Like all calamities, mine came to me at a low point.
I scrubbed leftover lasagna, the brain-like texture soaking into my sweatpants when the doorbell rang. Tomato paste brushed across my face like war paint.
Tabby had decided the family’s cleaning business, Maid in Maryland, was not for her. She’d started pursuing a career as a food blogger.
The fact that she was a terrible cook did not deter her one bit.
From the second floor, Reggie’s voice pierced the veil of an Olivia Rodrigo song. “Someone get the door.”
Sometimes I wondered if she was twenty-two, like me, or twelve.
“Too busy.” Something collapsed in the dining room, followed by Tabby’s loud groan. “Ugh, stupid superlong selfie stick.”
“Farrow.” Vera cranked up the living room TV. The Real Housewives of Potomac. She once cornered the producer at a bar and begged for a cameo. “Do something useful with yourself and get the door.”
I gritted my teeth, doing my best not to yell past them. “Cleaning.”
Your grown ass child’s mess.
One of Tabby’s Le Creuset dishes hadn’t made the journey from the oven to the island counter.
The beginnings of candy-red bruises coated my knees from twenty minutes of scooping Bolognese from the kitchen tiles into a bucket with a spatula.
The flesh on my hands and arms tingled and burned, courtesy of the empty bleach bottle beside me.
My mind failed to conjure a single valuable thought past the cloud of fumes I’d inhaled all day.
I’d cleaned two twelve-thousand-foot mansions all by myself because Vera had decided to fire most of our staff to “trim the fat.”
God forbid she or her daughters make up for the lack of manpower themselves. These days, I started my work days at four in the morning.
The doorbell rang again.
The Ballantine household made the collective decision to ignore it.
A sharp, angry knock rattled the door.
“Jesus.” Reggie groaned from upstairs, pausing her music long enough to assure we could all experience the full force of her irritation. “Can’t be Amazon because they have more tact than to keep bugging us.”
She blasted the song back up.
Vera shut off her show. “Why do I have to do everything in this house?”
Heavy, vulgar thumps followed her feet past the kitchen and into the foyer.
I pinched my inner wrist to distract myself from the aches snaking up my thighs. The owner of that knock had better leave soon or come bearing wine.
The last thing I needed was company.
Not that we had much, anyway.
The step-Ballantines loved pretending to be pillars of the local community. In reality, our neighbors didn’t even know their names, and we’d lived here for almost twenty-three years.
Vera flung the door open and gasped.
Then, there was silence.
Lots and lots of silence.
Not even getting man-handled by security for harassing the producer had made her speechless, so I took this as a sign of the apocalypse. Which I was down for.
I could use some time off.
“M-Mr. Sun.”
The spatula fell from my hand with a clank.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Vera continued fumbling over words. “Why… I… This is unexpected.”
Dammit.
How did he figure it out?
Reggie and Tabby materialized from whatever holes they’d hid themselves in, zipping to the entryway.
I shoved the bucket into the nearest cabinet, dumped a rag over the stain, and dashed into the pantry.
Not the finest hiding spot. But I couldn’t make it past the island without being seen.
Ours was the oldest home on the street. Tiny, dated, and hanging on by a thread.
But moving out wasn’t in the cards.
The memories Dad and I shared here remained engraved in every scratch, dent, and tear. No way in hell would I give that up.
Plus, every lawyer I’d spoken to warned me against moving, should I contest the will. I fully intended to.
I’d bet my fencing hand that whatever will Vera had summoned at the reading was fake. Too bad I didn’t have the money to hire representation to fight her.
Until then, I planned on playing nice and lowering her guard.
“Mrs. Ballantine.” I recognized Zach’s husky, concise tenor. He dripped authority. The kind of person you’d trust, even if he told you to dip your head in lava. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Intruding?” I pictured Vera literally waving the idea away. “Absolutely not. Come on in, please. My daughter was just making dinner. How do you like lasagna?”
