Page 18 of House of Lies

“What? Y-yes.” Another violent clearing of my throat.

“You should have been here hours ago.” Being scanned by his dark, penetrating glare feels like going through airport security. Goosebumps even break out over my skin.

Scrounging up some contrition, I mutter, “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

“Hm.” He gives me one more interrogatory scan, and then steps back, sweeping a hand inside. “Get inside.”

I step into an airy foyer with vaulted ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, and an elegant double staircase curving up to the first floor. A crystal chandelier glitters high above my head, and there’s a long, plush runner in deep forest green aiming straight for the middle of the entrance hall.

When I walk past him and catch his scent, my pulse is off like a horse at the races.

It’s as if my legs are driven by some primal need—this crazy urge to rub up against him, to mark my body with his scent—but I force myself not to veer closer to him. For someone dressed like he could throw on a tie and attend a board meeting, the earthy tones of his cologne shouldn’t work. But God, they do. I’m practically salivating.

Has it really been that long since I’ve been in the presence of a well-groomed man who can afford expensive cologne? I’ll admit, I’ve been a little busy working double shifts at the diner.

Edith was not impressed when I called in sick earlier, but as soon as I mentioned I might have a tummy bug, she told me to take all the time I need.

I snort Ethan Remington’s smug scent out of my nose and smooth my face back into the grim mask I was wearing when he ripped open the door. I have to keep this ruse going as long as possible. If I can just access a computer, or a briefcase, or something that can give me some clue why he was planning to meet my mother days after she disappeared then…well, I don’t know what the next step is, but I’ll cross that bridge when I eventually find it.

Maybe Remington realizes he’s not really playing the part of the genial host, because his voice is almost friendly when he asks, “May I take your coat?”

His smell surrounds me like a whirlwind. I spin around, clutching the uniform’s lapels to my throat like he just announced he wanted to ravish me. It’s not that the maid’s uniform is skimpy, but Olivia was a size smaller than me, so it’s much more snug than I’d have liked it to be. My coat feels like a layer of impenetrable armor, and I’ll be damned if I’m parting with it.

It’s difficult to force civility into my voice when I want to beat him with my fists until he tells me about my mother, but I manage.

“No. Thank you.” I force a crooked smile. “I run cold,” I lie.

Why am I behaving like a teen girl with a crush? Maybe it’s simple biology. I’m a young, fertile woman and apparently my ovaries are just begging to be impregnated with his genetically superior seed.

Holy cow, what the hell is wrong with me?

I don’t know what this guy is capable of. Olivia had only awful things to say about him. I can’t even consider letting down my guard around him.

“Hm.” His expression clears, but a tiny crease remains between his darkly lashed eyes. He walks past me, the air sweeping another gust of his intoxicating scent my way. I hurry after him as he heads for the archway leading to the kitchen.

I’m acutely aware just how tall he is with every long step. My eyes take in his powerful physique—the way his muscles move under his clothes, the power in his strides, how he fills every space he enters.

An involuntary shudder courses through me. The manor feels empty, almost hollow, like we’re the only two souls inside.

Dear God, are we truly alone?

The only person who knows I’m here is Olivia…and I don’t even have her phone number. It might have been on that paper I just handed Remington, but I was so hopped up on adrenalin, I didn’t even think to check.

He could kill me, dispose of my body, and no one would ever know.

And instead of being terrified, or at the very least, wary…I’m wondering if it’s true what they say about men with enormous feet.

Chapter 7

Ethan

My heart pounds inside my chest. I’m all too aware of everything I still have to work on today… at least, I was. The woman in the corduroy coat behind me keeps dragging my attention away from all the shit I still have to get done.

She’s so fucking pretty.

Those striking, jade-colored eyes and gleaming, chestnut hair? With her looks, she could have made a fortune as a sex worker. What led her into an occupation like this? Maybe she runs cold in more ways than one.

When I’d called Janice from Shimmer and Shine yesterday to arrange a cleaner, I hadn’t bothered staying on the line long enough to find out who they’d send. The name Olivia sounds familiar, but this woman’s never been in my house before.

---