by Nicole Snow
Yes, these people are so damned rich they don't even do their own shopping.
As for mom, she's taken over the head cleaner role. It's her job to make sure the Shaw's hygiene needs are met efficiently. One look at the place tells me her job is important, and at least one member of the family probably lives up to the germaphobe stereotype I've seen wealthy elites have in so many movies.
It's spotless. Pristine. Empty.
The place seems deserted the first week I'm working there after school. I never see Mr. Shaw or any of his sons.
I meet the full time maids, and take on their extra work. One of them guides me to a wing of the house that looks more like a museum than anything lived in.
“The first two rooms, you're welcome to walk through, tidy up, and wipe down,” an older woman named Valerie tells me. “They belonged to the older Shaw sons, and they've both moved on. If they come home to visit, you'll have plenty of notice. It's the last room, down at the very end of the hall, that's...shall we say, off limits.” She hesitates.
“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Master Lucus lives there, the only Shaw boy left who still lives here full time. Don't worry, you won't be seeing much of him,” she says, taking her hands off the cleaning cart she's helped me put together. “But if you do, if you're smart, you'll stay the hell out of his way.”
Her face looks puckered, like simply mentioning him leaves a sour taste in her mouth. I wonder if this is a joke?
Some kind of hazing ritual the girls put new people through? This place is uber-creepy enough with everything looking picture perfect. If she's trying to make me jittery, well, it's mission accomplished.
“I'd better go,” Valerie says. “The gardener needs an extra hand today. Find me out there if you need anything, Robin. Give my best to your mom if you see her.”
She takes off, leaving me alone. That's how it goes for the first week. I walk through the old bedrooms, empty except for their furniture, toiletries, and a few photographs. I call them rooms, but each one is more like its own private condo, complete with a kitchen, a balcony, and a bathroom bigger than our living room.
I'm cleaning the wing I've been assigned for the fourth time when I think I hear music. At first, I stop with my duster against the intricately carved wooden mantle in the huge library.
No, not my imagination. It's real, and it's coming from the room down the hall, the one Valerie warned me about.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I walk back through the cavernous library and stick my head around the corner, listening to an amp growling jagged electric guitar notes. I think it's the radio until I get closer, taking tentative steps down the hall.
No radio. It's too clear to be coming through any speaker. It's sad, it's loud, and it's being played by someone who clearly has some idea what they're doing. I flatten myself against the wall, just a couple feet from the door, my ears prickling when I hear a young man's voice between the wailing chords.
Go ahead, so go ahead.
Bleed for me. Bleed down there in your smoking crater.
Bleed like the day you left forever.
Bleed, bitch, bleed. Hotter than my tears.
Can't you hear me through the red wave?
Well, I still love you anyway.
This just might be the edgiest thing I've ever heard. I'd wrinkle my nose and laugh at the strange absurdity, if he didn't sound so damned serious.
There's pain in this voice. It's unmistakable. Deep, rich, and very, very real.
The amp drones on to silence. I hear a soft screech when he pulls his fingers off the strings. It seems like he's done, which means I'd better get the hell away.
I turn around so fast, I forget about the little end table with the vase outside his room. When my knee crashes into it, the thing starts to wobble. It's a huge monstrosity from Europe or Asia, black and smooth with painted gold lines crisscrossing it like veins.
There's no good reason it should go flying off the black tabletop and smashing on the ground – except for the fact that I've always had the worst luck in the world.
It happens so fast. I'm staring at the mess under my feet for no more than a few seconds before the door behind me flies open, banging against the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” He stands in front of me, fists at his sides, taller and grander than anything I imagined. “Were you eavesdropping? Listening to me?”
I don't know what I pictured in my mind. An older boy with long shaggy hair and a torn t-shirt, perhaps, a few piercings hanging from his face. One of those spoiled trust fund brats who gets his way so often he doesn't have to try to look civilized anymore.
But this is no boy.
