in the forest. Either of those would suit her somewhat reclusive personality. Teddy spent a pleasant several minutes reflecting on where he would live if he had all the money in the world. He liked Chicago, so maybe he’d find himself a grand old estate in Lincoln Park. But what would he do, rattling around by himself inside thousands of square feet? Well, he could hire servants of course. And sleep in a different bedroom every night of the week. Hmm. Maybe a penthouse on Lake Shore Drive was a better option. The interior would be modern and sleek, and there would be a wide terrace where he’d host parties overlooking Lake Michigan. Imagine Gregory’s expression when he saw Teddy’s Instagram photos!
Okay. None of that was ever going to happen. Plus, Gregory could go fuck himself.
“Are you okay?”
Teddy blinked at Romeo. “Huh?”
“You sort of groaned just now.”
“I’m...” Teddy’s face heated as he tried to think of a plausible explanation that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic. Fortunately, the car turned into a driveway and paused for a gate to open, which gave Teddy an escape. “Oh look, we’re here.”
Joyce Alexander lived in neither a cave nor a secret place in the woods. In fact, the neighborhood was fairly ordinary, if you considered multimillion-dollar homes ordinary. Her house turned out to be a huge one with white wooden siding, broad porches, and what seemed to be acres of preternaturally green lawns. The estate resembled photos Teddy had seen of the Hamptons. Which was the wrong coast entirely, but nevertheless...
The driver took them around to the back of the property, where stately evergreens towered above pavement. He stopped the car at the bottom of a concrete stairway. A tall middle-aged man stood there in a vintage Joyce Alexander suit, every silver hair carefully in place, his sculpted face expressionless. He might have been a statue, except when the driver got out and opened the car’s back doors, the man gave Teddy and Romeo a tiny nod.
“Welcome, gentlemen. Please follow me.”
Romeo looked as if he’d rather take a running leap into the nearby lake, and Teddy’s stomach was doing its best to tap dance its way around his kidneys. But they trudged dutifully up the long set of stairs and wiped their shoes on a big mat before entering the house through double doors.
Although this was clearly the back entrance, it opened on to a big foyer with a marble floor, gold-striped wallpaper, and a huge crystal chandelier. They had a brief peek through an archway to a kitchen as their guide led them through a side doorway into a sunken seating area. He waved imperiously at a pair of delicate framed chairs upholstered in what looked like fluffy white sheepskin. They sat. “Ms. Alexander will be with you shortly.” He swept out of the room.
“It’s...white,” Romeo said, low voiced.
That was entirely accurate. A plush white rug covered most of the highly polished light wood floor. The white walls contained deep square niches, each brightly lit and displaying a single crystal vase. The room’s other two chairs were white brocade, the ornate coffee table clear Lucite, and a baroque silver-framed mirror hung over a white marble fireplace mantel. Instead of logs, the fireplace held an arrangement of large white crystals, as if flames had been turned to ice. White porcelain swans flanked the fireplace. A rounded alcove housed a sleek piano—not surprisingly, also white. And overhead, the glass chandelier was shaped like deer antlers.
“You should like it,” Teddy said. “It reminds me of your office.”
“My office isn’t this shiny.”
They sat in silence for what felt like hours. Teddy was tempted to play with his phone but kept it tucked away. Sometimes he stared at his slim leather messenger bag, which he’d leaned against his chair, but the bag wasn’t very entertaining. Romeo fidgeted.
Then Joyce Alexander arrived, and Teddy understood her decorating scheme.
She alone provided the pop of color. Today she wore a floor-length dress of deep maroon set off by white lace. A wide embroidered ribbon ran under the bodice, creating an empire waist. The dress might have looked too youthful on most women in their seventies, and it would have seemed hopelessly retro on almost anyone, but Joyce Alexander carried it off. As she should, since it was one of her own designs. Her hair, cut in short waves, was as white as the surroundings, and her makeup was understated. Although she had lines on her face, she carried herself tall and straight,