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Samuel beams as he makes the introduction, ushering my mom forward with a hand at her lower back. She smiles and ste
ps up to shake Lincoln’s hand, but in the two seconds it takes her to reach him, I see something change in his eyes. His gaze was curious and vaguely neutral when he looked at me before, but now his brows draw together slightly, and the warm amber of his eyes hardens like glass. His jaw twitches too, like he’s clenching his teeth, and when he shakes my mom’s hand, the movement is stiff.
His dad turns to me expectantly.
Fuck.
The last thing I want to do is shake this boy’s hand. For one thing, given his sudden change in attitude, I’m afraid he might bite it off. And for another, his spicy, coriander scent is still clinging to me from when we collided earlier, and I don’t think I can handle another hit of it so soon.
Not because I don’t like it, but because I really, really do.
But he’s the son of my mom’s new employer, and both she and Samuel are watching me now. I can’t just cross my arms over my chest and refuse.
So I swallow heavily and step forward, holding out my hand. He takes it in one of his, and unlike his father’s handshake, his grip is strong, almost bruising.
Like he’s trying to see if I’ll break.
I squeeze back a little harder myself, forcing a smile to my face. “Nice to meet you, Lincoln.”
He nods, his eyes narrowing slightly as he keeps his hold on my hand. “You’re the new help?”
Samuel lets out a quiet, disapproving noise behind me, but his son ignores him.
“Executive Housekeeper,” I correct, bristling at the term.
He cocks his head with a taunting grin. “You’re the Executive Housekeeper?”
“No. My mom is. I’m her… assistant.”
Goddammit, I wish I knew what game we’re playing so I’d know if I was winning or losing.
His grin dissipates, and his gaze flicks from me to Mom to his dad. When it lands on me again, there’s no trace of humor left on his face.
“Got it. Good to know.”
He releases my hand suddenly, gives a curt nod to the adults, and then heads up the stairs to the second floor.
“Good to know?” What the fuck does that mean?
On the surface, the words don’t mean much at all. But it was the way he said them that bugged me. As if I’d confessed some terrible sin or incriminated myself just by admitting I was one of the new housekeepers.
Jesus. Is poor little rich boy mad his daddy made him shake hands with the help?
Without even thinking about it, I wipe my hand on my pants as I turn to follow Mr. Black and Mom deeper into the house, wishing I could forcibly remove Lincoln’s scent from my nostrils. That sweet, spicy, addictive smell has somehow turned bitter.
Just before I step through the arched doorway at the back of the room into a small gallery space, I glance over my shoulder.
Lincoln is standing on the second-floor balcony, hands braced on the railing, gaze locked on me.
It’s only then that I realize his rude behavior earlier was actually him holding back—putting on a mask of civility. He must’ve been restraining himself, keeping his emotions in check in front of his dad and my mom.
Because the look on his face now?
It’s one of pure loathing.
2
My mom, God love her, doesn’t seem to have picked up any of the weird fucking vibe Lincoln was throwing my way—and maybe her way too, I can’t quite be sure. He definitely seems to hate me though, so I can’t imagine he’d be a big fan of the woman who gave birth to me.