I'm looking at a young man, angry and serious as real men can be. Strong jaw, full chest, arms thicker than my legs, his dark hair trimmed to a neat business cut. The only thing edgy about him is the pitch black bombardier jacket draped around his broad shoulders, almost a perfect fit for his tall, muscular frame.
“I was just cleaning, sir,” I stammer, wincing because I realize too late I've forgotten to use his title. Not that I think hearing Master Lucus will calm him down much right now. “I'm so sorry about this mess. Um, do you have someone I should talk to about claims? I broke this. Accidentally.”
“You didn't answer my fucking question, little girl.” He ignores me, coming closer, pushing me up against the wall. “Were you listening?”
We lock eyes. Rather, his eyes lock mine down, so accusing I think I'm going to drown in his blue, stormy pools.
“No! Jeez, why would I? I'm just trying to do my job, Lucus.” I forget to add the Master part. Oops. “Look, I really didn't sneak out here to spy on you or whatever. I'm not interested in any crappy music.”
I'm bluffing because it was actually quite beautiful. Still, I'm not paying this huge, handsome freak any more compliments until I know he's going to let me go without tearing my head off.
“We say shitty where I'm from. Shitty,” he repeats, his lips becoming a sinister smirk. “If you wanted to avoid it, you really shouldn't have come calling, sniffing around where you don't belong. Get used to shitty, little girl. You're going to the very top of my personal shit list.”
“Please, Just let me go.” He's starting to scare me now, his eyes drilling into mine.
He moves closer, pressing his chest into mine, backing me into the small corner at the end of the hall. “What are you? Fifteen, sixteen? Old enough for the stupid shit. Old enough to pay when it happens.”
“Stupid, what? I don't do stupid. Clumsy, maybe.” I gesture to the broken vase, trying to distract him.
“Wrong. You've fucked up, invading my privacy. That was your first mistake. The second one's lying about it.”
“Then maybe you shouldn't play so loud!”
Shit! So much for denial saving my skin.
His eyes drop down, slowly working their way back up. He's taking me in, inch by inch, the way I've seen snakes eat animals twice their size on nature shows. And I'm a whole lot smaller than him.
“I have to go. If you want to bring this up with my mom, fine. Just...just let me get out of here. I swear I'll never bother you again.” I don't know why it's so hard to speak.
Heat, shame, and frustration clash in my chest, constricting everything. There's something else, a weird arousal I don't want to acknowledge, especially when he's keeping me hostage.
His eyes narrow, sharpening his rich blue gaze. “You're Ericka's girl, aren't you?”
“Robin. Don't wear it out.” I nod, trying to look fearless, and failing. I tell myself it's the last of his questions I'm going to answer.
Really, I just want out of here. Almost as much as I want to force down the boulder building in my throat.
I haven't done anything evil. But he has a way of making me feel like I stepped on his kitten's tail.
A second later, Luke rips himself away, heading back to his door in a few quick, fluid steps before he pauses and turns. He fills th
e big frame leading into his room, arms outstretched, revealing more of his muscles and angles than I'll admit I want to see.
“Get the fuck out of my sight, Robbi. Send Valerie around to clean this shit up. Come by my room again, and make no mistake, there'll be hell to pay.” His voice has softened for reasons I don't understand.
Hell, maybe he's psychotic, and whatever switch there is in his brain making him a raving monster has flipped the other way. I don't know what to say. I have zero desire to talk to this crazy asshole ever again, as a matter of fact, so I peel myself off the wall and start moving, stepping over the rubble at my feet.
I'm guessing I can kiss this job goodbye. He's going to report me. I'm sure I'll get balled out after someone screams at mom first for breaking what's probably a priceless work of art.
Asshole or not, he never did what I expected.
I wish he had.
Maybe it would've gotten us all evicted from Shaw property a whole lot sooner. Then I wouldn't have had to suffer everything this mysterious bundle of muscle and testosterone had in store for me next.
