Page 33 of Contempt

“I know what you were trying to do.”

My heart beats faster as he holds my gaze. He’s so close, and my brain is malfunctioning. I know I should do something. I should push him away, or try to turn away from him, but instead I stand paralyzed against the side of his car. My lungs seem to have halved in size, making breathing more difficult. There’s a butterfly riot taking place in my lower tummy.

It’s quiet enough that we both hear the front door open.

Landon takes a step back.

My legs feel like jelly, but I inch away from the car and hold out the keys.

Landon snatches them, then opens the passenger side door and grabs his bag. He does it without glancing back or doing anything that would give the impression he’s even aware of the front door opening.

I’m not entirely steady on my feet, so I just stand here, but my gaze shifts to Mom standing in the doorway. I give a little smile and wave to let her know I’m okay. She returns both gestures, but doesn’t go back inside the house. She’s waiting for me.

Now that I’ve acknowledged her, Landon turns back with a smirk and a sarcastic little wave of his own.

He doesn’t wait to see if she returns it.

He turns back to face me, then he drops his keys into the palm of my hand. “Enjoy your peace, Johansson.” He starts walking down the driveway toward the road, but turns around long enough to say, “It won’t last for long.”

Chapter Eight

Parker

When I come downstairs the following morning, I don’t have to wonder if Landon has grabbed his breakfast and left, or if I’ll have a brush with him, or worry about how much damage he may do if Idohave a brush with him and my mom witnesses it.

He isn’t here.

It’s the first time I’ve felt truly at peace since moving in with the Atwaters—aside from my brief stress vacation when I went night-swimming, but that peace was tarnished when I realized afterward I was being watched.

Probably.

I guess I never got verification, but in my mind, it’s canon. It totally happened.

There’s a middle-aged woman in a pale blue uniform with her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a bun standing at the stove when I come down.

She looks back at me, her dark eyes wide with surprise.

“I’m Parker,” I tell her.

“Hello, Miss Parker. My name’s Antonia. I’m Mr. Atwater’s housekeeper.”

I’ve never had a servant before. I’m not sure what to do. I glance at the island where I would probably sit and wait for breakfast most mornings, but it feels tremendously awkward to just sit there while a stranger makes me breakfast.

“Hayden mentioned you came twice a week, but I didn’t think it would be two days in a row.”

Antonia frowns. “This is my first time here this week.”

“Oh. Really? I didn’t see anyone yesterday, but Landon’s bed was made with such careful precision, I thought it must have been you.”

“Oh, no. I don’t make Landon’s bed. He strips the bedding for me to wash when I come, but he makes it up himself every morning. Always has.”

“Oh.”

Misunderstanding my confusion, she adds, “That’s his choice, though. I’d be happy to make yours if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’ve never habitually made my bed, but maybe I could strip it once a week so you can wash the bedding?”

“If you want. Before your mother moved in, I worked a lot more, so I usually wash the bedding a few times a week. I figured since I’m only coming twice now, two would be good.”

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