songs before my interview.” Whoops. I’d made a mental note to never mention that day again. “I think I can handle your oeuvre without making my ears bleed.”

He laughs and turns to leave, then faces me again. “Call if you need something.”

Now that the house is empty with no naked women around, I notice how quiet it is. The sunny backyard is inviting, and Alfie made every effort to make me feel at home.

While listening to his catalog, I can’t deny that his music, which I took an immediate liking to, is lovely. This job just might work out well.

The next day, we head into town in Alfie’s SUV. It’s one of the largest on the market, which would be unnecessary for a single male except he needs the extra headroom to accommodate his horns. Although I’m usually uncomfortable in anyone else’s car, he’s a safe driver and puts me at ease.

I can tell he feels awkward being out in public, even though I picked a store on the outskirts of town to avoid crowds.

As we walk through the aisles of used desks and filing cabinets, I try to keep the conversation light, asking his opinion on desk styles and office chairs.

“What do you think of this one?” I ask, gesturing to a solid wood desk. “Too big and heavy for my little office?”

He runs his hand along the edge of the desk. “It does have a certain gravitas. But you might need a crane to get it up the stairs.”

I laugh. “Good point. I’ll keep looking.”

A bit later, I’m sitting in a mesh office chair testing it out. Alfie lowers himself into the chair beside me. His knees stick up comically high.

“I don’t think this model was designed with horns and hooves in mind,” he says wryly.

“Good thing I’m the secretary and you’re the boss. I’m the one with the desk job. You’re back in your studio making magic.”

His smile slowly disappears as he grows thoughtful.

“You were joking, but you have no idea how right you are. Sometimes I get blocked, and no tunes or words come to me. Often, though, it’s like music is downloaded into my brain, and I can’t create the melodies and chords fast enough. It does feel like magic.”

I’m not proud of the mild flare of jealousy that flies through me.

“There’s no art in my heart, Alfie. No music flowing through my veins, though I wish there was. I envy you.”

“Thanks.”

Every muscle in his body tightens when the salesperson approaches and asks if I have any questions. He gives Alfie no eye contact, almost as if he were my emotional support animal as opposed to a sentient being.

I can’t control my irritation; certain my tone indicates how annoyed I am as I reassure him that I’ll find him if I need anything.

He’s barely stepped away when I ask Alfie, “Is that how people treat you all the time? As though you’re not even in the room?”

“I much prefer that to the openmouthed stares. Worse than that are the Purists who don’t even try to hide their hatred. I’d call what you just witnessed a good interaction.”

“No wonder you don’t like leaving your house. That sucked. Do you want to try a different store? I’m a firm believer in voting with your dollars. I hate to give money to assholes.” Whoops, that comment was inappropriate for the workplace.

“I’d rather give money to that jerk than have to go to another store.”

“I hear you.”

Although our shopping trip was irritating for me and demoralizing for Alfie, I feel optimistic about this job. Whatever misgivings I had about working with Alfie are long gone. In fact, I’m beginning to like the guy.