Weeks pass, and everything is weird. My parents are barely home anymore. I guess they think because I'm about to turn eighteen, it's okay to leave me alone with my homework.
Dad's long hours are getting longer. He brings his laptop with him wherever he goes, but I'm not sure why he wants to work over it hunched at a bar, instead of at home. He stumbles in late, halfway through the night, reeking of whiskey and cheap beer.
As for mom, she's spending more time at the house. A lot more time. Overtime, she says, flashing me an uneasy smile whenever I ask, catching her dragging in near midnight some days.
She tells me it's the cluttered basement, a dirty pantry, or a dozen other reasons why the Shaw household needs her special cleaning expertise.
“How can their place be so dirty? I've never seen a real speck of dust in any of the corners I've cleaned.” I look up from the lines I've been memorizing. The latest musical is in just a few weeks, the day before my birthday.
“Did you forget I'm a manager, honey?” She shakes her head. “You wouldn't believe the hours that go into carving out people's shifts, making sure the supply cabinets are restocked, handling complaints.”
“Complaints?” I tense up, wondering if this is a subtle lead in to the broken vase I still haven't heard jack about.
“Oh, honey, not about you!” She flashes me a sympathetic look. “Frankly, I'm surprised you've taken to it so well. I know you'd much rather be spending your hours after school backstage, but look at all the extra money you're earning! You're going to put a dent in those student loans next year. Long as you decide to pick a major that's actually useful.” She winks.
I bite my tongue. She doesn't approve of my plans to study acting in the city. My parents are practical people, and they expect me to follow suit.
Art is for snobs and 'people who can afford it' like the Shaws.
She always tells me things are bound to come full circle, if I don't pick a different career. What she really means is, I'll be dusting off art I could never afford for the rest of my life, instead of making it.
Surprisingly, she doesn't stop to dig into me any further. I barely have time to call out before she's heading for the door, a can of iced coffee in her hand.
“You're going out again?”
“Just back to the house for a little while. I have some organizing to do in the maintenance office.” She stops, her face tightening, a nervous tick in the pale blue eyes we share. “Ask your father to pick something up for dinner on the way home. Hell, order pizza for all I care!” She reaches into her purse, pulls out a couple crumpled twenties, and lays them down on the counter.
“I'm sorry I've been working so much. It's for your college, honey. We're going to pay your way next year, damn it, or at least as much as we can.”
She door slams shut behind her. She's gone, without even making me feel like an idiot for wanting to be an actress.
What the hell is going on here?
A couple more hours pass. Luckily, it's a Friday night, so I don't have to worry about turning in early.
I call dad around ten, but it goes straight to his voice mail. I could fend for myself and order a pizza, but I'm not very hungry. Dark curiosity pulls at my stomach, leading me to the door.
Something isn't right.
I don't know what it is, but I can't ignore the gnawing bite in the pit of my stomach. I'm heading out into the warm night. It's late April, just a few more weeks until my last big musical, and then graduation.
True, I shouldn't be worried about anything except getting away from this creepy sideshow. But before I do, I want to find out what's happening behind the curtain.
Using my key to the servant's entrance, I tip-toe into the house. It's dark as usual, a few dim light fixtures glowing on the walls, lighting the abandoned hallways.
I'm in a different wing. It's unfamiliar, so I have to listen closer, trying not to jump at every shadow. I think this is the part of the house Mr. Shaw himself uses. He never lets anyone work there except mom, plus a couple of his senior cleaners. I wonder if I'll find her there, instead of the maintenance office tucked in the basement at the end of the elevator, and what I'll say when I do.
I'm turning another imposing corner, heading deeper into the house, when I hear it.
Voices. They're faint. Strained. Two men speaking through clenched teeth and heavy breaths.
