to notice.
The first door on the left led to the lounge, the only room in the house fit for decent company. It was where lawyers and policemen went whenever they visited. I guided Kendrick inside, hoping the decor hadn’t changed since Mother kicked me out.
Apart from a thick ivory carpet to match the walls, it was still the same. A vast space filled with the largest flat-screen television on the market, brown, leather Chesterfield sofas, and an oak coffee table with a glass top. I closed the door behind us, blocking the sound of barking.
“Impressive,” Kendrick said.
“This room is sound-proofed and double-glazed.” I lowered myself onto a leather sofa.
Kendrick stood over me and folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you tell the housekeeper I was your boyfriend?”
“It’s easier this way.” I pulled him into the seat next to me.
“But I’m not—”
“They’ve seen Maxwell already and know we’re together.” I cringed thinking of the last time I saw Mother. Maxwell had accompanied me to St. Luke’s hospital, where Billy Hancock tried to bequeath me his drug empire to run with Sammy. “It’s going to be a nightmare explaining why he couldn’t come down with me and why I brought his twin.”
Kendrick nodded and glanced around the room, seeming to take in the gas fireplace and bookshelves filled with gold-embossed Versace plates and golden ornaments of dogs. On the wall hung Hermès and Versace scarves in picture frames. Above the mantle sat an elaborate, gold clock Billy Hancock bought from an antique dealer who swore it was a late-nineteenth century Ormolu timepiece from Tiffany and Co.
Everything about this room screamed that the owner of the house could afford the very best.
He exhaled a breath. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”
“About what?” I pulled out my smartphone and scrolled through the messages. None of the other girls I had contacted the day before had replied.
“That you would never—”
The door opened, and the black-haired housekeeper strode in, holding a notepad. “Mr. Hancock says I should offer you something to drink. What will you have?”
“Two teas, please,” I said before she reeled off a list of spirits.
She nodded and disappeared behind the door.
Kendrick’s glare burned the side of my face. Even though he hadn’t gotten to finish his question, he knew that I knew what he wanted to ask. When I told him that the morning hand job would be the last, was I telling the truth?
The answer to that question was complicated. I could tolerate most of Kendrick’s prickly personality with Maxwell and Orlando as buffers. His silly mind games were a little too much for me on his own. I’m not sure what he expected when he implied that would be the last time I touched his dick. All I did was agree with him.
I turned to Kendrick. “What do you want from me?”
He drew back and scowled. “Nothing.”
“Then why do we need to talk about it?” I asked.
We sat without speaking for several moments, the only thing filling the silence being the ticking of the Tiffany Ormolu clock. I turned to the bay window, watching a white vehicle slow as it passed the house. Stupid, unmarked police cars. They made it so obvious when a house was under surveillance.
The door opened again, and the housekeeper came in holding a silver tray with one of mother’s bone-china tea sets. This one was rimmed with gold leaf and decorated with teal-colored flowers. The woman even provided a plate of Belgian cookies.
As I poured us both a cup of tea under the woman’s watchful eye, the door opened again.
Billy Hancock strolled in, wearing a burgundy silk dressing gown with thick, black collars and lapels. I refused to refer to him as a stepfather because that would imply he was Mother’s husband and a form of parental guardian. I acknowledged him as neither. He looked like an aging boxer about to make his comeback or a deleted scene from Terminator Two featuring the T-800 caught between changes of clothes.
“Your mother is busy.” He sat on the leather sofa opposite.
“I’ll wait.” I turned to Kendrick with the milk jug raised. He shook his head.
“What’s this about?” Billy Handcock gestured at me to pour him a cup.
I poured milk into my full cup and pushed it across the coffee table. “Family business.”
His eyes narrowed. “And?”
“I’m only going to say it once, so let’s wait for Mother to wake up.”
Billy Hancock’s gaze slid to Kendrick and travelled and up and down his form. “This is the