Page 8

A pièce de résistance.

I pull out my phone and snap a photo. If she was upset by today, she’ll be absolutely livid by this.

Turning to leave, I hum her little tune in my head, and smile.

4

My eye twitches at the blaring sound of the alarm near my ear. I already know today is going to be a busy day. I have a new collection to assess before going into the office for the monthly staff meeting, which is pointless. They want to continue focusing on the established areas of expertise, whereas I want to expand, which would allow us to bring in new clientele, but no. It’s too “niche.”

At least I get to work with one of my favorite clients today.

Lennox Snow.

Cute little old man with more money than common sense. Over the last two years, our relationship has become a bit more than a curator and client—he’s more like the grandfather I never had.

The thought lifts my spirits.

Slipping into a blue jumpsuit and flats, I slap my war paint on and head to the kitchen. Gerald is at his post next to his bowl, ready for his breakfast.

“I don’t know why you have to look so pathetic, sir. It’s not like you’re starving,” I say, poking his round belly, as I put his food down.

A squeak of disapproval is all I receive before he shoves his greedy face into the bowl.

Shaking my head, I grab my morning shake and head out the door.

The drive to Lennox’s estate would be beautiful if the sun would leave me the fuck alone. The whole neighborhood drips old money. Each and every lawn—perfectly manicured. Not a blade of grass out of place. I could never live in one of these areas. I prefer my gardens to be free and wild as nature intended, not chopped to hell and made sterile by Brenda of the lawn committee. Nor could I live in one of the ostentatious houses.

I already have a difficult time keeping my humble cottage clean.

The gates open as I turn off the road and into the entrance. The security guards have come to know me by now and don’t bother checking my credentials, opting to wave me through. The driveway climbs to the top of a hill where the house sits. I park my car, hoping that Lennox’s new collection isn’t another one of his eclectic ventures.

I love eclectic and unique art, but how does a curator try to convince a museum to display an exhibit of purely wooden dentures? Never mind the fact that we couldn’t produce the documentation for said dentures either.

Lennox was wholly amused as he watched me negotiate that issue away. Sadistic. If anything, it made me cherish him more.

I walk up the steps to the entrance of the English manor-style house and ring the doorbell. An unfamiliar maid opens the door. The maids are ever-changing. I rarely see the same one twice.

She extends her hands to take my things, but I nod her off.

“I need them, sorry. Do you know where Lennox is?”

She takes a step back. Her eyes narrow. Sheesh, lady, calm down.

“He’s in the serpentarium.” Her nose scrunches as she nods toward the hall.

“Thanks.”

I turn and tread down the hallway. A faint light spills from the threshold of the serpentarium. Warm air bathes my face as I step into the room. The warm humid air was uncomfortable at first. Now, it’s one of my favorite rooms in the mansion. The floor-to-ceiling panels of wood, soft warm lighting, and moist heat from the boilers below feels relaxing, almost as though I’m in an expensive sauna. My nose twitches at the pungent smell of moist wood chips and sulfur.

“Lennox, you old goat, where are you?” I make sure my voice is loud enough to be heard throughout the chamber and its alcoves. Last time I snuck up on him, I thought he was going to punch me.

“Hushhhh…over here.” A wrinkly hand and tan shirt rise above one of the terrariums in the center of the room. “Be quiet…they’re going to mate.”

Stepping around the center terrarium, I find Lennox crouching on the floor, his gaze fixed on the two snakes tangled together, forming a singular slithering rope.

“I didn’t know you were a zoophiliac. I’m learning new things about you all the time…”

Lennox breaks his gaze from the mating snakes to cast me a vicious glare from over his half-moon glasses. I hope the snakes enjoy the moment of privacy I’ve provided them at my own personal risk. “I hope these aren’t the soon-to-be parents of the snake I bought for Litza. Her birthday is in a few weeks. Not that I know how long it takes for one of those adorable babies to break free from their eggs, but I’m pretty certain it takes longe⁠—”