Chapter Six
Gareth
My fists clenched and I relaxed with effort as I watched Leo and Eden walking toward the kitchens.
He saw me coming, obviously. Everyone saw me coming. That was the point of wearing suits and moving like I owned the floor. But Leo was different. Instead of the usual staff scatter, he squared his shoulders, slouched one hip against the wall, and flashed a lazy, toothy smile.
The effort was wasted. The fear was there, pulsing behind his eyes, vibrating in the muscle at his jaw. It was the look of a man who’d been caught with his hand in the wrong pocket and was just now realizing he might not get it back.
I stopped exactly three feet from him and Eden. Close enough that he could smell my aftershave, but not so close he could pretend we were equals.
“Morning,” Leo said, voice as smooth as pond water. “Beautiful day, huh?”
Eden was shifting her weight from hip to hip, obviously worried and confused. “Eden, Maribel will bring you breakfast in your room.” I swept a hand toward her room, and she put her head down and walked away.
My hands itched as I turned my attention back to Leo, only to see he was watching her ass as she walked away.
I wanted, actually wanted, to knock that smile off his face, just for the pleasure of it.
Instead, I forced myself to unclench my fists and let the silence work for me. I stared, and waited.
He tried again. “Boss? Something I can do for you?”
The kitchen, just down the hall, was a riot of noise; the clatter, shouts, the aromatic sizzle of onions hitting hot metal. The smell of bacon and bread was thick enough to chew. It should have been comforting; it just made me hungrier to cut through the bullshit.
I kept my voice even. “Just curious if you’ve forgotten the staff code.” Specifically, the “no fraternization” clause.
Leo’s smile flickered, then came back with a vengeance. “Didn’t know I was out of line.”
“You’re paid to know,” I said. “And to read the fine print.”
He shrugged, a little too casual, but his left hand found the seam of his pants and started tapping. “If this is about yesterday in the conservatory, I was just-”
“I saw you,” I cut in. “Not only did I see you, but every single motion sensor on the east side of the property logged your proximity. Maybe you think I don’t check those reports, but you’d be wrong.”
His nostrils flared. “I was giving her a tour.”
I made a show of looking through him; past the curly hair, the too-long eyelashes, the smirk he thought I envied. “Ms. Blake does not require a chaperone. And she especially doesn’t require one who’s already had two prior warnings for ‘excessive familiarity’ with staff.”
Now the smile faltered for real. “I’m not fraternizing with anyone.”
“That’s funny. Because to me it looks like you’re not fraternizing with anyone, you’re fraternizing with everyone.
” My tone was still ice, but my pulse was a hammer in my wrist. I pictured Eden’s face.
The wariness in her eyes when she’d mentioned Leo, the way her shoulders tensed every time he entered a room.
Was it just nerves, or something worse? The idea that she might not tell me if she felt threatened, if she needed help, sent a white-hot spike through my chest.
I pushed it down. Focus.
“Friendly advice,” I said, “most rooms in this house have cameras. Not just the public ones. If you’re as innocent as you say, you shouldn’t mind. But if I get even a whiff of a problem-”
Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s nothing to see.”
I stepped forward, closing the gap to a foot and a half. “Better stay that way,” I said quietly. “Or you’ll be job-hunting by noon.”
His mouth opened, then closed. He made a tiny, strangled sound that I recognized instantly as defeat. I almost pitied him, but not enough to let up.
“Get to breakfast,” I said, already turning away. “You’ll need the energy today.”
He watched me go, but he didn’t follow.
The kitchen was a box of sunlight and sound.
Maribel’s crew moved like a pit crew at Monaco; one plating, one whisking, two more setting out bowls of fruit and toast for a staff meeting that, even on a good day, was like herding cats.
The smells were weaponized; cinnamon, coffee, the tang of fresh orange rind.
My stomach rumbled but I ignored it. I’d lost my appetite somewhere in the hallway.
I slipped through the kitchen and out the side exit, not looking back. I could still feel Leo’s eyes on my back, burning with something that might have been hatred or might have been relief. Maybe both.
