Well, if this all goes horribly wrong, at least they gave me a weapon.
Somehow, on day one, I’ve already fucked this up. I’m not even sure how much yet. It all went so wrong so fast. I sigh and try not to stomp my way back to the estate like some whiny kid being forced to do something they don’t want to. At least if Iceman fires me in person, I’ll be able to put a face to his sexy ass voice. Silver lining.
5
“Shit on a stick,” I grumble to myself as I approach the large, dimly lit mansion.
There are about a million doors and windows in this place, and I have no idea which one I’m supposed to knock on. I’ll probably get my ass handed to me by the butler again.
I debate for two seconds whether I should try for the back or the front of the house, but since I’m failing to see anything that’s marked servants’ entrance, I decide the front is probably my best bet.
I pass the fountain, the gardens, and the patio, and find myself climbing back up the stairs to the front door. I knock, cringing at the booming echo that it creates on the other side of the door. I look at my hand like it’s betrayed me. I swear I didn’t even knock that hard, and now it sounds like I’m demanding entrance. I step back and try to adopt some kind of mien that will convince Grumpy Lurch that I’m not actually trying to break the door down. I go with a half smile and some innocent blinks.
The door slowly opens with an ominous creak that I swear didn’t happen before, and the butler looks down at me with a sigh. “Yes?”
“Hey there,” I say, giving the butler an awkward two-fingered wave. “Me again.”
His pronounced brow wrinkles with irritation. “Why are you here again?” he asks.
“I was told to come to the main house immediately,” I croak out and then try to clear my throat of the toad that seems to have recently parked itself there.
The longer he looks at me, the more I contemplate just hopping on my moped and booking it the fuck out of here right now, but I keep telling myself that everything is fine, that Grumpy Lurch here doesn’t freak me out. That the trio in the mausoleum weren’t serial killers, and that Iceman isn’t leading me to my demise—either by employment termination or actual death.
Honestly, the only reason I haven’t ditched this whole scene already is because I’m not ready to let go of the daydreams I’ve been swimming in of what it will be like to have some money.
Besides, I could totally be overreacting. I’ve been known to do that from time to time. They’re having a party here tonight and that makes disposing of a body or firing an employee super messy, right? Maybe they really do just want to give me a promotion or something because they think I’m overqualified, though I have no fucking clue why.
“You came to the front door after I informed you earlier to never use the front door again?” he asks, his dark eyes matching the under-eye circles he has going on.
I shift nervously on my feet. At least he hasn’t commented on my outfit. “Yeah, you know, in hindsight, the back door would’ve been a better choice, but slap my ass and call me a rebel,” I joke nervously. He just stares at me. I blow out a breath. “Okay, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t help that you have about fifty back doors. For people who seem to be big fans of labeling”—I point to the name tag still stuck to my tank top—“you think you’d have at least one of those doors labeled with something classy and simple like Peasants Enter Here.”
Grumpy Lurch doesn’t move a stony feature on his face. He towers over me, breathing heavily, and just continues to stare at me with bored disdain. “Go around to the back, Help. Don’t make me tell you again,” he snaps before slamming the door in my face again.
“Pretty sure you’re the help, too, asshole,” I mutter to the door.
It swings the fuck open, and his face is suddenly all up in mine. “What did you say?” he demands.
I blink up at him in shock. How the fuck did he hear me?
“Uhh...I said you’re very helpful, and I’ll just be going to a back door now that I’ll pick at random,” I offer with a tight smile.
With a grunt, he slams the door again, and I flip him off before pivoting on my heel and hurrying down the stone steps to head around the back. I find four door options that look like they might lead somewhere the help is supposed to go, but three of them are locked, and nobody answers when I knock. The fourth door is the winner, because it’s the only door that’s open, and I hurry inside, finding myself in...the kitchen?
At least, I think it’s a kitchen. Except, it looks like one from the medieval times. There’s an open fire oven thing that’s made of stone and masonry instead of stainless steel and tile. But I’m only momentarily distracted by the candlelight, stone, and what looks like an old as fuck icebox, because my eyes widen at the people inside.
They look like they’ve dressed up early for Halloween. Maybe this was the event that Iceman was talking about—a costume party. There’s a woman with some really pronounced horse teeth who’s stirring something in a black pot over an open flame. Someone else looks like an upright crocodile, and he’s crying over onions that he’s chopping. There’s also a man who has really realistic fake warts attached
