A valet came jogging up to his car the second he placed it in park and opened his door. “Sir.”
“Thanks.” He handed the other man his keys and got out, stomach jumping.
It wasn’t the wealth he was intimidated by. Thanks to Akira’s mother, he had hovered on the fringes of wealthy society for most of his adult life. It didn’t matter how many bedrooms or libraries or kitchens Akira had in this palatial home. It didn’t matter that there was an incredibly long driveway along the side of the house or a five car garage visible from the street, tucked under the house—in a city where a single reserved parking spot could be sold for a premium price, that was pretty much the height of luxury.
No, what had his palms sweating was what lay on the other side of that door.
Talk about the deep end.
Jacob’s shoulders squared. You wanted this. You want her. Let her see what you’re really like.
He strode up the pathway to the front door, but it opened before he could knock. Jacob lowered his fist, faced with a small elderly man decked out in a full suit. With tails and everything. Had Akira found this guy rattling around in a European castle somewhere? “Good evening, sir,” he intoned.
The murderer. That’s who Jacob would cast this guy as. Predictable, perhaps, but his stern visage and perfectly pressed appearance didn’t really permit anything else. Jacob cleared his throat, realizing he had been eyeing the man for far too long. “Hello, I’m…”
“Mr. Campbell. We have been expecting you.” The little man stepped aside, his bald head gleaming.
Definitely the killer. He’d take care of unwitting guests with a slow-acting poison. In the library, which Jacob knew from his past visit was delightfully soundproofed.
Quit being weird.“Thank you.” He stepped inside the massive foyer. If Akira’s office was elegant, understated wealth, here she had gone for ostentatious, in-your-face filthy money. The chandelier hanging from the high ceiling dripped crystal, twin stairways spiraling up to the second floor. Paintings in ornate gold frames lined the hallways leading away from the foyer.
It was loud and unapologetic and brash, without a hint of subdued elegance. It suited Akira.
“You had no trouble finding the place, sir?”
“No, not at all.”
“I suppose not. You have been here before, have you not?”
“Yes. Ah, last week.”
“Of course. And then that time when you were skulking about in the middle of the night.”
Jacob turned slowly and eyed the older man, who stared back at him impassively. Still, Jacob made a mental note to watch his back. And sniff his drinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Harris.” The man gave a little bow.
“You’re Akira’s butler?”
“Her butler, her valet, her security, if the police need to be called.” A thin smile emerged. “You understand.”
“Yeah. I think I do. Rest assured, my nocturnal skulking days are over.”
“I’m sure we’re both pleased to hear that. May I take your coat, sir?”
“Sure. Yes.” He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to the man. He had been unsure what to wear to this, so he’d opted for a suit, without the tie. Googlingwhat to wear to an orgyhad resulted in little assistance. Many interesting images. Little assistance.
Harris draped the jacket over his arm.“I do welcome you, of course, on behalf of Ms. Mori. Since this is your first time attending one of Ms. Mori’s gatherings, I thought I would take the liberty of going over some general guidelines.”
Mystified, Jacob dipped his head. “Okay.”
“Alcohol will be served tonight. We hope you drink responsibly, but you will be cut off if you appear, in Ms. Mori or the staff’s discretion, overly intoxicated. We require all guests when leaving to submit to a Breathalyzer test before retrieving their car. If you choose not to submit to the test, or if you are incompetent to drive, Ms. Akira will be happy to ensure you get home safely in her personal car.” Harris spoke as if he had recited this particular speech a hundred times.
Jacob wanted to smile, but the seriousness of Harris’s demeanor told him it wouldn’t be appreciated. “That’s reasonable.”
“Wonderful.” Harris cleared his throat. “The safe word this evening is ‘spy’. If any guest so much as utters it, the expectation is that all parties shall immediately cease their actions. This is a hard-and-fast rule—Ms. Akira demands consent from all parties at all times. Anything less is unacceptable.”
From a ride home to safe words. Where was he?
