6. Cassidy
It takes three rounds of knocking as I stand in the blistering cold before someone answers the door of Glenmont Manor, so I have plenty of time to be awed by its imposing stonework.
Weathered gray stones rear above me, the arched windows studding the first and second floor only marginally softening the manor’s hard lines. I had ample opportunity to admire the sweeping gravel drive, manicured hedges, and freshly planted grass as I drove my rental to the manor’s front entrance.
I cock an eyebrow at the ‘Keep Off the Grass’ signs. Looks like the gardener’s been busy, what with the newly planted lawn and rows of bright, slightly droopy red roses.
A gust of icy wind slams into me. Fall’s already on the way out, and this maid’s uniform isn’t made to withstand arctic temperatures. My coat helps, but it leaves my knees bare, and the wind cuts straight through my leggings.
It took some convincing, but Olivia was jaded enough with her shitty job, her unsympathetic employers, and the devil at Glenmont Manor she was scheduled to start work at today that she eventually agreed to my scheme.
I told her I had years of experience cleaning houses, that forcing her to train me was just an excuse for Janice not to pay me while adding more work to Olivia’s already busy day.
We agreed to split the paycheck. Olivia would go back to town with the tow truck and get the day off while her car gets fixed. I would get half a day’s wages—better than nothing—and no one would be the wiser, especially since Mr. Remington was only expecting one maid to show up, anyway.
It was almost too easy. Olivia nearly threw her uniform at me, and I swear I heard a cackle as I drove off.
Posing as a maid from Shimmer and Shine is not the best plan.
In fact, it’s probably the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had, and I over plucked my eyebrows like a demon when I was a teen.
But I can’t leave. I’ve already come this far. If I turn back now. I’d be breaking the heartfelt promise I made when Detective Lewis left my house the fateful night my mother disappeared.
I swore I wouldn’t stop looking for her. That I’d find out the truth, no matter what. I smooth out the paper Olivia gave me—a copy of the contract from Shimmer and Shine—before folding it up again.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, banging on the door with my fist.
I don’t get it. Why hire a maid, then refuse to let her inside?
Unless I have the wrong address. I came down a very long dirt road to get here, and Google Maps got so confused a few miles back that it almost sent me into a small creek.
Shit.
I turn around and start down the steps, heading for my rental car.
I’ll have to drive back to where Google got so confused and see if there was a different road I missed, because it’s obvious I’m at the wrong?—
“You’re late,” someone calls out in the deepest, roughest, most menacing voice I’ve ever heard.
I yelp in surprise and spin on my heel to face Glenmont Manor’s front door.
I’d expect an estate like this to have servants scurrying all over the place like ants in their little black-and-white uniforms. A butler or five taking care of the Master’s needs. At the very least, a doorman with a British accent.
What I don’t expect is the door to be answered by a 6’3” scowling hulk who’s name most certainly isn’t Alfred.
While I waited for the rental car office to process my application, I did some digging. I’m impulsive, reckless, and stubborn as hell, but I’m not an idiot. Why drive all the way here if I had zero information about the owner?
Unfortunately, Remington is a recluse. All I could find about him online was an article about him purchasing some expensive painting, and another listing him as an attendee at some fancy charity ball…all a few years back.
There was a photo of him with the painting, but it was hard to judge scale. I figured he’d be above average height, but I wasn’t expecting a tower of a man like this.
“Well?” Ethan Remington grates out in a deep voice. “Where are they?”
I let out an unsteady, “What?” as my brain struggles to process what’s happening. There’s a fast, uneven flutter to my pulse that spells trouble if I don’t get my anxiety under control.
“Christ, are you new?” he mutters, his deep-set, steel-gray eyes boring into me. “Where are your papers?”
While I’m struggling to form a sentence, my eyes seem happy to gaze at his tanned and corded arms, his massive hands. It must be warm inside because despite the frigid weather, he’s dressed in thin, tan slacks that do nothing to hide the muscular thighs beneath, and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
I estimate him to be about fifteen, maybe even twenty, years older than me. I can’t decide if it’s his penetrating stare that’s making me feel so off balance, or how he exudes a sense of dark foreboding, like he”s about to announce the end of days.
