Page 92 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
A moment later, Julian returned with a large white serving dish. He set it down and removed the cover. “Beef bourguignon.”
Interesting that at no point had he asked me about my food preferences.
“It smells delicious.”
“I have a soft spot for French cooking.”
He left again and returned with a plate of bread and an open bottle of red wine.
Apparently, we were drinking red now.
I hadn’t finished my white, but I moved the glass aside. He poured me some red before pouring a glass for himself.
He sat at the head of the table and lifted his glass. “To new acquaintances.”
I held my glass up and clinked it against his. “Cheers.”
Julian kept the conversation going as we dished up and started eating—conversation that centered squarely on him. His business. His main residence on Mercer Island, just outside Seattle. His even more extensive collection of art housed there.
The more he talked, the more I disliked him. We got through the entire meal, and he hadn’t asked a single question about me. He didn’t know what I did for a living, where I lived, whether or not I had any family, or what I liked to do in my free time. Literally nothing.
And something else was off about the situation. I glanced around a few times, wondering what it was. While he was back in the kitchen preparing our dessert, it hit me.
No Christmas decorations.
He didn’t have a single nod to the holiday season. No Christmas tree, no lights, no wreaths or garlands. Not a candle, candy cane, evergreen bough, or sprig of holly.
I shifted in my seat. I still needed to find a door or window to unlock so Jensen could get in.
“Julian,” I called. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
“Down the hallway and to the left.”
“Thanks.”
I rose, and it felt like I’d been injected with a shot of adrenaline. My heart raced, and nervous energy thrummed through me. I found the bathroom—a full bath with a glass-enclosed shower—but peeked farther down the hall.
Walking carefully so my footsteps wouldn’t make a sound, I checked the next door. It opened into a study lined with bookshelves and a leather armchair. The snowy landscape gleamed through the large windows, and a set of French doors led onto a patio outside.
“I’m in a study. Must be the corner of the house. Windows on one side. I can see the fence. French doors lead to a patio.”
“Brilliant. Have you seen any indoor cameras?”
Tiptoeing across the hardwood, I made for the door. “No. Maybe I’m just not seeing them, but I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Good.”
My heart raced, and for a second, my stomach roiled with a sudden surge of nausea.
Don’t throw up, Natalie. Don’t throw up.
Blowing out a small breath, I reached for the door handle and unlocked it.
“It’s unlocked.”
“You’re a goddess. Get out of there as soon as you can.”
I crept back to the bathroom and shut the door as quietly as I could manage. Letting out another breath, I took stock of myself in the mirror, hoping my cheeks weren’t flushed or my eyes wide with terror.