The air outside was crisp and sharp, a slap to the face. I inhaled and let the frost numb everything from throat to chest. I was calm, or as close to calm as I ever got.
But there was a question gnawing at me now. One I’d have to answer before it started costing me.
Was I doing this for discipline, or for her?
The difference, I suspected, was about to matter.
After needing to check in with her, I stood outside her door with my fist raised, but for a solid minute I didn’t move.
Just stood there, one knuckle poised against the wood, like I was about to break into a bank instead of speak to the woman who was rapidly becoming the single biggest problem in my entire adult life.
I’d been over the script a hundred times in my head, and every version ended in disaster.
I could still see her face from last night; hurt, as if she’d hated that I walked away.
I know I made the right decision, but I hated it.
Hated that I’d made her feel rejected, even if that’s exactly what I should have done.
Finally, I rapped the door, two quick and one slow. The universal code for “I come in peace, but I also have a badge.”
The handle turned, and Eden opened the door just wide enough to fit her body.
She wore a gray T-shirt, soft with too many washes, and a pair of black yoga pants that made her look like she could run at any moment.
Her arms were folded high across her chest, and her gaze was somewhere in the vicinity of my feet.
Then she stepped back as if she had no other choice, opening the door wider for me.
I didn’t move. “May I come in?” I asked.
She hesitated, then gave a small, downward tilt of her head. Not a nod, more like an admission of defeat.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Her suite was more comfortable than my own; warm carpet, light white drapes framing the french doors, the faintest trace of lilac and lavender in the air.
The doors were open a crack, letting in a drift of cold and the damp green of the garden beyond.
I made my way to the sofa overlooking the doors and I sat.
She stayed by the door, arms still locked tight. I tried not to take it personally, but it hit harder than I expected.
“I need you to be very honest with me,” I said. “Has Leo Martin been harassing you?”
Her eyes shot up for the first time. “No.” The word was immediate, automatic, but she was nodding her head, telling me everything I needed to know. “No,” she repeated, softer. “He’s just, friendly. Maybe too friendly. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
She looked like she meant it, but then she opened her mouth as if to say something, then decided against it and closed her mouth.
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
She bit her lower lip, let it slide back out, damp, shining, and begging for my attention. Then, very quietly: “Is that why I’ve been banished to my room?”
The words hit me like a sack of wet cement. For a moment, I just sat there, stunned. Of all the accusations I’d prepared for, manipulation, intimidation, maybe even a lawsuit, this was the last one I expected.
“You’re not being punished,” I said, and even to my own ears it sounded weak. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were comfortable while I reminded Leo of his responsibilities.”
She made a sound, something between a laugh and a choke. “You could have just asked.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Every instinct said to take back control, to reframe the conversation, to steer us away from this uncomfortable, vulnerable moment. But the words wouldn’t line up the way I wanted.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint whisper of wind through the balcony doors, and the distant, tinny clatter of the staff setting up down below.
Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt, over and over, until the fabric was a small, tight knot in her hands. “I’m not fragile,” she said at last. “You don’t have to lock me up if you’re worried.”
I tried to swallow the urge to reach across the distance and touch her, just a hand on her wrist, something to say I heard her. Instead, I dug my nails into my own palm.
“I know you’re not,” I said. “But there are things… people… here who don’t always play by the rules. I have to be careful.”
She lifted her chin, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, she looked me dead in the eye. “Is that all? Or is there another reason I’m being quarantined?”
It was a challenge. I respected that. But I also hated it, because it forced me to answer.
“There’s another reason,” I said. “But I’m not sure how to explain it.”
She waited, but the silence stretched and I couldn’t find the words. I settled for: “This house, this job, it eats people. It’s better if you stay out of the drama until you know the players.”
She seemed to consider this, then nodded once. Her hands unclenched.
For a minute, we just sat there, neither of us moving.
Finally, I stood. “Would you like to see the ballroom?” I asked, the words out before I could check them.
She blinked, caught off-guard. “Now?”
“Yes. It’s better without an audience.”
There was a beat of hesitation, and then she moved out of my way, then followed. As she passed me, I caught the faint warmth of her skin and something else, a dangerous heat that I wanted to taste.