Page 44 of House of Lies

Not for bills.

He was gambling it all away…and drowning his sorrows with whatever remained.

I’ll give him credit for one thing, though.

After that phone call, I’m finally fired up enough to tackle this fucking library.

Chapter 19

Cassidy

I get about halfway through cleaning the library before I surrender. These bookshelves are dusty as fuck. It didn’t help that the books kept distracting me. There’s some of everything on these shelves—science fiction, fantasy, romance, crime. Even encyclopedias.

This morning’s French toast is nothing more than a fond memory to my growling stomach. At this rate, I’m going to be ten pounds lighter by Friday. But I need some fuel if I’m going to finish this library before morning.

My plan was to throw together a quick sandwich, but when I step into the kitchen and the chef’s gas range catches my eye, I’m suddenly itching to use it. Everything in this kitchen is immaculate.

When Rebecca was disowned, she ran away from her own McMansion with a bunch of expensive jewelry from her personal collection. She sold some of it to pay for our first house, where we lived until I was ten.

This kitchen reminds me of that house. My mother would cook Sunday lunches and make the best key lime pie I’ve ever tasted in that kitchen.

Her lasagna was to die for. Saliva fills my mouth just at the thought.

Hmm. Lasagna. Now that’s fuel.

I grab some carrots, milk, a brick of butter from the fridge, and a pound of ground beef from the freezer. Checking the pantry, I luck out on a box of lasagna sheets.

Despite my aching muscles—vacuuming a mansion is murder on the lower back—I hum as I stir the béchamel sauce with a whisk, waiting impatiently for it to thicken. My feet feel worse than my back…but my ass trumps everything.

It’s been throbbing painfully the entire day.

Sometimes that would piss me off, but other times it made me want to go to Ethan and tell him to finish what he started.

I tried holding on to the anger, knowing it would serve me better than lust, but standing here at the stove, making supper like the epitome of a wealthy housewife…it just makes me wonder.

What if I wasn’t his maid?

What if I was…his wife?

I use a teaspoon to taste the sauce, my eyes drifting closed as I let out a delighted, “Mmm.”

He’s way too old for me, of course. Way too arrogant, stubborn, and full of himself. And way too unpredictable. I mean…it was like a switch flipped in his head last night.

But damn, he’s gorgeous. Dominant, fierce, proud.

Good traits, and bad. If the good outweighed the bad, surely he’d have a family already? But he’s all alone in this enormous house, and there must be a reason for that.

Like the fact that he’s involved in some kind of criminal activity, maybe?

You know, the shit I came here to find out about?

The spoon clatters down on the granite countertop.

Fuck this.

I don’t have time to stand here pretending that I’m a maid pretending to be Ethan Remington’s wife. I’m here to find evidence.

Question is, what is my next step? Trying to steal his laptop didn’t work. Dare I try again? My aching ass is a stern reminder of what will happen if I get caught in the act.

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