Chapter 27
Edna entered the kitchen and announced to all of us that the guests had arrived. It was hard to tell by anything we could hear, because classical music was being piped through the hallways using a sound system I hadn’t even known existed until then. The music sounded familiar but I had no idea what it was. Rodrigo, a handsome young man with dark eyes, grinned at me. “I get tired of hearing The Four Seasons . For some reason, they all play it. Every last one of ‘em.”
Nodding, I realized I’d heard of the music before, but I didn’t find it comforting.
Rodrigo leaned close to me and said, “I think this bunch would freak the fuck out if we snuck some Jay-Z or Kendrick Lamar into the mix.” My eyes grew wide as I imagined Sinclair the angriest I’d ever seen him. A stunt like that would top anything I’d ever seen—I was certain of it. “I wouldn’t do it,” Rodrigo assured me, “but it makes me happy as hell thinking about it.”
As we awaited instruction, I became a little wistful because Rodrigo felt like the friend I’d never had. We seemed to have the same sensibilities and, best yet, he didn’t know a thing about my past.
Finally, it was time. The four of us made our way across the hall to the dining room just as people were getting seated. Although I made sure not to make eye contact, I couldn’t help but notice that the guests were well dressed. There were three women in the whole group, outnumbered by the men two to one. As we began filling glasses, Rodrigo with the raspberry tea and I with the regular, I snuck additional peeks at them while avoiding their eyes. Fine jewelry and beautiful fabrics, the men wore suits but the women were dressed for an elegant night on the town. One woman had on a satiny strapless white dress, emphasizing the beautiful gold necklace she wore. Another woman, from what I could see, was wearing a little black dress and the other woman also wore a dress, but it was a modest red-and-white number.
Even though we were pouring tea for most of the guests, they were also having wine poured for them. I reminded myself that Edna had said it was going to be a long night—and that merely underscored it.
By the time I’d worked my way to the end of the table, I finally looked toward the head where Sinclair was standing, speaking to his guests. Just as I’d thought, he hadn’t noticed me. It was just as well, because I was feeling quite foolish at this point.
The final man I poured tea for asked, “What’s your name?”
Obviously, he wasn’t listening to whatever Sinclair was saying—not that I blamed the guy. Sinclair was talking about numbers and goals and next quarter’s outlook. It sounded pretty boring.
I was going to pretend I hadn’t heard the guy, but he touched my arm. “What’s your name?”
I finally said, “Lise.”
“What?”
“Lise,” I said more precisely, hoping Sinclair wouldn’t hear my voice. That would certainly get me in all kinds of trouble.
“Short for Lisa?” he asked, a common mistake made by many—but, rather than correcting him, I simply nodded. It wasn’t like I was going to see this guy again.
Back in the kitchen, the chef already had trays for us—two plates for each, except for the most mature of us servers, a woman who looked to be in her thirties. She carried three. Chef Theodore said, “The amuse-bouche is parsnip chips with goat cheese and caviar.” I picked up my tray, marveling at how little food was there—and disgusted that people thought the height of wealth was eating fish eggs.
I was relieved that I didn’t have to serve my newfound friend this round but knew my luck wouldn’t hold out. I glanced at Sinclair again but, if he’d noticed me, he wasn’t letting on.
The night continued with the four of us retrieving dishes and delivering others, filling up drinks on occasion. I was shocked at all the courses. Even though none of the plates seemed to have much to eat on them, it was crazy to me how many times we had to bring in different food. There was a cold soup, a weird take on gazpacho, an appetizer and salad followed by fish and, finally, the main course.
Then we got to rest for a bit. Rodrigo and the older woman went out to the alley to “have a quick smoke,” something authorized by the chef, while I and the other young woman were told we could sit for a bit. But I felt too nervous to do that.
Edna asked if we wanted anything to eat. Again, I said no, but the other girl said she’d love some of the lamb “if there’s any left.”
Chef Theodore’s voice was tight, his words curt. “There is always some left. What do I always say?”
