Page 100 of Darling Obsession

If Harlan found me in here without an invitation, he’d probably just spank me.

I’m very okay with that.

I take in the king-size bed in the middle of the room, the sumptuous, dark bedding and the heavy drapes drawn over the windows. Other than the matching nightstands, which have nothing on them but a lamp, there’s no other furniture in the room. No art on the walls.

I’ve already noticed that while the house is kind of stuffy and formal, a definite neat freak lives here.

I wander across the room, toward the open closet.

When I woke up here this morning and yesterday, I didn’t really have the luxury of snooping around either time. He was home, and I wasn’t going to do it in front of him. Now, I can’t resist wandering into his walk-in closet.

I only glimpsed inside before. But now I see I was right. It’s like a designer boutique in here. Not just the subdued lighting, glass shelves, and display cases, but the clothing, arranged so perfectly, it seems unreal.

There’s a row of identical black suits on hangers that could’ve been lined up with a ruler. There’s a row of identical black dress shirts hung with the same precision, white dress shirts, black T-shirts with both long and short sleeves, and white T-shirts, too. All hung with the same anal-retentive degree of neatness.

And an array of ties in a glass case, all of them black except one that’s gray. I guess that’s his party tie.

I run my fingers over it.

I slide open the drawers in the large island in the middle of the closet. Cufflinks and designer watches. Dozens of them. Leather wallets. Tie clips. Pocket squares.

And his underwear. Obsessively folded rows of boxer briefs, all black.

In the built-in drawers along one wall, I find his workout clothes. Sleeveless T-shirts, shorts, jogging pants, all black. And white athletic socks.

What’s most striking is the absolute meticulousness, the arrangement of every single flawlessly-folded item.

There isn’t a loose thread or a speck of dust anywhere.

I wonder, do his staff arrange it like this for him? Or does he come in here and perfect it himself?

“Miss Monroe?”

I startle when I hear Carlisle call my name.

I hurry to close the drawers and dart out of the bedroom, where I find Harlan’s butler in the hall. Clearly, he knew exactly where I was.

I shut the door to Harlan’s bedroom behind me guiltily, heart thudding. “Um, hi. I lost an earring,” I blurt, before realizing that I’m wearing an earring in every hole in my ears, and my hands are empty. “I mean, I found it. And put it back in.” I’ve barely squeezed out the lie when I cave. “Actually… I was admiring the very nice suits in Harlan’s closet. Mr. Vance, I mean.” I lower my voice to a gentle conspiratorial tone. “We don’t have to mention this to him, though, right?”

“And yet, we probably should,” he says, matching my tone.

“Right. I’ll do that.”

I swear he looks amused. “Your guest has arrived.”

“Oh. Great!” I hurry downstairs to find Dani standing in the foyer, looking pool-ready in a flowy, see-through cover-up and a hot yellow bikini, her butterscotch hair swept up in a ponytail, gazing up at the massive chandelier.

“If that thing fell right now, I’d be so dead,” she muses.

I give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I brought you a bikini.” She pulls a string bikini from her tote bag and hands it to me. “And reinforcements. She’s creaming herself on the front lawn.”

I go to the front door, which stands open, to find Nicole on the driveway, watching some guy with noise-cancelling headphones on and no shirt, mowing the lawn. How many people actually work here?

“Psst! Nikki!” I wave her over, and Nicole hurries past me into the house.

I follow her inside.

---