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I flinch as Eli's rough voice sounds so close to me, my senses short-circuit. I clear my throat as I look up at him. “When did you buy this?”
“My family has always owned it. It was a wedding gift from Grandpa Jonathan to both of us.”
“But I’d never been here before that?”
“No.” He coaxes me forward with a hand on my back. I resist the shiver, but it’s tragically pointless.
I can feel the pads of his fingers nearly burning holes in my soft-pink Ralph Lauren dress.
We stop at the entrance when we’re greeted by well-groomed, impeccably presented staff I’ve never seen in my life.
A short, lean woman with Asian features and thick-framed glasses precedes them.
“Sam!” I exclaim.
Her usually standoffish face breaks into a rare yet small smile. “I’m glad you’re well, Mrs.—”
She hasn’t even finished the sentence when I attack her in a hug. Might have to do with the fact that she’s the only familiar face I’ve seen here or that something finally makes sense.
“There, there.” She pats my back mechanically, her movements stiffer than Eli’s nonexistent morals.
No wonder she’s his nanny. Or ex-nanny or whatever.
“You’re so standoffish.” I push back and pull on her cheek. “Relax a little.”
She steps away from my touch. “I left all the relaxing to you, Mrs. King.”
“It’s Ava. And was that sarcasm?” I tilt my head at the other staff. “Must besomuch fun to be around her, am I right?”
None of them moves or even acknowledges me.
“You let Sam handpick her clones, didn’t you?” I give Eli the stink eye.
He’s leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed and looking more amused than a king watching his personal clown.
“Anything for you, Mrs. King.”
I grind my teeth to keep from falling into the trap he’s goading me into and proving to these people who I’ve never met that I’m a fuck-up. “Well, this atmosphere sucks. Totally not a fan.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Or we can change things up. Sam, I love you, but you need a chill pill and a proper introduction to smiling. How about a staff reshuffle like the prime minister does?”
“I’ll have to decline.”
“But why? It’s going to be so much fun if you let me help.”
“I have my doubts.”
“How can you be so cruel?” I pout.
“Henderson already briefed me about your situation, so I’ll reintroduce myself.” She completely ignores my earlierstatement. “I’m the house manager and I cook Mr. King’s meals. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”
“Henderson?” I ask.
She points at the blond guy who’s standing by the car.
“Leonardo Henderson,” he says in an eloquent tone. “I’m Mr. King’s special assistant.”
