The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(26)

I push past her, refusing to get sucked into a petty fight with her like Iris always does. As I cross the room, I notice Lincoln watching me.

Did he see my altercation with Savannah?

Did he see what came before it?

He’s got a scowl on his face that makes me think maybe he did.

And when I arrive downstairs at the Black house at 7:25 the next morning only to find that he left for school without me, I’m positive of it.

He saw Trent hitting on me, and he didn’t like it.





11





Just like that, I go back to taking Mom’s car to school. She doesn’t question why, and Samuel Black doesn’t notice or care that Lincoln and I are no longer carpooling.

All four of the kings seem pissed at me again, actually. Not that we were ever really friendly, but the temperature on the usual cold front has been turned down to well below freezing.

Luckily, I don’t have too much time to dwell on it, because pretty much every minute that I’m not at school or doing homework, I’m helping my mom prepare for the cocktail party Samuel and Audrey will be throwing over the weekend. The house is, to my eyes, already immaculate, but Samuel asks for a deep clean of everything on top of coordinating with the kitchen staff and hired caterers.

On Saturday morning, Mom and I split the main level in half—she takes the west wing, and I take the east wing. I start in the ballroom, mopping and polishing the floor and dusting every surface. It’s a massive room, and by the time I finish, my arms are sore. I decide to do Mr. Black’s study next, since it’ll be easier work.

The recessed lights are on dimmers, so the room always has a warm, soft glow. All the furniture is dark wood, and there’s something so old-fashioned about it all, like this is where the man of the house comes to smoke cigars and talk to other men about railroad company takeovers or some shit.

I start by dusting everything, then I use a rag to wipe the surfaces of his bookshelves, end tables, and desk. I sit down in the large wingback chair to organize the few documents scattered over the desk into one pile, and as I’m setting them aside, I notice that the top desk drawer is hanging about an inch open.

I’m about to shut it, but something stops me. This drawer is usually locked, which never struck me as weird or anything. It’s a wealthy man’s desk in his private office. But now that I’ve got a chance to peek inside, I can’t quite talk myself out of it.

My gaze flicks up to the doorway, but I haven’t seen or heard any of the Blacks moving around the house all day. My heart beats a little faster in my chest as I tug the shallow drawer open wider, poking at the contents like I’m afraid they’ll bite.

There are several receipts, some letters that’ve been opened and then stuffed back into the envelopes, and a large manilla envelope with a few pieces of paper sticking out.

So, pretty much what you’d expect to find in a desk. Boring.

I’m about to slide the drawer shut when a word on one of the pieces of paper in the big envelope catches my eye.

Paternity.

My hand freezes as I cock my head. Is that a paternity test?

I try to slide it out a little farther with my finger, almost afraid to touch it at all, as if the first thing Mr. Black will do when he comes back is dust for fingerprints. It takes a couple swipes, but I manage to drag the paper a little higher so more of it is visible.

It is. It’s a lab result for a paternity test, but—

The front door slams, and I jump so high my knees bang against the underside of the desk.

“Fuck!” I hiss as pain explodes in my kneecaps.

My hands shake with urgency as I quickly shove the paper back into the envelope, trying to get it into the exact position it was in when I found it.

I close the drawer, leaving just an inch of space as before, and practically throw myself out of the chair as footsteps come down the hall toward me. Picking up my rag, I wipe down a bookshelf I already cleaned, trying to get my breath under control as Samuel Black steps into the room.

“Ah, Harlow. I’m looking for your mother, do you know where I might find her?”

“Um, she was in the kitchen last I saw her.” I glance over my shoulder, positive my guilt is written all over my face. But my voice sounds pretty normal, and Mr. Black doesn’t bat an eye.

“Good. Good. I just wanted to go over a few things with her for tonight.”

His gaze sweeps the room, and his eyelids flicker just slightly when he notices the desk drawer sitting open a crack. I keep my focus on the bookshelf, pretending not to notice or care as he walks over and closes it, engaging the lock.

He doesn’t know I looked. He can’t know, or he wouldn’t have just closed it so casually. Maybe he doesn’t even think I noticed.

“It looks good in here.” He gives me a wide, genuine smile, and I can’t find any suspicion in his eyes. “Keep up the good work.”

When he strides out to go find Mom, I nearly collapse against the sofa in relief. My hands are shaking, and I can’t quite suck in a full breath. Jesus, that was fucking stupid. I didn’t even close the door before I started poking around.

As the pounding of my heart starts to ease, an image of the document in the envelope flashes in my mind. I didn’t get a great look at it, but it was definitely a paternity test. I don’t even know for sure who it was testing, and I have no idea if it was positive or negative. I assume Mr. Black was the subject of the test, but that begs the question: is Lincoln not his real son?