The Liar in Room 5 (Halo House #2)

Chapter 1

Andrew

“Honey, I’m home.”

After two weeks at a spa retreat, I’d really hoped Jonathan would have met me at the door. He said he’d be home today. He wasn’t at the airport to meet me, and he hadn’t sent a car. It was a little surprising, but I was perfectly capable and got myself into a cab to bring me straight back here.

The cab driver had been kind enough to help me with my luggage. I could’ve done it myself, but he looked like the type who liked to be useful, so I let him do it for me and gave him an extra tip as a thank you.

Maybe Jonathan was on a call or out getting lunch. The house was completely silent except for the deep, velvety voice coming from the direction of the living room. But that wasn’t Jonathan, whose voice was both squeaky and a tiny bit nasally.

Strange.

The bench I’d sourced from a salvage store wasn’t by the door anymore. It had originally been a church pew in Mexico. There were cuts and dings that had aged into an interesting patina. In its place was a mass-market, boring piece of nothing. Was Jonathan’s taste changing? I hadn’t picked up on it.

My flip-flops made a soft padding noise on the Spanish tile that led to the sun-drenched room and the sound of the voice.

It had always been my favorite. In the bay window sat a piano that I didn’t know how to play particularly well, aside from a silly pop-song cover I could perform perfectly.

Whenever someone asked if I played, it was in my back pocket, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.

The room was different.

The piano had been moved away from the window and shoved into the back corner. My breezy sheers that framed the ocean view had been replaced with ones that featured an…interesting chevron pattern in lime green. Odd that Jonathan hadn’t mentioned hiring a decorator.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t realize you were coming back today.”

The man by the window was about my age, maybe a few years younger, but I didn’t recognize him from anywhere.

He must have been a guest of Jonathan’s because he was dressed casually in white linen pants and a matching unbuttoned shirt.

His hair was styled to perfection, slicked back and gelled.

It seemed a little much for a Saturday, but what bothered me most was that I had no idea who he was.

Business associates were usually much less casual, and I knew all of Jonathan’s family and friends.

A hellhound of dread nipped at my heels, but I wasn’t ready to turn around and face it.

“Mr. Greene, may I speak to you in the other room?”

Jonathan’s housekeeper, who had been with him for years, spoke from the doorway. Her tone was polite but firm. She wasn’t asking. She was telling.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Calloway. Let me just put my things away first.”

My mistake was looking at her.

Her face was grim, but her eyes were kind. Maybe grim was the wrong word? Resolute, maybe? Determined, obviously. Whatever was happening, she was clearly aware of it.

“This is important. Perhaps your bags can wait?”

“Is this about to get awkward?” The curiosity in the man’s tone jolted me.

He’d finished his call and slipped his phone into his pocket. He glided over to the sofa and picked up his drink from the coffee table. No coaster.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Kayden.”

“And you’re a friend of Jonathan’s?”

Kayden smiled with bland politeness.

“Something like that.” His twinkling laugh was pleasant, but it still grated on my last nerve. “I certainly hope we’re friends because that makes life so much sweeter,” Kayden added.

Oh, fuck me.

“Mr. Greene, come with me.”

This was definitely about to get awkward.

“Mrs. Calloway, what am I missing?”

I asked the question the moment we were out of the living room, but she held up her hand in the universal sign for wait and kept walking toward the kitchen.

Truthfully, I didn’t spend much time back here, but it was just as tasteful as the rest of the house. I followed her until we reached the sterile kitchen with its white cupboards and marble countertops. She nodded toward a stool at one of the islands.

“Please sit down, Andrew.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve called me by my first name,” I said with a nervous smile.

Her wan expression wasn’t the most encouraging response I’d ever gotten.

The dread I’d felt in the living room had followed me in here.

“Mr. Waite has a new companion.” She said it quietly but firmly. If he’d hired a new assistant, how that required a sit-down in the kitchen wasn’t as clear. “It’s best if you don’t unpack your bags.”

“Mrs. Calloway, I’m not following.”

I was following but refused to pick up what she was laying down. It wasn’t possible. Jonathan and I had been together for two years. He was my boyfriend. We were going to grow old together.

“Call me Jeanne, and it means you’ve been replaced.”

“Replaced?” I echoed her words as if I hadn’t heard them, but how does one replace the man they love? “I’m his boyfriend. How do you replace that?”

