6. Cyrus
Cyrus
Iadjust the cufflinks in the mirror of the downstairs bathroom. Onyx. The camera in the right one is discreet enough to be invisible if anyone decides to look close.
Which they won't. Nobody ever looks close at the help.
That's the entire point.
"Jesus Christ."
Kade's reflection appears behind mine in the doorway. He's got one shoulder against the frame and that obnoxious fucking smirk that means he's about to make my life worse.
"Don't," I say.
"You look like you're going to a funeral."
"Good. That's the intended effect."
"Whose?"
"Yours, if you keep talking."
He laughs, which was not the goal. I smooth the front of the vest and check my pocket watch against the clock on the wall.
Six forty-three. The car is coming at seven.
The senator's dinner is at seven thirty.
Ellie's supposed to arrive at seven twenty-five, because Ellie's always five minutes early for anything.
"Jeeves." Kade pushes off the doorframe, circling me like a shark. "Or is it Alfred? What do the cool butlers call themselves these days?"
"I'm not a butler. I'm an estate manager."
"Is there a difference?"
"Significant, yes."
"Educate me."
"A butler oversees the household staff in a domestic capacity.
An estate manager handles the financial and logistical operations of the entire property.
I'll have access to the senator's personal calendar, his household accounts, his security schedule, and the passwords to every system that runs through the service office.
" I adjust the tie. Still too tight. "Which is exactly why the last guy had a mysterious bout of food poisoning and I came highly recommended by the staffing agency that placed him. "
He snorts. "Not bad, nerd."
"You say that like I can't poison you just as easily as the butler."
"I thought he was an 'estate manager.'"
I roll my eyes, refusing to acknowledge that.
He leans against the sink, arms crossed. Studying me. The bruise on his jaw from Tank is fading to yellow around the edges. He hasn't brought it up and neither have I.
"You really think Ellie's mom isn't going to recognize you?" Kade asks.
"We haven't been in the same room since I was a scrawny nerd.
" I tilt my head, checking the angle of the part in my hair.
I've dyed it a shade darker. Put in contact lenses.
"Besides, everything I've gathered on her lately says she's strung out on designer pills more often than not. I doubt she'll notice much."
He makes a vague sound of acknowledgment. "Just keep an eye on Ellie. If she tries to talk to either of them alone, I want to know every word that's said."
"I've got the taps ready to place," I say with a sigh, already tired of this preoccupation. "You seriously think this is all her working for Todd? That he sent his stepdaughter to sell herself to us as a plant?"
He shrugs. "Worth looking into."
"It's Ellie, Kade," I say flatly. "Our Ellie."
His eyebrow twitches. "People change."
"Not that much."
He's quiet for a second. The lighter appears in his hand. Click. Click. He doesn't light it, just opens and closes the lid, the same rhythm as always.
"I hope you're right," he finally says.
"I'm always right."
I turn back to the mirror and try to fix the fucking bow tie. It looks wrong, and not just because it's a ridiculous accessory, either.
I have no fucking idea how to tie one.
It's not like any of us went to prom. Stalking Ellie's doesn't count.
"Holy shit."
Jinx is in the doorway before Kade can respond, and he stops when he sees me. His eyes go from the top of my head to the tips of my too-tight shoes and back again, and his mouth opens very slowly into a grin that I don't like.
"Oh my god." He laughs his ass off and claps his hands together like a coked out cymbal monkey toy, absolutely fucking delighted. "Kade, look at him."
"I've been looking."
"He's a butler!"
"No, he's an estate manager," Kade says with a shit-eating grin.
My eye twitches.
He glides into the bathroom wearing my stolen sweatpants and one of his band t-shirts that looks like shit and probably cost a hundred bucks.
"Don't be offended, Jeeves," he purrs, close enough now that I smell his shampoo. The rosemary one. "I think I'm developing a kink. I'd let you buttle me anytime."
My eye twitches again.
"I'm leaving," Kade mutters, and good fucking riddance. This bathroom feels like a clown car and Jinx cackling again when he takes another look at my suit isn't helping.
"Don't you have something to do?"
"Not really."
"Then just go fuck off."
"That's no way to speak to an employer."
Jinx reaches up and tugs my tie loose.
"You did it wrong."
"I did not do it wrong." I definitely did, but I'm not about to admit that to him.
"It's crooked, Cy. Look."
He retucks the bowtie without asking, his fingers working the knot with ease, and I watch his face instead of the mirror.
