With a mock bow, he swung open a door. “After you.”
Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lemon polish and snobbery. The mansion’s interior was exactly what she expected from a family with more money than taste—gilded frames, crystal chandeliers, and enough gold tassels to make King Midas blush. She almost expected to see wallpaper made of dollar bills.
“Where to?” she whispered.
Jack scanned the hallway, suddenly serious. “If I had incriminating evidence, where would I hide it?”
“Probably not in the room labeledIncriminating Evidence,” she replied, earning an exasperated look from Jack that shouldn’t have been as cute as it was.
They made their way through the house like a pair of bumbling cat burglars, ducking into alcoves and behind potted plants. At one point Jack pulled her into a narrow space between a bookshelf and a wall that was definitely not built for two. His body pressed against hers as anotherhousekeeper walked by, and suddenly she was acutely aware of every point of contact between them.
Finally, they found themselves in front of a heavy oak door that practically screamedevil lair. The brass nameplate read ‘Nathaniel Worthington, Esquire’ in a font so pretentious it practically had its own trust fund.
“Bingo,” Jack whispered, trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slim tool that looked suspiciously like a lock pick.
Cora blinked. “Okay, wow. You just carry that around?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “You never know when you might need to break into a building.”
She squinted up at him. “That’s not normal behavior.”
The edges of his mouth curled. “What? You don’t know how to pick locks?”
“No,” she said. “But I wish I did. The lock on my bathroom door in New York is broken, and I have this irrational fear I’m going to get trapped in there and die, and then the fire department will find my rotting corpse three weeks later, wrapped in a towel and clutching my loofah.”
Jack choked out a laugh as he crouched down to fiddle with the knob, but before he could make much progress, Cora stepped forward.
“Let me try something,” she muttered.
She slammed her shoulder into the door, and it popped open with a loud crack.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t locked? Just stuck?”
“Humidity. It makes doors swell. Does the same thing to my hair.” Cora patted her updo and motioned for him to follow her inside.
The office was exactly what she’d expected, a shrine to Nathaniel’s ego. Leather-bound books lined the walls, and a massive mahogany desk sat in the center, gleaming and intimidating.
“Where would evil plans hide?” she muttered, riflingthrough a drawer filled with expensive pens and pristine stationery.
Jack tugged a file drawer open. “Should I check under E for Evil Plans? Or M for Mwahahaha?”
As she was about to reply, a voice echoed in the hallway, getting closer.
Jack grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the nearest hiding spot. “In here.”
“Here” turned out to be a closet approximately the size of a postage stamp. They squeezed in, and she found herself pressed against Jack’s chest again, his arms around her as they wedged themselves behind a row of sport coats that smelled like mothballs. The space was so tight his heartbeat practically echoed through her ribcage.
“Well,” she said, her face inches from his, “this is cozy.”
“Shh,” he whispered back, but she could hear the smile in his tone.
Nathaniel’s voice drifted into the room. “Once we acquire the café, the rest of Main Street will follow. The old bird was stubborn, but her granddaughter seems more...pliable.”
Cora bristled, and Jack’s grip on her hand tightened.
“We’ll be ready to move by the end of the month. Don’t worry, I’ve got Cora Lockwood handled, and the demolition team is on standby. As far as I’m concerned, we’re good to go for planning the groundbreaking ceremony for Worthington Resort.”
After Nathaniel’s voice faded back into the hallway, they stayed frozen for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. Jack’s heartbeat was steady against her cheek as she let the weight of Nathaniel’s words sink in.
