Chapter 19
“ E njoy the amenities—and the pool,” Sinclair said, no doubt feeling magnanimous, as if he were offering me everything I’d ever wanted. “Tending it is another one of Henry’s duties, and we don’t swim from October through March. The hot tub you can use year round, but enjoy the pool while you can.”
I couldn’t help a little dash of defiance flying from my lips. “I don’t have a bathing suit, so I won’t be able to enjoy it.”
A dark look crossed over his eyes and I felt my body heat up, suspecting he was picturing me with fewer clothes on. Why did I like that so much? But I straightened my back, hoping to do the same with my resolve. “Even having signed the contract, you can’t refrain from being sassy, can you?”
My expression was one of derisive pleasure. “There was nothing in the contract forbidding it.”
“You’re right. I’d call James to amend it, but…I don’t want to break your spirit.” Sucking in a deep breath, he added, “If you ask nicely, I’ll buy you one.” After another second, he added, “You could also swim in the nude if you wanted.”
Pursing my lips, I stared in his cold blue eyes, letting him know I’d rather die than beg.
I expected him to say his usual Suit yourself , but he instead said, “That’s it for the tour—unless there’s something else you’d like to look at.”
When I shook my head, he began heading in the direction of the patio. One thing I could say from the short time I’d been here was that money in some instances seemed to cultivate beauty. Although Sinclair said he hated the mansion, I knew there were parts of it he liked. Why else would he have bothered showing me all of the supposed fun things I could do there?
Back in the main hallway, my eyes immediately went to the artwork adorning the walls, reminding me of a question I’d had. “I’ve been meaning to ask…”
“Yes?” he said, still walking while glancing over to me.
“Why don’t you have any pictures on your walls?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like pictures of people. I haven’t seen a single picture anywhere in the mansion.”
His pace seemed to increase, only because I wasn’t able to keep up with him without increasing mine. Without looking at me, he said, “You’re assigning meaning to something that doesn’t have any.”
And then I knew it did. No pictures hanging in the mansion was a choice. But why? And would I find some as I sorted through the unwanted treasures downstairs?
After talking with my dad for close to an hour in my bedroom, I decided to take advantage of what Sinclair had referred to as the amenities . I spent another hour in the library, finding copies of Pride and Prejudice and The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe . There was more nonfiction than fiction here, but there were plenty of books to keep me busy.
Then I wandered over to the east side, deciding to spend a little time in the gallery and the sunroom. I wasn’t sure if I’d read in those rooms or just enjoy the surroundings, but they felt neglected—like they needed the love and admiration of someone, and I was that person. They were calling to me.
As I passed the rear west hallway, I heard the sounds of a sports broadcast. Curious, I made my way down there, remembering there was also a laundry room. If Sinclair found me, I could tell him that was what I was looking for—but that was a good reminder that I needed to do my laundry the next day.
Past the kitchen on one side and the dining room on the other, past the beverage nook, the roar of the TV grew louder. I slowed my pace, peeking into the room, observing that the décor was reminiscent of the beverage nook. As the room came into better view, I assessed it as a man cave , if rich people even had those sorts of rooms. But Sinclair wasn’t sitting in one of the plush beige chairs, nor was he watching the baseball game playing on the almost bed-sized television hanging on the wall. He was standing at the windows looking out, holding a cell phone in his hand.
For a moment, I stared at him, admiring his firm body, remembering his handsome face. Even the tiny scar on his lip added to his charm rather than detracting, and I found it disturbing that I couldn’t stop thinking about him in such an inappropriate way. And I felt a pang in my heart…
He seemed so lonely. And part of me hated that it made me sad.
Turning, I began walking back down the hall toward the main hallway, almost hoping he would catch me.
But he didn’t.
As I made my way toward the east wing, I paused at the rear east hallway. Sinclair’s office was right there, the first door on the left. And he wasn’t here. I really wanted to sneak in there—not to borrow the keys now but just to confirm their location.
I stood there for the longest time, debating with myself—but I managed to listen to reason. There would come the perfect time, but this wasn’t it. And, as I slowly walked toward the gallery, I reminded myself that I didn’t necessarily need them—unless I wanted to look inside Sinclair’s bedroom. My face flushed at the thought before reminding myself what I really wanted to do.
I wanted to know why the second floor of the east wing was off limits—and I didn’t necessarily need keys for that. Again, I was tempted to sneak over there…but not now.
I would do it when the time was right.
Tuesday morning was just like Saturday and Sunday had been, except for the reminder to myself that I’d now been here an entire week. Only nine years and fifty-one weeks to go.
And, of course, it was a work day.
Having been here seven days, though, I had a handle on the pattern of the week. The cleaning ladies had been there the day before and they’d even touched up my room, changing the sheets, dusting, and cleaning the bathroom. When I spied one of them in the hallway, I was impressed at how quickly she moved, as if she were on a skateboard.
I’d also received my timesheet, a simple piece of paper printed with columns I had to write in: time in, time out, lunch break; tasks accomplished; various notes. I had to remember to record everything. It was now on the clipboard downstairs so I hoped I wouldn’t forget. And, because I didn’t fully trust my so-called employer, I planned on taking a picture every week before turning it in.
I headed down to the kitchen. Sinclair, like always on weekdays, was wearing a sharp suit, but he was over at the counter. When I came in, I asked, “Where’s Edna?”
“Today’s her birthday. I always let her have her birthday off.”
As I pulled a mug out of the cabinet, I caught a whiff of that tempting cologne he wore and tried to ignore how it made me feel. “That’s so sweet.”