However he felt toward the dish as a concept, he sure wasn’t going to enjoy licking scraps off the floor. Tabitha had been shocked to discover the dish’s handles were hot and dropped the entire thing.
A horde of footsteps stampeded down the hall.
“I’m not here for long.” Zach’s voice—confident, bored, and formidable—grew closer. “In fact, I have an unconventional ask of you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as if it’d make a difference.
Please, don’t stop in the kitchen.
Please, don’t stop in the kitchen.
Please, don’t—
Bright white light crept past the shutters on the pantry door.
I held my breath, inching my entire spine as tight against the shelves of canned goods as possible. Chairs scraped the tiles, not even a dozen feet from me.
Shit, shit, shit.
If the bastard wanted sugar for his coffee, they’d open this pantry and I’d be busted.
My fingers itched to stab his beautiful face with the spatula in my hand.
Why’d he come here?
It wasn’t like I’d actually managed to steal the pendant.
Yet.
From the horizontal slats, I saw Vera lean toward Zach.
“Anything.” She edged nearer when he sloped back. “These are my daughters, by the way. I don’t think you had the chance to properly meet them at the party—thank you so much for the invite, by the way.” No answer. “This is Tabitha, and this one is Regina. Tabitha is an acclaimed food vlogger, and Regina is the marketing director of our housekeeping company.”
Tell me your children are jobless without telling me they’re jobless.
Tabby and Reggie stopped fighting for the seat beside Zach to wave.
“Heeey,” Reggie screeched in a fake voice. “Ohmigod, thanks so much for inviting us to your party. Like, grateful doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Ha.
If Grateful met Reggie in a dark alley, it would run screaming. I wasn’t sure she could spell the word, let alone feel it.
“No need to thank me. Your mother included it as a clause in the pendant sale.”
Ouch.
He was extra arctic today. I already felt the frostbite.
Tabby hip-checked Reggie out of the way. “I’m so happy we finally get to meet one-on-one.” She offered a hand. “You and I have hung out in the same circles forever. Seems like we always miss one another.”
Zach ignored her outstretched limb. “What a travesty.”
From the tiny cracks in the shutters, I couldn’t get a good view of him. I itched to crack the door open and peer at them, but I knew better than to yield to temptation.
Judging by Vera’s gasp, she’d finally caught a glimpse of the remnants of her daughter’s mess on the floor. “Is that… blood?”
Tabby crept behind Reggie. “It’s Bolognese.”
One could argue that two pounds of ground beef in a burnt jumbo loaf topped with a can of San Marzano tomatoes couldn’t be considered Bolognese, but what did I know?
I wasn’t the acclaimed food vlogger.
Vera swiveled back to Zach. “I am so sorry, Mr. Sun. Believe me when I say I’m utterly horrified. The home isn’t usually so messy, but our maid slacks off without strict supervision. I’m afraid it’s difficult to find good help these days. You know how it is.”
By maid, she meant me.
And by screw you, I meant her.
Vera gestured to the mess behind her. “Oh, I hope this doesn’t ruin your impression of me.”
Zach began rolling his sleeves up to his forearm. “About my ask—”
“Would you like anything to drink?” Vera drew a palm to her chest. “My goodness, where are my manners? Not anywhere within reach, it seems. I blame the long work hours. I’ve taken over my husband’s business, you know.”
What you’ve taken over is the living room couch.
I was the cleaner, the bookkeeper, and the administration executive. All she did was bark orders and call me useless. Even that, she only did once in a full moon.
She spent her days shopping with money she’d gotten from pawning Dad’s things, gobbling up daytime soaps, and ordering takeout on the corporate card.
Irritation rolled off Zach’s body like a thick fume.
“I don’t want anything.” He finished his sleeves and set his forearms on the counter. “Other than to ask my question, if I may.”
“Oh, sure.” Vera sobered. “What is it?”
He fished something from a white gift bag he’d brought with him, holding it to the light.
Was that…?
No way.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
“Does this shoe happen to belong to anyone in your household?”