"You're not being subtle," I say quietly.
"About what?"
"Any of it. Saying shit in front of Kade."
"I can't not flirt with you, Cy. That would be suspicious.
I flirt with everyone. Kade, Tank, Ellie, the mailman, that bartender who gave me a free shot last week.
It's my whole personality." He smooths the tie flat against my vest, palm lingering just over my sternum.
"If I suddenly stopped flirting with you, they'd know something was up before the end of the week. "
It's a good point. That's the annoying part.
"Fine."
"Glad we agree."
His hand is still on my chest. The heat of it burns through the vest.
"When are we telling her?"
"Telling her what?"
"Jinx."
"No, genuinely. Telling her what, Cy?" He's looking up at me now, and the grin is gone. "Because even I don't know what we are unless you're ready to put a label on it. And you're not. So there's nothing to say."
I sigh. Another fair point. "Fine."
His laugh is quiet and tired.
"Finally," he murmurs. "We agree on something."
His hand falls away. He steps back and the grin falls back into place like nothing happened.
"Don't forget to buttle responsibly, Jeeves."
"Get out of my bathroom."
"Our bathroom."
"Out."
He goes.
I look at myself in the mirror one more time. The tie is straight now. He was right. It was crooked.
Waterson Manor has three entrances, and even the servants' entrance is ostentatious.
It's a separate drive around the side, past the garages, down a paved path that curves behind a line of hedges so the staff never have to sully the view of the main approach.
I park the agency's black sedan where the head housekeeper directs me, present my credentials, and get walked through the house by a woman named Barbara who speaks in a clipped alto and keeps a set of keys on a retractable carabiner at her waist.
"Mr. Turlman's food poisoning is unfortunate," she says, not looking at me as we walk. "The senator is displeased."
"Yes, it was terribly inconsiderate of him."
She tosses a look over her shoulder. "He'll take it out on someone. Just so you're prepared."
"I appreciate the heads up."
She gives me the no-frills tour and I memorize routes as she talks. East wing to kitchen, kitchen to dining room, dining room to the senator's study. The floor plan I pulled from the county assessor's office is mostly accurate, but the senator has clearly done a few off-the-books renovations.
The staff operates like performers on a stage.
There are two kitchen assistants, one head chef, two cleaners running last-minute sweeps.
They don't talk or even make eye contact with each other.
Every movement is fast and small, shoulders hunched, like their continued gainful employment depends on their ability to become invisible.
Apparently, Waterson runs his household the same way he runs his office.
I pass a woman in the hallway outside the dining room. Mid-forties, blonde hair that's a little too perfect. I almost pass her before it registers that this is Ellie's mother.
She glances my way briefly, before disappearing around the corner with a prescription bottle in her hand. When I round the corner, she's popping a handful into her mouth and leaning on the gilded table in the hall.
Holy shit. I was worried about her recognizing me, but the way she moves around the halls like a ghost haunting the place, I'm not sure she'd recognize herself in that mirror.
Ellie's mom was always beautiful, and she still is, but even a glimpse made it clear she's damn near unrecognizable.
There are dark circles under her eyes, and those are glazed like she's barely even there.
Her skin is pale and lifeless, like a doll's.
Even the way she holds herself is different.
Shoulders slumped, every step small and careful like the servants' movements.
What the fuck happened?
I push it back behind everything else about tonight I need to focus on and tell myself to count it luck that I don't have to worry about Ellie's mom clocking me.
Seven twenty-three. The doorbell rings and I'm already walking.
Barbara gives me a nod from the far end of the hall and disappears into the kitchen. Time to do my job for the evening.
I open the door.
Ellie stands on the porch in a pale blue dress I've never seen her in. Long sleeves. High neck. She always fucking hated blue. Her hair's down, straightened, the pink streaks tucked underneath so they don't show from the front. Her lipstick is the wrong shade.
The collar is still there, hiding under the collar of the dress. The sight of it appeals to me more than I want to admit. Reminds me that even in this place, she's ours.
Tonight, those instincts are a little more protective than possessive.
Her eyes find mine and widen slightly.
"Good evening, Miss Riggs." My voice is flatter than usual. Pitched a little lower. "May I take your coat?"
"Yes. Thank you." Her voice is different, too, but I get the feeling it's not an act for her. She's different here. I see it in the way her shoulders tighten the moment she steps past the threshold.