“Clearly, I'm wasting my time, and I shouldn't be,” an older man says, his tone like a gun barrel echoing after the shot. “You've already decided you want to fritter away your family name chasing silly dreams. Interrupting me in my free time to ask for another handout for your madness. A fucking charter airline? Do you have any idea what that costs, Lucus? You're not even thinking! That's abundantly clear.”
“What's 'abundantly clear' is that you're still an asshole, dad. You expect me to be just like them, Hayden and Grant, and I never will be. I'm not following in their fucking footsteps. It's not who I am.”
“Yes, yes, how shameful that you have an older brother on Wall Street and another in real estate. I suppose asking you to get the stupid out of your system at an earlier age like Hayden would've been too much.”
“Hey, I never lost six figures at the horse track. I gave you a plan. Use my pilot license and the connections I'm building in the industry to revolutionize it. We could have a stake in the luxury charter service. We could do a lot with this, if you'd open the folder I gave you, and take a goddamned look. It's amazing how blind you're being.”
“Blind? You don't know the meaning of the word, Lucus. If you had any sense, you'd see you're blind, deaf, and dumb to the fact that I don't have an extra billion to piss away investing in a brutal, hyper-competitive industry just to quell your mommy issues.”
My jaw drops. There's a long pause, so dark and quiet I hear my heart banging in my throat.
“That therapist I hired to pick your brain was another failed investment, I'm sorry to say. I'm done throwing good money after bad with you, boy. Better than the money I wasted on your music lessons, I suppose. They've both led you nowhere, but at least one tried to treat your childish dreams with more dignity than they deserved. I wonder what Helene would say if she could see you now.”
“No! Don't you fucking say her name, old man. You're the real disgrace in this family.” A fist comes down so hard on some hard surface I jump, holding my breath. “She deserves better than being on your tongue. You're just pissed I interrupted your latest fling. How the fuck she had the misfortune to die hitched to a man like you, I'll never understand. Who is it this time, dad? Another maid? Or is it just another plastic slut from the clubs down in the city? I know you like their fake tits, ten times bigger than your balls will ever be.”
Mr. Shaw laughs. Deep, sardonic, and cruel. “Spare me the self-righteous bullshit, kiddo. You were too busy shitting in your diaper to shed any tears when we had your mother's memorial. You never even
knew her. A mercy, perhaps, considering how much of her idealistic nonsense rubbed off on her youngest son. I'd hate to think what would've happened if she hadn't crash landed in grizzly country – that's where you'll end up, too, if you don't start using your brain.”
There's another sound, a sickening crunch. Someone screams – I think it's the older man – and I hear shoes scuffing the wooden floor.
Forget holding my breath. It won't come. It's like I have a straitjacket wrapped around my chest, constricting everything, turning me into a human pressure cooker for someone else's pain.
Where the hell is mom, anyway? Surely, she isn't hearing this crap all the time, or getting in the middle of it?
The worst part is, I'm beginning to think the spoiled asshole with the chip on his shoulder might have a good reason for it.
“Never change, you miserable fucking drunk,” Luke growls. “We're done here.”
The older man doesn't say anything. I hear laughter, thick and slurred. Then footsteps, coming toward me at a frightening pace.
I have about ten seconds to avoid getting caught eavesdropping like I did several weeks ago. I race down the hall, ducking into what looks like a small tea room with a fireplace. I can't tell because it's dark inside.
My nostrils flare, drinking in heavy breaths, listening as the young man's furious footsteps pound the marble floor. His silhouette passes by me for a second. I close my eyes, praying he won't see me.
He just keeps going. Thank God.
My heart hurts for him after overhearing the run in with his dad. It's ridiculous because it shouldn't. I'm shaking off my stupor, wondering how I'm going to get out of here. I count to sixty before I move.
I take the hallway quickly, heading straight for the nearest servant's entrance. I don't care about finding my mother anymore after the shit storm that just went down.
I'm almost to the winding staircase on the main floor when a man steps in front of me. I stall the heart attack just long enough to escape crashing into him.