“Be prepared,” said the girl, properly chastised. The chef already placed some of the lamb we’d just seen during our last round of serving on a plate and he was heading to the table. He lifted the lid off one of the trays and scooped out some of the roasted brussels sprouts before lifting another lid, adding a big spoonful of the wild rice pilaf for the girl.
It all smelled so good, but my stomach was in knots. Maybe later I’d be ready to eat.
Right now, though, I just wanted this to be over.
When Rodrigo and the other woman returned, she grabbed a roll off the island and both of them sat across from me and the girl. We were tightly packed because we otherwise would have been sitting right in front of the serving pans—and the Sterno had a bad enough smell as it was.
At first, Rodrigo and the woman were talking about visiting Elitch’s in September, hoping the lines would be better after tourist season. But then Rodrigo asked me, “How long you been workin’ for the Whittier family?”
Somehow someone thinking I worked for the entire Whittier family made it seem far worse. “I only work for Sinclair Whittier.” I wanted to tell them it had felt like a lifetime but I instead told them the truth. “And I’ve been working here for about a month.”
“It seems like a cool gig.”
Oh, it was not. Not by a long shot. I even almost said that…but then I remembered that damned contract. There were a couple of clauses that could bite me in the butt—the one about “verbal complaining,” which I found hilarious, because what other type of complaining could I really be effective in? That was probably why I’d remembered it. But there was another clause about not slandering the Whittier family—and if I told them my job sucked, I could see how my words could be twisted so that I could be accused of breaking either of those two clauses.
So I simply said, “It’s okay.”
“All right,” Chef Theodore’s voice cut through the kitchen, “break time’s over. Let’s go check on the guests and start clearing their plates.”
The older woman raised her eyebrows. “Dessert awaits.”
It wasn’t long before we’d refilled glasses and removed plates of people who’d finished their food—and this was the first course where there was food left on a few dishes, particularly the women’s, as if they didn’t want their dates knowing they had appetites.
Soon, we were delivering dessert, something else I’d heard of but never seen before: crème br?lée. It had been interesting watching the chef using a mini blowtorch on the top of each dish, and Rodrigo told me it was to give the top a crust. The sous chef placed a few berries on top before putting each ceramic bowl on a small plate.
After managing to avoid the guy for most of the meal, I had to deliver dessert to the man who’d taken a strange interest in me. “There’s my girl Lisa,” he said, placing his hand on my lower back and sliding it down as I put his dessert on the table. His chair was pushed away from the table some so that he was able to get closer to me than the other guests—and I could smell alcohol on his breath, making me wonder if he’d knocked back more than a glass or two of wine.
Before I could get away, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “How’d you like to make a few extra bucks later?”
Not only was this guy creepy, even if he did have all-American boy-next-door looks, but he was going to get me in deep trouble. As it was, when I stood and he finally let go of my arm, Sinclair was looking right at me and his expression told me everything I needed to know.
He was pissed . And I already knew I was going to be lectured later—and possibly punished again. But I would just tell Sinclair the truth—the guy had, for some reason, glommed onto me, and I had neither encouraged nor wanted his attention.
For the moment, though, I was happy to get out of there.
When we got back to the kitchen, I wanted to talk to Edna about what had happened, but I realized I hadn’t seen her for a while. “Where’s Edna?”
The chef said, “She’s making the after-dinner drinks at the bar.”
The beverage nook. I could have snuck over there but I didn’t want to distract her—and I definitely didn’t want to get in trouble for abandoning my post. So I decided to confide in my coworkers. In the past, I’d known I could only have one friend at a time, usually someone at the bottom of the social hierarchy like I was, because the few times I’d try to have more than one friend, they’d eventually either gang up on me or abandon me.
But this wasn’t Winchester and these people didn’t know or care about my past.
While we stood near the door waiting for our next command, I said, “Um…I don’t know if any of you noticed, but there’s a guy in there getting kind of handsy with me.”
The older woman said, “Every year there’s always one. I’m sure it’s because of what you’re wearing.” Like I’d had a choice.