His grumble was barely audible, but there was no way I could have missed it. “It’s not. It’s just practical. If you give your employees little things that feel like perks, you earn their loyalty and willingness to give it their all.”
Pouring my coffee, I grinned because he was splitting hairs. There may have been a practical reason, but I also knew about his relationship with Edna and imagined he’d done it for more than just pragmatic purposes. “Call it what you will, but I know Edna would also think it was sweet .”
The way he scowled at me made my entire core clench—so I focused on pouring cream in my coffee. When Edna wasn’t here, we pulled it out of the fridge rather than pouring it from a silver pitcher. Sinclair took his plate and coffee over to the table and, when he asked, his question was quite unexpected. “When is your birthday? I might have to give you the same bonus.”
“It’s not till June.” When I found a grapefruit in the refrigerator, I pulled it out and began looking for a large knife in a drawer.
“I imagine by then you’ll have earned the same sort of perk—unless knowing that it’s not such a sweet gesture would ruin it for you.”
As I cut the grapefruit on the butcher block area of the island, I made my voice as innocent-sounding as possible. “It wouldn’t ruin it at all—especially if you also let me spend the day with my father.”
He looked up from his phone. “We’ll see.”
I supposed that was good enough. After putting my fruit on a plate with a spoon and buttering a piece of toast, I carried the plate and my coffee over to the table. Once again, he was immersed in his phone. We might not have been best friends, but it seemed silly to eat at the table and ignore each other. A week ago, that would have been exactly what I’d wanted—but I was trying to figure out how to settle in and feel okay about our arrangement. “When’s your birthday?”
He didn’t even look up. “I don’t celebrate it.”
That little nugget said so much. Why wouldn’t a man in his position celebrate his birthday? He had everything anyone could want, so it seemed—but I’d already begun to sense he didn’t feel that way. There was an underlying sadness and anger in him.
Maybe we weren’t so different.
What was wrong with me ? The last thing I needed to do was feel compassion for the enemy…and yet I did on some level. Part of me could sense that something was very wrong underneath the confident, arrogant face he wore every day.
Ten years…and maybe I could figure it out.
There were secrets in this mansion—that I knew—and I suspected that I could figure out what was behind much of his angst and anger if I could only expose those mysteries. And I was certain they were hiding on the second floor of the east wing.
Maybe today would be a good day to explore. With Edna gone, I could get away with it. Considering I was the one tracking my duties on my timesheet and no one really had a way to verify what I was doing, it would be easy enough.
But that would wait until later. “That didn’t answer my question.”
He’d been absorbed in his phone again. “ What question?”
“When’s your birthday? Even if you don’t celebrate it, you have it. You were born on a certain day in a certain month.”
“It’s May 2. And every year, Edna bakes me a little cake.”
I wasn’t surprised by that. And it was the perfect time for me to get in another dig. “Do you yell at her for it?”
Finally, he looked up. “Why would I yell at her for doing that?”
“Because she’s defying your wishes.”
He looked as if he were restraining himself from losing it with me, but he’d kept his promise thus far of keeping his cool. “She’s not. I haven’t told her not to bake a cake.”
That fact made this man even more of an enigma to me—but I wasn’t going to push it further. Instead, I nodded and used my spoon to scoop up a half-wedge of grapefruit. After I swallowed, I said, “What are you reading?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going over the financials of the organization I’ll be meeting with later this morning. Think of it as homework—which you’re interrupting.”
“Maybe so, but when it’s time to eat, you should focus on that. It helps you feel more satisfied and appreciative of the food.”
This time when he looked up from his phone, there was a twinkle in his cool blue eyes. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. You should try it sometime.”
“All right.” Pushing a button on his phone, he turned off the screen and picked up his cup of coffee. “Breakfast was the one time I felt like I could really multitask…kill two birds with one stone, but I can see you’re not going to let me do that.”
Maybe that had been a bad idea. I didn’t necessarily want his undivided attention. But it was easy enough to distract him there too. “It looks like the scratches on your cheek are almost healed.”
“They are. It was a bit of a challenge shaving over them. And they’re fading. I was kind of hoping they’d match my lip scar.”
Oh…that lip scar. That was maybe something he disliked about himself and he was making light of it but it made him distinctive. And, as much as I hated to admit it to myself, it only enhanced his good looks.
But it led to a question. “If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you get it?”
“I do mind.” With that, he picked up his empty plate and coffee mug and walked over to the sink. The fact that he didn’t want to answer a simple question made me wonder if that scar was part of the whole mystery of him and this place—and it just made me want to know more.
But I wasn’t going to be able to get at it directly. Maybe Edna would tell me if I asked. Maybe. I knew where her loyalties lay, and they weren’t with me. Still, if I could get her warmed up and talking like she often did, I might be able to get some dirt.
When Sinclair sat down across from me with a fresh cup of coffee, I asked, “Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Of course. But I’ll be working in my home office today.”
“Then why are you wearing a suit? Why not wear jeans and a t-shirt?”
“Because it’s unprofessional. And I have a meeting over Zoom later and they’ll expect me to look like this.”
Although I kept a neutral expression on my face, my spirits sank. Once again, I focused on the grapefruit so I could hide my feelings. There went my plan of snooping in the east wing unnoticed. I knew there would be other opportunities but realized that he was possibly working from home because Edna wasn’t here. She wasn’t here to keep an eye on me.
Although some of the old anger began churning in my gut, it also strengthened my resolve. If I earned their trust, I could gain everything I wanted: time with my father…and access to his secrets.
If only I could rein in my impulses.