Hey, if he was the leader of a cult, I’d join—even if there was blue Kool-Aid involved.
“Your papers, girl.”
I hastily hold out the contract Olivia gave me, flinching when he snatches it out of my hand. “You must be Mr. Remington.” My voice wavers until I clear my throat.
Dark eyebrows streaked with the odd silver hair quirk up. “So you can speak.” He snaps his hand, flicking open the folded paper, his gaze darting down to read it.
“What? Y-yes.” Another violent clearing of my throat.
“You should have been here hours ago.” Being scanned by his dark, penetrating glare feels like going through airport security. Goosebumps even break out over my skin.
Scrounging up some contrition, I mutter, “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
“Hm.” He gives me one more interrogatory scan, and then steps back, sweeping a hand inside. “Get inside.”
I step into an airy foyer with vaulted ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, and an elegant double staircase curving up to the first floor. A crystal chandelier glitters high above my head, and there’s a long, plush runner in deep forest green aiming straight for the middle of the entrance hall.
When I walk past him and catch his scent, my pulse is off like a horse at the races.
It’s as if my legs are driven by some primal need—this crazy urge to rub up against him, to mark my body with his scent—but I force myself not to veer closer to him. For someone dressed like he could throw on a tie and attend a board meeting, the earthy tones of his cologne shouldn’t work. But God, they do. I’m practically salivating.
Has it really been that long since I’ve been in the presence of a well-groomed man who can afford expensive cologne? I’ll admit, I’ve been a little busy working double shifts at the diner.
Edith was not impressed when I called in sick earlier, but as soon as I mentioned I might have a tummy bug, she told me to take all the time I need.
I snort Ethan Remington’s smug scent out of my nose and smooth my face back into the grim mask I was wearing when he ripped open the door. I have to keep this ruse going as long as possible. If I can just access a computer, or a briefcase, or something that can give me some clue why he was planning to meet my mother days after she disappeared then…well, I don’t know what the next step is, but I’ll cross that bridge when I eventually find it.
Maybe Remington realizes he’s not really playing the part of the genial host, because his voice is almost friendly when he asks, “May I take your coat?”
His smell surrounds me like a whirlwind. I spin around, clutching the uniform’s lapels to my throat like he just announced he wanted to ravish me. It’s not that the maid’s uniform is skimpy, but Olivia was a size smaller than me, so it’s much more snug than I’d have liked it to be. My coat feels like a layer of impenetrable armor, and I’ll be damned if I’m parting with it.
It’s difficult to force civility into my voice when I want to beat him with my fists until he tells me about my mother, but I manage.
“No. Thank you.” I force a crooked smile. “I run cold,” I lie.
Why am I behaving like a teen girl with a crush? Maybe it’s simple biology. I’m a young, fertile woman and apparently my ovaries are just begging to be impregnated with his genetically superior seed.
Holy cow, what the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t know what this guy is capable of. Olivia had only awful things to say about him. I can’t even consider letting down my guard around him.
“Hm.” His expression clears, but a tiny crease remains between his darkly lashed eyes. He walks past me, the air sweeping another gust of his intoxicating scent my way. I hurry after him as he heads for the archway leading to the kitchen.
I’m acutely aware just how tall he is with every long step. My eyes take in his powerful physique—the way his muscles move under his clothes, the power in his strides, how he fills every space he enters.
An involuntary shudder courses through me. The manor feels empty, almost hollow, like we’re the only two souls inside.
Dear God, are we truly alone?
The only person who knows I’m here is Olivia…and I don’t even have her phone number. It might have been on that paper I just handed Remington, but I was so hopped up on adrenalin, I didn’t even think to check.
He could kill me, dispose of my body, and no one would ever know.
And instead of being terrified, or at the very least, wary…I’m wondering if it’s true what they say about men with enormous feet.