Page 26 of House of Lies

Noted.

“I’m sorry,” I call down the passage. “You—You scared me, okay?”

He steps back, grabbing the edge of his door and pulling it closed a few inches, almost like a shield. “Stay out of my room and out of my business.”

I’m screwing this all up. How am I supposed to find something connecting him with Rebecca if he’s going around slamming doors in my face? I need him to trust me. Which means I have to drop the attitude and show I’m not a threat.

But it’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable around anyone. I don’t even know if I’m capable of it anymore.

Trust.

That’s what I should focus on. Not his smell. Not the way my body ignites whenever he’s around. Not his dangerous aura.

Hard evidence, Cassidy.

No, not that kind of hard—ugh! Now I’m thinking about his cock again.

His hands are just so…big.

The mansion isn’t so much dirty as neglected. There’s dust and cobwebs in the few rooms with open windows, but I see little difference after vacuuming the carpets.

I’d have been done a lot sooner if the views out of the windows didn’t keep distracting me. Or having to touch all the silky fabrics—the curtains, the upholstery, the bed sheets. I take my boots off well before midday, relishing how my feet sink into the plush carpets.

Thankfully, I’m done with the ground level and already getting to work on the first floor by dinner.

Being unable to investigate any of Remington’s personal effects while he’s locked up in his bedroom is annoying as fuck.

I’ve given up scowling in the general direction of his room because I’m just wasting my energy. I was hoping he’d come out of his room, giving me a chance to snoop, but he didn’t even bother answering the door when the dry cleaners came to collect his clothes.

My stomach growls as I’m carrying my bucket of cleaning supplies into the manor’s enormous library.

Mahogany bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling. Some shelves are dedicated to leather-bound volumes, others filled with brightly colored paperbacks. High, arched windows frame a large central fireplace with cozy looking leather sofas clustered around in a semicircle.

Mesmerizing Persian rugs of all colors layer the hardwood floors. A pair of overstuffed armchairs with a low coffee table between them balance the large mahogany desk on the other side of the room.

God, if I were him, this is where I’d be all day, every day. The view out the windows is like a painting—rolling hills, fluffy clouds scudding over a blue sky. The sheer size of this room is so overwhelming, I just stand there for a minute, taking it in.

How wealthy is Remington? Is it old money left to him in a trust fund by his filthy rich parents, or did he make his fortune on Wall Street before the market took a nosedive?

Mom comes from old money. But she had to sacrifice that life of wealth when she eloped with my dad. Me and my mom didn’t have secrets, at least, not until recently.

Until about two years ago, we’d have our own ‘high tea’ every Sunday. We spent the morning baking sweet treats, making little sandwiches, popping a few cocktail-sized pastries into the oven. Then we’d sit and chat for hours, regaling each other with news from the past week.

She loved reminiscing about her teenage years, when she was living in the lap of luxury with her parents. As an only child, Rebecca was spoiled rotten. Her parents were usually away on business—her father attending board meetings or spearheading some or other new initiative, her mother arranging galas for the rich and bored. Rebecca kept herself busy by attending parties, fundraisers, and doing volunteer work, usually arranged by her mother.

But whatever relationship she had with her parents quickly deteriorated when she fell in love with my dad, Thomas.

Her parents couldn’t handle the fact that out of all the wealthy socialites she’d come into contact with over the years, she settled for a contractor making repairs to the family estate.

When it became clear her parents wouldn’t agree to a wedding, she and Thomas eloped.

She was swiftly disinherited, and her parents cut off all ties.

Who knows…if she hadn’t met my father, I might have grown up in a mansion like this. Why anyone would want to live out here in the middle of nowhere instead of a penthouse in the city is beyond me.

My nose twitches.

Is that apple pie I’m smelling?

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