Page 18 of Seven Nights

At least not yet.

Glancing at the clock, I make a quick plan for the next few hours without her. A quick shower, some dinner brought over, a sketch or two, maybe another nap so I will be ready to fuck and tease my little pet all night long.

Smiling, I head into the bathroom with a whistle.

Katelyn

Waking,I put on the clothes I arrived in then sit quietly cross-legged on the bed. My stomach demands I eat, but I am accustomed to ignoring most physical signals my body throws at me. Montgomery was right about that. It’s only lust I don’t have practice with. He is the first to incite it.

Knowing it’s not practical to go a week without eating—and that my “host” will catch me out eventually—I pick up the note he left and navigate my way to the kitchen. The quiet hope that I will find it unstaffed and can sneak a quick meal without speaking to anyone is dashed the moment I step into the massive room.

A woman sits at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and an open ledger. Seeing me, she smiles and stands up.

“Can I get you anything, Miss Willow?”

I look around the room, thinking I will tell her to sit down and let me get something for myself, but I don’t know where to start. The kitchen is meant to serve an estate full of people. It doesn’t shrink when the on-site population does. There are three refrigerators and a walk-in freezer. At least six feet long, the grill is sized for a restaurant, not someone’s home. And there must be at least a hundred cupboard doors, some short and square, some as tall as I am.

“A sandwich,” I scratch out. “And some juice if you have any.”

With another smile, she dips her head and turns away.

I make note of where she goes, which refrigerator, which cupboard and drawer. The next time I come in, I will be able to do it all myself. Knowing her hours, I can minimize the chances of our meeting again.

The woman returns to the island five minutes later with a glass of juice and a plate. Beyond the requested sandwich, she has added some fruit.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “And please call me Kate…if that’s okay.”

“And I’m Harriet.”

She slides into her seat as she answers then takes a sip of her coffee.

My fervent hope that she will return to her ledger is ruined as she stares and smiles at me between sips.

“Delicious,” I pronounce after swallowing down my first bite of the sandwich. Like the house and the kitchen, it is a massive affair, layers of meat and cheese, tomato slices, onion, spinach and other flavors I can’t pinpoint without peeling back the bread and poking around.

My truthful compliment seems to please her. The kind eyes crinkle at the corners. I wonder how long she has worked for Montgomery and how someone who seems like a decent person can stand to be around him.

Then I wonder if my presence around him means that I am not a decent person.

“It is nice to have someone in here,” she says, softly interrupting my thoughts. “Unless there’s some big event, we only have other staff one day a week. They run around like little mice with vacuums and dust rags and then they disappear.”

“We?” I ask.

“My husband Philip and me,” she answers, then takes another sip. “There was more when the former Mrs. Montgomery was alive. She liked having a big staff. Griffin is the opposite of his mother. Of both his parents. He prefers the privacy of a much smaller contingency.”

I nod, certain I know why he prefers fewer eyes on the estate.

“I can’t remember the last time we had a guest,” Harriet continues, her voice somehow managing to sound even kinder. She waves her hand then gives a little shake of her head. “Years, at least.”

Her tone, her gaze—it is as if she’s trying to communicate something to me. But I know that’s just wishful thinking. I don’t want to be a whore—I want to be special. Montgomery has already shown me that I am not.

“Don’t feel like you have to eat it all, dear,” Harriet says as my pace at tackling the sandwich slows.

“Oh, I’m going to eat it all,” I softly laugh. Normally, there would be little chance that I could fulfill that boast, but I’m famished with only a light breakfast and an exhausting amount of stress—not to mention more than a little physical exertion.

She turns to a clean sheet on her ledger. “Anything special for breakfast?”

“I’d really just like to know where things are at so I can take care of it myself.”

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