The younger woman said, “Stop victim blaming. I saw how he grabbed you. He’s being a disgusting pig.” To me, she said, “He asked me my name too. I told him it was Beyoncé.”
Rodrigo asked, “What’d I miss?”
“There’s a guy in there—the one with the beard. He’s being rude and gross.”
“Gross? Like how?”
“He asked me if I wanted to make a little extra money.”
“Oh, shit!”
Chef Theodore snapped. “Remember where you are. Trashy mouths belong in the alley at break.”
Rodrigo’s eyes grew wide and his voice dropped several notches. “Yes, chef.”
“Check on the guests.”
On our way out of the kitchen, Rodrigo said, “Me ‘n Amy can take that side of the table. Don’t go near him.”
“Thanks.”
But we didn’t have to worry about that because the dining room was already clear. We saw everyone filing into the beverage nook, Sinclair at the rear, and I averted my eyes in case he turned around to look at us.
Soon, we had the dining room completely cleared, and the older woman went to the beverage nook to see if Edna needed any help. After we had all the dishes scraped and stacked beside the sink and the chef and his assistant had everything ready to cart off, Edna reappeared. She looked exhausted. “Normally, I’d stay and wash the dishes but I’ll come back in the morning to get them done.”
“It’s Saturday. You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’ll do them for you. Don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll get up early so Mr. W. doesn’t even know.”
For a few seconds, her eyes questioned me—but then she put her hands on my shoulders. “You have such a kind heart. I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”
Smiling, I gave her a big hug. “The feeling’s mutual.”
After Edna left, I had to hold back tears, because she was beginning to feel like the mother I’d lost.
I turned to the chef. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. We’re just about done—and we can see ourselves out.”
With Edna gone—and the catering crew right behind her—my duties for the evening were also done. Before going to sleep, I’d set an alarm on my phone to get up early so I could clean the dishes and whatever was left over in the beverage nook. If Sinclair had other plans for me, too bad. This had been a long day and I was ready for bed.
And I couldn’t wait to get out of that stupid outfit.
The chef and his crew wheeled out another cart and Rodrigo and the two women said goodbye to me. Knowing that this was a quarterly occurrence, I hoped I’d see at least one of them again…and it was the strangest feeling. I felt like if I’d had to work with them every day, I definitely would have considered them friends.
As they turned down the main hallway, I crossed it, the sounds of laughter and raucous conversation wafting out from the beverage nook. The classical music was turned off, replaced by something with a dance beat that I didn’t recognize. Edna and Sinclair had said something about this being a planning meeting, but it instead sounded like nothing more than a party. I’d heard a little business talk during dinner, but nothing that felt like it was earth shattering.
But maybe that had been the point.
Tired, emotionally exhausted, and feeling defeated, I began taking the stairs slowly, eager to take the heels off once I was in the comfort of my own room. Because of my state of mind and the sounds of the guests making the mansion far louder than usual, I didn’t notice him behind me on the steps.
The creep.
It wasn’t until I was at the top of the stairs that he put a hand on my elbow—and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Lisa, baby,” he said, getting close. “You off work now? Ready to earn some of that extra cash I talked about?”
Instinctively, I pulled away, trying to walk backward toward my door. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“It won’t take long, baby.” Grabbing my wrist, he pulled me close before pinning me against the wall. His breath smelled like a fetid sweetness, turning my stomach, but worse, he was grabbing my breasts before he began licking my neck. “This fuckin’ outfit.”
Although I squirmed against him, I was no match. Again, I cursed this museum of a home, so big that something like this could happen without anyone knowing. Still, I had to try resisting as hard as I could. “Get your hands off me!”
“Yeah, fight. I like that. The boss already told me about your indentured servitude. This is part of the package, baby.”
Had Sinclair actually told him he could have his way with me? And, if that were the case, what good would fighting do?
Still, I didn’t plan to lose my virginity to a rich drunken jerk if I could help it. I continued trying to wrench myself free, but he was stronger and pushing me against the wall to pin me down.
Then, suddenly, my body was free. And Sinclair was pulling the guy off me. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Just taking a little taste of the goods.”
