Page 28 of Promise of Punishment

He nods.

“This way.” Noah leads me through the door into the massive and empty garage. “No cars?”

“It’s for the Lords only.”

“They’re not really Lords, are they?” How could they be when two are American?

“No, but a couple are noble in England. A Lord and a vicar or some shit.”

I laugh. “A viscount?” When I found out Bear was Wes, the earl’s son, I did research on all that, too, out of curiosity. “Vicar is a minister.”

“Not my business.” She waves the topic away.

“Do you think you were with one of the nobles that night?” I follow her to another door leading out the back.

“He was American, I think. And his dick was from a fantasy realm. That’s all I know.”

I laugh, a little jealous that she’s able to live so freely. I haven’t laughed this much in a long while. “Thank you for this, Noah. You were right. It is good for me.”

She glances at me with her chocolate eyes. “The fun hasn’t even started yet.” We exit into a well-lit gravel parking lot surrounded by manicured hedges lined with yellow flowers. A gorgeous lady who could pass for Wonder Woman stands next to a black SUV.

“Camila,” Noah waves a hand at me. “This is Fable.”

I swallow my nerves about my red eye and meet her gaze head-on. She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t look like she tolerates bullshit. Nothing I’m not used to, but I show up polished and prepared, not like I’ve been in a fight. I also left straight from work, changed out of my uniform in a rush to get Bear and pack my car, and am not half as presentable as I like to be.

I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for this opportunity.”

She focuses on the red skin around my injured eye, then runs her gaze over my white button-down shirt, jeans, and sneakers, as she sizes up my body. “Tiny but a beauty,” she says with a slight paisa accent. I know it well from a co-worker in the past who was Colombian. “We only have one other petite girl. You’ll do nicely.”

I bite my tongue to keep from saying I didn’t know this was a hire based on looks. I’m not in a position to speak up, not with how desperate I am for a solid job now that the Ashfords may not work out.

We file into the black leather interior of the SUV. Camila drives while explaining the job, how it all works, where the staff stay, the rules about what happens during the day, what’s off-limits to employees, where we get food, clothing, and a dozen other details.

It’s a lot, but nothing I’m not used to when taking a new service job for a wealthy family.

“The house is shaped like an upside-down T,” Camila explains. “There are three wings: east, west, and south. The staff stay at the farthest end of the south wing. The kitchen is in the basement. The Lords have rooms on the third floor in the east wing. The guests get a few there too, but most stay on the second floor of the east and south wings. The first floor is where everything else is: the gaming, billiards, ballroom, dining, lounging, and entertainment rooms. The great hall, library, and gallery. Sometimes, the parties spread throughout there. The entire east wing and most of the south wing have been renovated. The west wing hasn’t been and is unsafe for anyone.”

I hold in a squee. I’ll definitely be visiting that half for social media content.

“Costumes are provided to all staff, as well as private bedroom and en suite bathroom. Guests and staff must wear masks at all times, even during the day when parties aren’t happening. Employees can only remove them in the staff wing. Anonymity is strictly enforced here. No phones during the parties, including guests.

“A wristband is given to everyone with an alert button in case they need help of any kind: injury, illness, though rare, a fight, or inappropriate fondling. Nothing is tolerated without consent. The security team is vast and ready to assist anyone at a moment’s notice. It’s how the parties stay safe.”

Definitely nothing P-Diddy happening here.

“If you want to be considered for a proposition by a guest, you place a red feather in your hair. Guests wear a red sash. Each signals you’re available, though you are not required to participate or do anything beyond your cleaning and serving duties. No feather means you are left alone. If you are singled out and you are not into the person, you can politely decline. There are plenty of people open and ready to step up. Sex only happens behind closed doors, which is why there are so many guest rooms. It isn’t an orgie.”

“Think of it like a club with a hotel,” Noah says.

The road straightens, and a glowing mansion comes into view. Lights illuminate the grand exterior and spill from many of the windows. It looks like the White House, only considerably larger. Stone stairs, the length of a bus, lead to towering pillars that rise to the three-story roof and frame the entrance. Spotlights shine on fountains surrounded by garden beds on either side of the stairs.

It’s old, grand, and speaks of an opulent era that no longer exists.

“The west wing doesn’t look ruined,” I murmur with disappointment.

“The front side was redone to conceal the mess behind it,” Camila says. “Trust me, it’s not a place you want to explore, which is why it’s off limits.”

We all get out near the stairs that lead to the ginormous white front doors. “There are some forms you need to sign in my office.” Camila checks her elegant gold watch. “Let’s meet there in an hour. In the meantime, Noah can give you a tour, show you your room, and answer any other questions you might have.” She holds out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Fable.”