“Erm, hello?!” a shrill voice calls out. “Where the hell are you?” Holding my head, I groan and shush her.
“Stop talking so loud,” I grumble. “I’m coming. Just…let me put some damn pants on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” she hisses with sarcasm. “It’s not like I’ve been stalking around the back step like afreaking raccoon whilst you have a peaceful, lazy morning, probably all wrapped up in–”
I shut off the call and drop the phone onto the bed before she can finish whatever dramatic rant she’s winding up to. Christ, I really should have known better than to get so wasted last night. Although it seemed like the only way to get through the evening, and from the glimpses that are slipping back in, I’m fairly sure everyone involved had a good time.
Moving on autopilot, I tug on a pair of sweats, yank a shirt over my damp skin, and shove my feet into sneakers without socks. There’s no time to consider dignity, she’ll start banging on the door if I don’t get down there soon. Raking my fingers through my hair to make it look like I haven’t just crawled out of a grave, I grab my phone and rush back into the hallway.
The main section of the manor is far too bright. Every window I pass personally insults me. My head pulses in slow, irritated waves as I jog down the stairs, gripping the banister in case I lose my footing. When I hit the bottom step and inhale the overwhelming smell of eggs, I groan thickly. As much as my body needs nutrition, I doubt my body will let me stomach much of anything. Edging around the lobby and into the kitchen, I’m both surprised and relieved to find Rhys and Harper aren’t present. Trying to stay in Fiona’s blind spot, I make a beeline for the back door.
“Master Michaels, is it?” Fiona turns around to see my hand outstretched for the handle. I straighten and clear my throat.
“Clayton is fine.” Fiona's confident stare reveals that she already knew that. She probably knows more about me than I’d like. Placing down her spatula, she brushes the flour from her apron.
“Clayton, then. Would you like to tell me why there is a woman in the sun lounger by the pool, and how many more I should expect to turn up?” My eyes flick to the back door,spotting her reclined with a coffee mug in hand. A harsh breath flares my nostrils.
“Just this one,” I promise, reaching for the door handle again. I pause just before opening it, glancing back at the housemaid. “I apologise for the inconvenience.” To my surprise, Fiona’s shoulders relax, and a small smile grows across her face.
“To be quite honest, it’s rather nice to have people to cook for. People that…appreciate it,” she glances away. An image flashes to mind, conjured from my own imagination. The lord of this manor sits at an antique dining table, clicking his fingers and making demands. Suddenly, I don’t feel as guilty as I step outside and whistle to my guest. The sound cracks through my own skull, but it gains her attention.
“Well, it’s about time!” Addy kicks her feet off the lounger. Her hair is practically neon in the sunlight, the fuchsia bounding around her shoulders in dungarees that would look juvenile on anyone else. The denim faded pink, holes torn into the knees, the bottoms rolled up over her chunky white sneakers. Ignoring the covered pool between us, she swans over to me, plants the empty mug in my hand and dumps her rucksack at my feet. “Wow, you look like shit.”
“Nice to see you too, Addy.” I purse my lips. Her chocolate eyes roam my face, and suddenly she smiles. A huge beaming smile, just before she drags me in for a hug. Her arms wrap tight around my ribs, squeezing the breath from my lungs, and despite myself, I chuckle. I hug her back, genuinely thankful for her coming all this way.
I texted her from the cafe whilst Harper was giving her statement, giving regular updates with Rhys’ plans. Even then, I knew Harper would need a friendly face who wasn’t trying to fuck her. At least, I hope not. Competing against Rhys for Harper’s affection is challenging enough. She needs a friend, someone who understands and can communicate with her.When Addy pulls back, she flicks a finger against my temple, and I jerk back.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Yup,” she answers the question in her head. “Definitely hungover. Possibly concussed. Has living with Rhys been that bad?” I grunt, bending to pick up her rucksack.
“You have no idea.” Opening the back door, I gesture for Addy to enter. Her eyes flicker over the kitchen, taking in every detail with rapt interest. Setting her mug by the basin, I direct her to the stool where breakfast is waiting. Lord knows I won’t be able to eat it. “Oh, and do me a favor. No screaming.”
“Why would I scream?” Addy counters, already digging into the eggs like a woman starved. “Is the manor haunted? Do life-sized dolls walk around at night? Are there bodies hidden within the walls?”
“It’s not haunted,” I roll my eyes. Just then, Rhys appears, looking like he’s chewing on a wasp. His eyes are sunken and dark, his mouth set into a grim line that makes the ink against his skin seem even more menacing. His blue eyes land on Addy and narrow further.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
I was prepared for his reaction, but not prepared enough to have a response ready. Rubbing a hand across my nape, I clear my throat.
“I invited her.”
“You didn’t ask me,” he growls. “You know, the one who actually lives here.” His expression is tight, his pale eyes unusually intense. I thought after whatever happened last night, he’d be skipping through the halls.
“You would have said no.”
“Oh well then,” Rhys makes a sound between disbelief and exasperation. He slaps his hands against his thighs, and we both wince at the clap of impact. “Come on in. Me casa es sufreeloading base. Fuck being a team. Fuck Harper’s safety. We might as well invite the entire world over for a slumber party.” Turning in the stool, Addy leans her forearm back against the counter and crosses one leg over the other.
“Will there be ice cream?” The look Rhys gives her is seething before he turns on his heel and stalks away. A moment later, something made of china or porcelain smashes. Addy hums to herself, returning to her breakfast. “Who’s pissed in his coffee?”
I don’t have a chance to respond before Rhys’ voice booms through the house, echoing against the high ceilings and slamming into me.
“Just because it apparently needs to be said. We do not bring unknown variables into the house!” Spotting his silhouette shadowed against the staircase just before he continues up it, I drop into the stool beside Addy with a huff.
“I’m not a variable,” Addy argues to her egg before shovelling it into her mouth. “I’m like Harper’s emotional support gremlin. She needs an escape from being with you two all the time.” I smirk at this, noticing the shift of movement in my peripheral vision. Fiona steps forward to present me with a fresh coffee, taking away Addy’s empty mug and the two plates of food sitting untouched. I’ve only just sipped from the rim when a soft voice sounds behind me, preceding the soft padding of approaching feet.
“What’s with all the noise?” I spin around to see Harper in her jeans and sweater, her hair pulled into a lazy braid over her shoulder. She rubs at her reddened eyes, and suddenly, all of my discomfort is forgotten. Has she been crying? Spotting the self-proclaimed gremlin to my right, Harper sucks in a breath. I barely have time to stand before shedetonates.
