Page 27 of Man of the Year

“Anything suspicious, and you will be in trouble.”

Oh, gee, here comes that warning again. “Having a friendly talk with a staff member is suspicious?”

“Gossips are. Especially anything that has to do with the boss.”

“Is that what happened to Darla?” I bait her.

Rosalie flinches, then stares me dead in the eyes. “She talked too much. Just like you.”

EIGHTEEN

NATALIE

Nick enters the kitchen, interrupting our chat.

“Boss and I are leaving,” he announces, then walks out, his whistling echoing in the hallway.

“We have some cleaning to do on the ground floor while they are gone,” Rosalie says curtly. “The library needs to be vacuumed and dusted.”

“Again?”

I’m positive that it had been done several days ago as per the schedule Rosalie showed me on my first day. She only cocks a brow with a silent warning.

“Sure,” I say obediently and go to the utility closet.

“Gloves!” Rosalie reminds me.

That’s another rule—mandatory nitrile gloves when cleaning the house. God forbid I leave a single fingerprint or a smudge behind!

Ugh.

I want to be angry about Rosalie monitoring me at all times, including during my lunch breaks. I know what I’m doing. But I need to be on my best behavior, so I tuck my pride away and head for the library, dragging the vacuum cleaner and a basket with dusting supplies.

At least I get a chance to explore a new room in this mansion.

The library is impressive. All the books are in perfect order, perfect color, perfect size. It’s like those fake bookends that you see in movies. Catching myself thinking that, I actually pull a book off a shelf to make sure it’s real. As I do, the entire row of them, light as a feather, pulls back.

Theyarefake!

I snort in amusement and look around the room with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases along two opposite walls and a comfy chair in the center. If this is all fake, then why make a library at all?

It’s none of my business, I remind myself. Maybe Rosenberg has good taste in food but doesn’t read. Maybe he only reads numbers. Maybe, only on his computer. Who knows?

I start dusting the bookshelves, and only a minute goes by before something catches my attention. It’s an empty McDonald’s cup tucked between the bookcases.

“So much for being an international cuisine connoisseur,” I murmur as I pick it up, about to throw it into the trash bag, when a familiar smell catches my attention.

Working as a bartender for years makes your nose attuned to the smell of alcohol. How strong it is. What kind. The label. The quality.

Slowly, I bring the cup to my nose.

Oh, man.It’s booze, all right. I pop the plastic top off and sniff it properly—whiskey, it’s definitely whiskey.

An amused “huh” escapes my lips.

So, Rosenberg is not a cognac or bourbon guy after all.

I toss the cup into the garbage bag and ponder what this means. There’s a strict rule of no booze in the house. A rule enforced by our boss. A rule that everyone follows so as not to jeopardize their jobs. If the staff wanted to drink at work, they’d do it in the staff area, and there are plenty of places to hide booze there. So this is not the staff’s doing. There haven’t been any visitors since I started working here either. This leaves me with a very obvious conclusion—Mr. Rosenberg, the genius behind IxResearch, is a closet drunk.

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