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“I prefer to feed here in the office at six o’clock,” he continues. “Both morning and evening.”

I wince. “Six a.m., really? Is it okay if I’m still in my pj’s?”

Cat doesn’t make a sound, but I can feel her rage directed at me. As soon as we’re alone, she’s going to let me have it. That’s fine—I’m not too happy with her right now either.

That not-quite-smile tugs at Tristan’s mouth again. “Yes.”

Chapter 7

We leave Nisha with Tristan, and Pierce takes me and Cat on a tour of the house. I’m still not completely sure what the fuck happened in that office. Tristan was being a dick—he’ll do—and I felt the need to assert myself, but somehow that ended with me talking about my pj’s? It was the weirdest job interview I’ve ever had, and that includes the time I walked into a café to ask if they were hiring and got handed an apron and told to take table two’s order. But at least they asked if I had restaurant experience first, and I wasn’t going to be living in their home.

Tristan literally knows nothing about me except that I’m a member of the Barale family—and the Stewarts, I guess. Nisha vouching for me must carry a lot of weight, so I better not fuck this up, or Cat will kill me.

That’s another weird thing. Cat and I won’t ever be that close—we’re just different people—and until eight years ago, I didn’t even know she existed, but I don’t want to lose her from my life. I’m not really sure how to handle these feelings.

As we leave the office, I take a second to look around the entry hall more thoroughly. To the left is the front door, to the right, a staircase leading upstairs, with the downstairs hallway continuing past it. There’s another hallway directly across from us, also.

Pierce turns toward the stairs. “We can start with your rooms,” he suggests. “Then do the rest of the downstairs and introduce you to Clive and Anna.”

“Sounds good,” I agree as Cat and I follow him. Despite the age of the house, the stairs don’t creak at all, and I mention it.

Pierce chuckles. “Clive would die before he let anything creak in this house.”

“But it’s an old house,” Cat protests. “Creaks are normal.”

“Not on Clive’s watch. He had something done to the stair treads a couple of years ago. They’re still original, but they were pulled up and reinforced or something like that. If you notice anything even minorly inconveniencing, like a slow drain or a squeaky window, let him know and he’ll take care of it.”

“What if I don’t care?” A slow drain is nothing as long as it’s still actually draining.

He pulls a face that makes him look more human and less vampire. “Learn to care, Mr Barale. If Clive finds out you knew and didn’t tell him, you’ll wish you had.”

Uh… “You can call me Adam,” is all I can think of to say as we reach the top of the stairs. Because seriously, what?

“Thank you. And of course, you’ll call me Pierce. I’m here quite often, so we’ll likely cross paths. I’ll make sure you have my number, just in case there’s anything you need my help with.”

Like what? “Thanks.” I want to ask what exactly his job is, in the hopes that it’ll give me a clue what Tristan does, but I make the mistake of looking around and every thought flees my head.

“It’s an apartment,” Cat exclaims. “This is huge.”

“Not technically an apartment, since there isn’t a separate entry—and no door to close it off from the rest of the house,” Pierce says apologetically. “But you’re the only one up here, so nobody else will even use the stairs. Except Clive when he comes up to clean and stock your fridge.”

My fridge. My gaze homes in on it unerringly. It’s not big—barely more than a bar fridge, really—but since I don’t plan to be cooking all that much, it’s fine. Perfect for snacks and drinks. Though I could cook if I wanted, because my new place has a kitchenette, complete with microwave, two-burner stove, sink, and a small dishwasher.

The kitchenette flows into a dining area with a six-seater table, and then a lounge room with a big, squashy modular couch that looks perfect for falling asleep on while watching TV. Speaking of the TV, it’s fucking huge—at least eighty inches. The room’s big enough that I won’t go blind watching it, and I might already be in love. It’s the open-plan home of my dreams.

“If you’d prefer to use your own furniture, we can move things out. There’s storage over the garage for anything that doesn’t fit in here or isn’t needed right now,” Pierce assures me, and I nod calmly, like I’m not inwardly planning a Marvel movie marathon. Imagine what the destruction of New York City will look like on a TV that big!

“I’ve only got my bed and the Xbox,” I say. “If the bed here is good, I might not even bother bringing mine.” I make it sound like I’ll need to consider it even though I already know the bed here is a million times better than mine. It would have to be, since mine was ancient when I got it and has a ravine running down the middle.

“Of course, or we can put yours in storage instead,” Pierce says. “The bedroom is this way.”

I wait for his back to be turned before catching Cat’s eye. She mouths, “I told you so,” while I pump my fist in silent victory. Then we follow Pierce around a corner to what looks like a study area, with a big desk, a half-height bookshelf, and a metal storage cabinet.

“Nadia used this as her craft area,” Pierce is saying, “but it would work just as well as an office or library. The feeder before her had gym equipment here.”

“Gym equipment?” That could be convenient. I don’t go as much as I used to because I’ve been working a lot, but I wouldn’t mind getting back into it. If the equipment was right here, I’d have no excuse not to use it—plus, it would be easier than making this Anna person drive me and pick me up.

“It may still be in storage, but if not, we can arrange to have some delivered. I’ll ask Clive.”