I know I shouldn’t snoop around other people's houses, but my curiosity gets the best of me, and I nudge it open just enough to peek inside. For a second, I’m caught completely off guard. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. It’s an office; it must beLocke’soffice, but it looks like it belongs in an entirely different house.
A massive wooden desk sits at the far end of the room. An open laptop is perched beside a small lamp that drenches the space in warm, golden light. A thick-cut crystal ashtray rests near the corner, with a small wooden box sitting next to it. Through the glass window on the lid, I can make out the shape of cigars stacked neatly inside.
Dark wooden shelves climb the walls, each one flooded with books. Most of them look old and worn, like they’ve seen centuries.
Next to the door, a stretch of exposed brick catches my eye. I reach out, half expecting it to be fake, but it’s real, all right. Impressive… and surprising.
My attention drops to a sleek mid-century console sitting against the same wall. A turntable and two massive speakers sit on top, polished and waiting for someone to use them. Below, a sizable vinyl collection fills the shelves. I step closer and kneel, fingertips trailing along the spines. Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, Miles Davis.
He might just have a soul after all.
There’s a sleek leather couch on the other wall with a small coffee table in front of it on which another cigar box rests. I’m noticing a pattern here.
I suppose it could all be for show, another prop in this carefully curated museum of a house. Still, I linger a moment longer before slipping back into the hallway, letting my fingers brush the edge of the turntable one last time.
When I reach the open kitchen and living space, I realize the morning light has changed everything. The sun streaming in through the massive windows gives everything a golden hue. The edges are softer, less sterile.
A small French press sits on the counter, a sleek glass mug beside it, the rich scent of coffee filling the air. Next to the coffee is an espresso machine with a sticky note attached:I didn’t know what you’d prefer, so I made coffee and prepped the espresso. Have whatever you like.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. A thoughtful gesture? This man keeps blindsiding me this morning. I pour myself a cup of coffee, swirling in some cream, and take a sip as I resume my hunt for the elusive, broody, but surprisingly, thoughtful asshole.
I spot him outside through the wall of glass leading to the backyard. He’s wearing an immaculate black button-down shirt,tattoos barely visible beneath the collar, gray slacks, and another gleaming watch. He looks good. A little too good.Remember why you’re here, Arden.
He’s pacing the length of the pool, phone pressed against his ear, cigar in hand — seriously, at this hour? — and stress written all over his face.
He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, then drags them across his brow. His shoulders look tight. Whatever he’s dealing with, it can’t be pleasant.
The urge to watch him longer claws at me, but I force myself to turn away. The coffee warms my hands as I slip back toward the bedroom. Whatever today holds, I need to be ready for it.
Chapter 14
LOCKE
There’s no sign of Arden except the missing coffee. Good. It buys me a few more minutes to ground myself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I let out a sigh when I pull it out and realize it’s Nate again.
Nate
Any updates?
Timeline’s shrinking faster than projected.
Me
Working on it.
Nate
We don’t have the luxury of delays.
Me
I said I’ve got it, little bro.
Nate
…Right. Yeah. Just keep me posted.
