Page 22 of House of Lies

LOUIS VUITTON

I’m so fucking tempted to add them to the next load of laundry. But Remington would probably have a heart attack if he found out I didn’t get these dry cleaned.

Absently taking off the belt, I lift the house phone’s receiver and jam it between my ear and my shoulder as I stare at the speed dial buttons. He didn’t say which number he’d programmed the dry cleaner into, so I begin at one.

I put the phone down when someone answers with a bright, “Butter Believe It, this is Kerry.” Why the hell Ethan has what I assume is a bakery programmed into his phone is a mystery for another day.

The second saved number is for his cable company. I sigh as I hang up and immediately hit the third button.

“Shimmer and Shine, radiant results every time. How may I direct your call?”

I immediately hang up.

Shit!

I tap my fingers on the phone’s receiver. At least I might have a way to contact Olivia if I need to. In case of emergency, kind of thing. I phone the next number and roll my eyes in relief when a dry cleaning company answers. They have Remington’s details on file, and tell me someone will be there in the afternoon to collect the clothes.

Now all I can do is wait for the laundry to finish up and hope that, when I venture upstairs later this morning, Remington doesn’t have a hissy fit because I’m disturbing him.

If that’s the case…well, I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get there.

Hopefully it won’t be on fire by then.

I pop in my earbuds, choose one of my favorite playlists, and get to work on the kitchen. It’s large, but thankfully more dusty than dirty. Looks like no one’s used the stove since the last time it was cleaned.

I’m not sure if he’s expecting me to take down all the copper pans hanging from their hooks above the kitchen island, but I’m just going to pretend I’m here for a surface clean. When I’m almost done with the massive room—and my playlist—the laundry machine beeps at me. I transfer the clothes into the dryer and start on the entrance hall.

I’m jamming to one of my happiest tunes when I hear something that might have been a beep. I hurry back into the kitchen, then the laundry, letting out a soft whoop of delight when I see the cycle’s done. I fluff and fold the first load of laundry, trying to wring out the nervous trembling in my hands as I get ready to head upstairs.

I can do this.

Yes, Ethan is intimidating as fuck.

He looks like he could snap my neck with one hand. And at one stage he was staring at my neck so hard, it was almost as if he wanted to choke me.

But he’s a gentleman. Right?

Gentlemen don’t go around murdering their maids…right?

I slip my earbuds back into their charging case inside my purse, and hide my purse inside the supply closet. Not that there’s anything incriminating in there, but still.

Better safe than sorry.

I put Remington’s clean, folded clothes into a basket, and climb hesitantly up the left-hand staircase that sweeps up to the first floor.

My eyes don’t know what to look at first—the intricate scrollwork on the wrought-iron railings, or the large oil paintings with their dark, moody palettes hung on the walls.

I don’t even know where Remington disappeared to, or where his bedroom is. But since he asked me not to disturb him, I guess I’ll have to find it myself.

Please let there be something useful in there. A laptop, a charging phone.

A manilla folder stuffed with documents detailing the specifics of his clandestine meeting with my mother would be fantastic.

As I arrive at the landing, I realize how enormous this mansion actually is.

It has at least three levels, not considering an attic or a basement. The hallway stretches left and right, Persian rugs covering most of the hardwood floor. Intricate moldings on the ceiling easily rival some of the artwork cladding the walls.

Assuming the master bedroom is the last door in one wing, I head for the east corridor first, peeking inside every room with an unlocked door I pass. I don’t even want to think about how long it’ll take me to dust all these antique vases and sculptures, or to polish every mahogany side table.

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