It’s one of the downsides of having such a large house. Neo can disappear at a whim. It’s something he does often. I can’t decide what’s more annoying—how often he vanishes, or when he turns up at the worst possible moments.
It has to be the former. I sigh, rolling my shoulders. Who knows what he’s going to get into. Whatever it is, I have no doubt about the mess he’ll leave behind.
And who will be cleaning it up.
Dotty, my housekeeper, turns a corner and comes to a stop when she sees me. I swear she dislikes me the most. I don’t knowwhy, but she always finds ways to pick at my already frayed nerves.
Just yesterday, she mopped over my leather shoes, despite my having moved them for her. She lifted that mop on purpose and wet my shoes down to my socks.
I saw the glimmer in her eye when she did it, too.
She felt no remorse.
With no one else to ask, I paste a smile on my face. “Hello, Dotty. Did you see which way the pest went?”
She stares at me, a rag in her one hand, a spray bottle in the other. My eyelid starts to twitch. If she sprays me with whatever cleaner is in there, I may have to fire her.
I can’t. I know that. Dotty knows too much. She might even know where the bodies are buried.
I wish that were just a metaphor.
“I’ve seen no one all day,” she says, her voice even.
My brows rise at that, because I can assure you that Cade and Ansel have made an appearance, at least to come out for some food. “Are you trying to cover something up?”
She scoffs and then bustles past me, a soft hiss of something spraying as she turns a corner.
If that was bleach, I may not make it through the night.
I may burst into flames.
Neo will probably dance around them.
I shrug off my jacket and bring it to my nose. Vinegar.That witch. I make my way to my office and slam the door. What I really need to do is find Neo before he discovers new ways to push my buttons.
Buttons that my monster quite likes. Or is it the pushing he likes?
Either way, it doesn’t lead anywhere good. Neo doesn’t know what he’s playing with, but I do.
I won’t allow it to happen.
I sit down in my chair and lean back, the creak of leather resounding around the room as I get comfortable. I really need to open up my laptop and get to work. There’s an overwhelming number of things to do for the scholarship program I run.
That’s another can of worms entirely. It’s a project I created after realizing I have more money than I know what to do with and that there are people out there who don’t have the means or ability to change the circumstances they were born into.
I wanted to help.
The only problem is the paperwork, and god, don’t even get me started on the emails.
There are so many fucking emails.
If I knew back then what I do now, I’d have scrapped the plan entirely.
That’s not fair. I know it does good. An immense amount. It’s not enough to clear the blood from my ledger—no amount of charitable work can do that—but it helps me to sleep a little better at night. I’ll settle for that.
At least, it did, until a certain brat with an attitude complex started living under my roof. Since then, everything has gone downhill. I scrub at my face, dreading even opening my laptop. I know the deluge of emails waiting to be answered will only have grown larger. I did have an assistant, but she went on maternity leave just as Neo appeared in my life.
Just when the Umbra made an appearance. It’s been very inconvenient, especially since The Firm is incredibly busy this time of year without the extra pressures. The lead-up to the holiday season always brings an uptick in requests.
