“She’s a strong cup of black coffee in a world that is
drunk on the cheap wine of shallow love.”
—JM Storm
God, I need my paintbrush. I feel it burning.
The craving.
The need.
It itches in my fingers, and it burns in my chest. I close my eyes and think of the colors I would use. Dark shades, blue and black, blending with white to create a brilliant chaos. Then I’d dip my fingers in cherry red and drag them down the center.
It looks just like him.
My master who won’t have me.
When that doesn’t help, I focus on forming a plan to return to the basement. Then I remember the scalpel, the way my heart thumped when I held it and the morbid colors that ran through my mind.
I don’t understand my reaction. But I’m not so eager to go back.
With every moment that passes, my worries for Frankie intensify. I watch everything the Matthews do, yet I still don’t feel any closer to finding her. If I don’t find a clue that makes sense soon, I might have to resort to Aubrey. She’s just as loyal as the others here, maybe more so, but there’s also something rebellious about her. I have to hope it’s enough for me to trust her.
But so much could go wrong.
It’s against the rules to even discuss previous hires. And if she rats me out and they discover I was never supposed to be here, I could be sent home on the next available flight. Then there’s the possibility the Matthews are somehow behind Frankie’s disappearance—and asking Aubrey about it would be my downfall.
“Ouch!”
I cringe as the naked secretary before me shrieks, squeezing the sides of the massage table beneath her.
“Sorry. Still new to this.”
Not exactly reassuring, but Aubrey only showed me how to wax yesterday. Who knew it’d be so easy to get lost in thought while hunched over a woman’s private parts?
There are things I can’t assist Aubrey with, and ever since Adam caught me snooping—again—two days ago, she won’t let me go on breaks without her. This morning she’s in the basement, so she sent me up here to work in the spa.
So far, I’ve seen all the brothers but Felix pass through there. Raife, though, spends most of his time in the front mansion. When I asked Aubrey about that yesterday, she said any business meetings and Skype calls take place there, so he spends more time in that house than this one.
The secretary scowls at me while she dresses. Maybe I should care, but I don’t. I just want to be left alone so I can finally search the space. The second she leaves, I’m at the front desk. Aubrey’s desk. With a quick glance to my right and left, I pull open each drawer one by one, my fingers trembling against the handles. Snooping is a lot more nerve wracking when it’s Aubrey or Adam’s personal space.
Frustration builds under my skin as all I find are useless supplies. When I open the last drawer, my eyes narrow. There’s a journal. Pulling the drawer back further, I keep the book tucked inside as I flip it open. My shoulders fall forward, and a quiet grumble escapes me when I see what notes fill the pages. Waxes, facials, other appointments. It’s just a goddamn log book. Flicking through the pages faster and faster, my heart rate picks up with every second that passes.
I almost miss it when the name jumps out at me. My stomach leaps to my ribcage, and my fingers still.
Francesca. Full body wax and sugar scrub exfoliant.
I grip the book, pulling it out of the drawer and searching for any other details. There are no last names. No dates either. Based on the number of pages I went through before finding this one, it had to have been at least two months ago, maybe three.
I trace a fingernail over the letters of her name.
Was this you, Frankie? My eyes fall shut as I hold the book to my chest. God, where are you?
“Forgot my scarf.”
“Shit.” My whole body jerks at the voice, and the log slips from my fingers before crashing to the floor.
When I look up, the secretary from earlier is standing right in front of me. She glances from me to the book on the floor, and her brows furrow. “What are you doing?”
Clearing my throat, I bend to pick it up. “What do you think?” I flip to the most recent page, where her first name Anabelle is written, and grab a pen from desktop. Checking her name off, I keep my tone casual. “I’m filling in the log, of course.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks me up and down, but I pretend not to notice as I tuck the journal back into the drawer. I don’t relax until her footsteps fade toward the waxing rooms.
When she returns a second later, she stops and watches me as she ties the blue scarf around her neck.
I rest my hip against the desk and arch a brow. “Is there something else you need?”
“You headed to lunch?” She places her hands on her waist and glances at the clock behind me. “It’s five past.”
“Oh, um . . .” I wipe my palms on my dress and push off the desk. “I’ll be there soon. I should probably get Aubrey first.”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
Relief blows through me. We walk out together, then break off in opposite directions as I head down the hall toward the basement. Leaning against the wall beside the door, I wait for Aubrey to come out and think back to my sister.
Sugar scrub exfoliant. That doesn’t sound so bad, right?
After a few minutes pass without seeing a soul, I slide to my butt and sit on the ground.
More time passes and another blond secretary comes clicking down the hall toward me.
She frowns and looks at me funny, stopping at my feet. “You okay?”
I nod. When she doesn’t move, I add, “Waiting for Aubrey.”
“Oh, you’ll be waiting for a while. She was sent out on an errand.”
I let out a groan. “Thanks.”
I’m about to pull myself up when the door opens. A shadow looms over me, and I slide my gaze upward.
A flock of tiny birds take flight in my stomach as I stare up at Adam’s hard eyes, unshaven jaw, and the vein popping in his neck. He was buttoning his shirt cuffs, but stopped midway.
With my chin angled to see him, I place my palms flat on the floor to push myself up, but his expression distracts me. I blink when his dark eyes cloud over. It’s the strangest thing, like he’s looking straight through me. Sitting here with his large form shadowing me, I’ve never felt so much like the mouse he always calls me.
I suck in a breath as he stares at me, his brows crashed together and his entire body tight like he’s brimming with restraint. After a moment, he squints, scrubs a hand down his face, and stalks past me.
The air whooshes from my lungs while I watch him leave me.
Again.