Page 3 of Stalker

She beamed at me and rolled the large suitcase behind her as we left her space. “Just remember, if he’s crass or stand-offish—”

“Don’t take it personally.” I finished for her. The sweet woman had repeated that phrase multiple times over the last three daysand the more she said it, the more I was questioning how sweet the old man was, after all.

She tsked her tongue goodheartedly, “Good. Well then,” She paused at the front door where Mr. Thomas, the head groundskeeper, took her bags down to her waiting car. “Best of luck.”

“Enjoy your vacation.” I gave her a gentle hug and waved her off as she left for the adventure she’d put off for years in place of keeping Mr. Bryce happy and cared for in her last decade of service to him.

When I closed the front door and typed in the code to the fancy alarm system on the wall, I looked around the grand home with a fresh set of eyes.

“Home,” I whispered, running my fingertips over the pristinely polished handrail of the double-twisting staircase. “Temporarily at least.”

Ipolished the silverware.

I folded and refolded sheets until the fitted ones stopped looking like a toddler did it.

I dusted woodwork that was flawless to begin with, but I had the time, so why not?

I organized the groceries that were delivered and then redid them for good measure.

And then I explored some rooms Mrs. Straight had glossed over on the first tour of the estate and ones we hadn’t gone back in since.

Bedrooms actually.

Mr. Bryce’s, to be exact.

The schedule for cleaning his personal bedroom, bathroom, and sitting rooms upstairs in his private wing only called for attention once a week, and they had just been done before my arrival. But I wanted a chance to familiarize myself with them while my new boss wasn’t in residence and hovering around any corner at any given time.

Being inside a stranger’s bedroom was nerve-wracking enough, without worrying about being caught like you were doing something wrong.

I stopped outside of his bedroom and looked up and down the hall, even though I knew I was completely alone inside the mansion. I shook my head and forced myself to turn the handle, granting myself access to my boss’s most personal space.

My tour of his space had been brief as we walked through the hallway a few days ago, but it was my first time inside the room. I expected it to feel old and outdated, but everything inside was masculine and modern, from the black furniture to the dark green walls that made the room feel dark and cave like even though it was daytime. It didn’t match the vibe of the rest of the house, and I wondered if his bedroom better resembled his personality or not.

I forced my feet to carry me through the large bedroom, avoiding looking at the massive custom bed that looked fit for an actual king, and walked into the closet.

I told myself it was so I could see if any dirty clothes needed washed or tidying to be done before his return, but in reality, I simply wanted to see what kind of clothes he wore.

Was he a suit-and-tie kind even in his own home?

Did he wear those leisure smoking jackets like Hugh Heffner did?

Did he smoke a pipe?

No, I would have smelled it if he did.

As I walked into his closet, automatic lights turned on and his expansive wardrobe lit up with a warm glow. “Fancy.” I mused, walking deeper into the room. The scent of his cologne hit me when I neared the clean clothes hanging meticulously, but it wasn’t overpowering like most men. I couldn’t even pinpoint what scent it was as I leaned in to take a deeper breath.

It smelled like–the trees?

Nature.

Masculinity.

“Weird,” I whispered, running my fingers down the sleeve of a cream-colored sweater before pulling it off the rod to check the size and fit of it.

It was large and cut with a modern style that surprised me.

Maybe Lincoln Bryce tried to seem younger than he was.

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