“Get out now.”
“What? No way. I’m gonna give her what she wants. She’s a whore. Look at how she’s dressed.”
Sinclair punched him then, so hard that the man fell to the ground. “Get out now.”
“C’mon, Sin. I—”
“Get out now before I call the police. And don’t bother showing up on Monday.”
“Wait. What?”
“Get the fuck out of here.” Sinclair took him by the collar and marched him down the steps.
Meanwhile, I tried to get my bearings. I felt completely out of sorts, scared, violated, disgusted—and yet also relieved that Sinclair had been my hero.
It wasn’t the first time.
Part of me wanted to blame him—he’d put me in harm’s way of a sexual predator who’d been working for him for what I guessed was quite some time, considering he was a member of Sinclair’s senior staff. He’d also made me wear this stupid uniform, giving that guy the idea that I was there for sexual reasons.
So I was humiliated too…and I just wanted to go to bed.
Soon, I was in my room and I took off the uniform. If I’d had my way, I would have tossed it in the trash, but I knew that would likely violate the vandalism clause. I took a quick shower to get that man’s filthy touch off my skin and then took off all my makeup before letting my hair down. I was still wearing a robe when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
I was certain it couldn’t be that man again. It was likely Sinclair—and if he was going to say anything nasty to me, like wanting to blame me for his disgusting employee, I was going to quit on the spot and tell him to do what he had to do.
This had not been part of the deal.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. Sinclair.”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Not only did his voice sound concerned, but his words were the exact opposite of what I’d expected—so I crossed the room and unlocked the door.
The expression on Sinclair’s face said it all—he felt bad about what had happened. “Did he hurt you?”
“I have some bruises on my arms—but they’ll fade.”
“I’m sorry. This was my fault.”
What? Sinclair Whittier was sorry ? And, more than that, I knew he was being sincere. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Danny’s crossed the line before and I didn’t nip it in the bud because he’s an excellent employee. But what he did tonight…” He shook his head, his eyes focused on the ground. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want to restore your trust. Danny’s gone. I fired him—and the mansion’s locked up, so you have nothing to worry about…and I want to assure you that will never happen again.”
The contrite expression on his face changed him in my eyes. I had never expected to see anything like it on a Whittier…and it simply reminded me why I had been thinking so many inappropriate thoughts about him lately. Almost unable to help myself, I touched his cheek, wanting to pull his eyes to mine. “I do forgive you.”
It worked. He looked straight at me and our eyes searched each other’s. His pupils dilated and it was as if my mind had read an ancient signal encoded in my genes. My heart started thumping in my chest and I was covered in goosebumps, anticipating whatever would come next.
And then his lips crashed into mine—and I gladly took him in.
My entire brain lit up with fireworks, electric and neon, as his tongue entered my mouth as if claiming what was his. Even with the faintest hint of alcohol, I could taste him, his essence, and I wanted more. As his fingers wound into my hair, my arms slid around him, enjoying the feel of his rigid muscles underneath the soft cotton shirt.
And my pussy grew wet. That was still such a foreign feeling and yet I knew it was natural.
As much as I vowed I hated Sinclair Whittier…I did not hate this. And I hoped deep inside that he would open my robe, would take me right here and now.
When he pulled away, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But his deep blue eyes seemed tortured, unsure. “I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”
“But—”
“Have a good night, Annalise.”
As he strode down the hall to his bedroom, I realized that he’d called me by my first name again. But what the hell had just happened?
I touched my lips, still feeling his against mine, his cologne still in my nose. My body could still feel him against me.
Now I knew for certain that I did want him. I wanted him badly. And, somewhere deep inside himself, he felt the same way.
That night, we crossed a thin line—and, after his sumptuous kiss, I wasn’t sure if I was beginning to love him or if I hated him even more.
This is just the beginning of Sinclair and Lise’s forbidden romance. Sinclair resists Lise as long as he can but eventually they can’t deny their hidden desires anymore. But is it real? And, even if it is, can it last?
Turn the page for an excerpt from ON THIN ICE…