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“We usually go through about a maid a year.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That wasn’t at all what I expected him to say, and I don’t quite get how it relates to me. Plus, I didn’t realize the turnover rate here was quite so high—although I sure as shit hope my mom and I aren’t here much longer than that. Maybe that’s just how everyone else felt too.
“When you and your mom first got here, I figured you were like all of them,” he continues. Then he rakes a hand through his hair. “My dad has—well, he usually hires a certain type of woman. And you and your mom seemed like that type. Only it was two of you, and that made it worse.”
The garage is dim, but his amber eyes still gleam, and for the first time, I can see that the anger in them isn’t all directed at me.
“What type is that?” I ask, a suspicious edge to my voice. He may be coming clean with me, but I still have a feeling I’m about to be insulted.
He holds my gaze steadily. “Young. Hot. Interested.”
“Interested in what? Having sex with your dad?” I can’t quite keep the disgust out of my voice, but my obvious distaste actually makes Lincoln’s lips tilt up a little. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s happened before.” His voice takes on a hard edge. “And the first time I met you, I could see it all happening again. There the two of you were—your mom’s young, you’re fucking gorgeous, and all I could see was a trap. My dad’s a damn idiot, and he can’t
keep it in his pants, and that’s an easy thing to take advantage of.”
“So you thought we were going to seduce him? Both of us?” Now I really am offended.
Lincoln sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I thought, okay? I just didn’t trust you. I was probably wrong about that, looking back.”
“Probably wrong?” I squawk.
He rolls his eyes. “Definitely wrong. Are you happy?”
“No.”
I glare at him, trying to process everything he just told me. It explains the look I saw Mr. Black giving my mom when I found them in the den that time, and other glances I’ve seen him shoot her way. Maybe it explains his over-the-top friendliness toward her… and me. Hell, was that part of the reason he invited her on that trip to their second home?
Shit. Did he make a move on Mom that weekend? Has he ever?
No way. She definitely would’ve told me.
My stomach sours.
Would she, though? I’ve never really kept things from my mom—we’ve been each other’s rocks for so long, and she’s almost more like a sister than a mother sometimes. But ever since we arrived in Fox Hill, the lies and secrets have been piling up like a stack of bones in the closet. It doesn’t matter that I’ve kept things from her to protect her. They were still lies. And what if she’s done the same thing to me? Hidden some kind of gross advances from Samuel Black because she didn’t want to worry me, and she’s too afraid she’ll lose this job.
“You could’ve told me your dad was a fucking lech,” I whisper harshly, as if I think the man in question might somehow overhear us. “I would’ve warned my mom!”
Lincoln shakes his head, and his casual dismissal makes me want to smack him upside his thick skull. “Nothing’s happened. If it had, I’d know about it. And he’s not a rapist. Your mom would have to show some level of interest for him to go after her.”
“Yeah, well.” I cross my arms, still pissed. “Mom’s too friendly for her own damn good, and she’s a trusting person. Maybe you should’ve told me all this from the beginning instead of assuming she and I wanted to fucking tag team your dad.”
He sits up straighter. “I didn’t—” Then he cuts himself off and presses his lips together, nodding once. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
That stops me in my tracks.
Lincoln Black’s attitude toward me has ranged from openly antagonistic to confusingly intense, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him apologize to me… or anyone else, for that matter. This is the most genuine he’s ever been with me, and I have to work to strengthen the fortifications around my heart. When he looks at me like he is now, it’s hard to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t trust him.
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down hard enough to produce a sting of pain. “Well, next time, maybe don’t just make a bunch of assumptions about someone you don’t even know. Maybe they’ll surprise you.”
His lips tilt up at the corners, and the spark of humor in his eyes makes him look more human—and almost boyish. “Oh, you definitely surprised me, Harlow.”
He leans toward me slightly, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch an abbreviated movement of his hand, as if he almost reached for me but stopped himself. I jerk to a stop too, realizing I unconsciously mirrored his action and leaned in too.
Pulling away, I busy myself with my seat belt, and neither of us speak again until we’re both out of the car. As we’re heading across the motor court to the mansion’s side entrance, Lincoln says, “The guys are coming over later. Meet us in the pool house at 7:30. We need to talk.”
I have to do some cleaning, and there are a few homework assignments I should work on—but I’m not sure I can muster the focus to work on them anyway. Besides, his order makes a thrill of curiosity and nerves spread through me. What do we need to talk about? Have the guys been having little meetings like this without me all week?
