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CHAPTERTHREE
“Holy shit. This place is insane!” Emerson said as I guided her through the front door.
She’d been skiing with her family for the holidays, so I hadn’t seen her since before Christmas. But now that she was back in town, she’d come over after our weekly yoga class to hang out and watch our new favorite show. And—after a quick stop at the guard shack to introduce her to Vincent—I’d been giving her a tour of my temporary new home.
“Right?” I laughed, the alarm chiming twice as I closed the door. I was still getting used to living in such a luxurious mansion myself.
The house was massive. A grand entrance with a fountain and gated drive. And when you stepped through the front door, a curved staircase drew the eye up to a chandelier that glittered overhead. But it wasn’t just the chandelier that sparkled, the entire house was a gem.
A gem that would be coveted by many. Which was why they’d hired me. Part of the appeal of house sitters was that they acted as a deterrent for would-be burglars. If the house was occupied, someone was less likely to break in.
“Come on.” I looped my arm through hers. “I’ll show you around.”
She paused. Frowned. “Where’s all the furniture? Or is this like a modern design thing?”
I laughed. “No. The owner is still moving in. That’s part of why I’m here—to sign for deliveries from his designer.”
“Who’s the designer?” Emerson asked.
“Lauren Clarke.”
“Ooh. I love her and her work.”
“You know her?” I asked.
“She decorated my dads’ cabin in Aspen.”
“Oh cool,” I said, continuing the tour. “How was Aspen?”
“Gorgeous,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “I wish you could’ve gone.”
“Me too,” I said, thinking of holidays I’d spent with Emmy and her family in Aspen in the past. “But we had a good time.”
“How’s your mom doing?”
“Pretty good,” I said. “All things considered.”
“Good.” Emmy peeked inside one of the boxes and arched her brow.
Every day, more items arrived for the home. So far, most of the deliveries had been fitness equipment for the home gym or signed sports memorabilia. I couldn’t wait to see it all put together.
“And you still have no idea who owns it?” Emerson asked.
“Nope,” I said, letting the “p” pop.
From what Staci had told me, the owner had only recently purchased the house. Not that I knew who the true owner was. According to the client dossier from the Hartwell Agency, the home was owned by a limited liability corporation.
It could’ve been Lady Gaga for all I knew. Except I didn’t peg Gaga as a huge sports fan. That was one of the few clues I had about the owner.
That, and the fact that he liked designer clothes. Though, that wasn’t surprising. Someone who owned a home of this size would have the best in everything.
“Wait till you see the closet,” I said.
She ran a hand through her hair. “This is the sweetest gig ever. Maybe I should switch from nannying to house-sitting if all the placements are like this.”
I laughed. “I lucked out.”
Though the house was definitely more appealing during the day. At night, it seemed huge and cavernous. As if anything could be lurking in the shadows, despite the top-of-the-line security system.