“Andrew, stop. You’re the help with good shoes.”

“Mrs. Callo— Wait… Why did you tell me to call you Jeanne? You’ve always been Mrs. Calloway.”

“Because I don’t have to play the game with you anymore. Andrew, it’s always been this way, and you know it.” She was so matter-of-fact that it was hard to argue with her certainty.

The sound of the waves crashing into the rocks below the house filtered into the kitchen, and for half a second, I thought about how nice it would be to be sitting down there right now.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Calloway asked.

“Going? I have no idea. Do you think I had some fallback plan? Because I definitely don’t.”

I’d fallen down the rabbit hole where black was white and up was down. Was she under the impression I was secretly rich? Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.

“Oh. That’s a problem.”

“Oh. My. God. This was why my card wasn’t working, isn’t it? I tried to get a coffee at the airport, and it was declined. I used the last of my cash to pay for the cab.”

The more we talked, the more reality slapped me in the face. Jeanne let me sit with that reality for all of two minutes. It felt rushed.

I had been replaced. Again. Forty was knocking on the door, and I was out on my ass…maybe?

“Did Jonathan mention anything about…?”

“Money? No, nothing like that. But you haven’t really needed to spend your own money since you’ve been here, so I’m sure you’ve saved some.” She looked at me expectantly. Unless she had a time machine, I was out of luck on that front too. “You haven’t saved anything?”

I shook my head.

“You can go back to doing what you did before Jonathan.”

“Uh, yeah, about that…” I tried to remember the last time I’d had a real job…

possibly college. Well, college before I dropped out because I was failing anyway and took a job at a coffee shop for all of three weeks.

I’d been a professional boyfriend for years, but this was the one I’d thought would be forever.

“It’s been a while since I had a real job with a paycheck. ”

Jeanne nodded knowingly and said, “Ah, you’re one of those.”

The walls were closing in, and I needed some space before my foolishness became more humiliating.

“Can you hold that thought? I’d love to know what ‘one of those’ is, by the way, but I need the bathroom,” I said with as much dignity as I still possessed this afternoon. It wasn’t much, but it was what I had to work with.

Jeanne nodded and slid off her stool. With my head held high, I headed back toward the hallway we’d come through earlier.

“Andrew, the staff bathroom is that way,” Jeanne said, pointing to a door at the other end of the kitchen. Point made, she turned and occupied herself at the sink. “First door on the right, around the corner.”

With an abrupt about-face, I slunk in the correct direction and found the staff bathroom.

It was clean but simple, nothing like the exotic wood and marble of the room I normally used.

I collapsed against the vanity and tried to catch my breath.

When that didn’t work, I dampened a hand towel I found under the sink and pressed it against the back of my neck.

I was slightly overheated, but at least the danger of passing out had passed.

Lord, this was a mess.

In an attempt to distract myself, I did the worst thing I could think to do at the moment. I studied myself up close in the mirror.

Bad choice.

I looked every minute of my thirty-nine years, and then some.

At least I didn’t look frumpy. I’d spent hours studying everyone near Jonathan to make sure my outfits blended with theirs.

I’d nailed it: boat shoes, tasteful beige slacks, open-weave light-blue button-down.

Subtle and luxurious. I looked the part of a wealthy man’s boyfriend.

In my rush to get home this morning, I’d skipped my skincare routine, so now my skin felt tight and dry.

Crow’s feet had appeared in the last few months no matter what new serum or cream I tried, but my hair was on point.

There was no sign of thinning as yet. My dad hadn’t been able to give me much, but there was a lot to be said for his good hair.

The cut was professional but long enough that Jonathan could fuss about brushing it out of my eyes.

He especially liked doing it when we were on his boat.

With a sigh, I splashed water on my face before admitting I’d have to go back into the kitchen. Jeanne needed to lay out the news I already knew—I was out on my ass.

Awesome. Wow.

If only I had the money of King George…

Ugh, now wasn’t the time to quote lyrics from musicals I wouldn’t be attending again anytime soon. Since my current predicament wouldn’t be magically removed from my life, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and go back to the kitchen.

Well, hell.

Jeanne was still at the sink. My bags had made their way from the front door where I’d dropped them to a pile by the back door. I supposed this meant I’d be allowed to keep my clothes. It was a small thing, but it made me feel slightly better about the whole ordeal.