The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(4)
On the surface, the words don’t mean much at all. But it was the way he said them that bugged me. As if I’d confessed some terrible sin or incriminated myself just by admitting I was one of the new housekeepers.
Jesus. Is poor little rich boy mad his daddy made him shake hands with the help?
Without even thinking about it, I wipe my hand on my pants as I turn to follow Mr. Black and Mom deeper into the house, wishing I could forcibly remove Lincoln’s scent from my nostrils. That sweet, spicy, addictive smell has somehow turned bitter.
Just before I step through the arched doorway at the back of the room into a small gallery space, I glance over my shoulder.
Lincoln is standing on the second-floor balcony, hands braced on the railing, gaze locked on me.
It’s only then that I realize his rude behavior earlier was actually him holding back—putting on a mask of civility. He must’ve been restraining himself, keeping his emotions in check in front of his dad and my mom.
Because the look on his face now?
It’s one of pure loathing.
2
My mom, God love her, doesn’t seem to have picked up any of the weird fucking vibe Lincoln was throwing my way—and maybe her way too, I can’t quite be sure. He definitely seems to hate me though, so I can’t imagine he’d be a big fan of the woman who gave birth to me.
I catch up to her and Samuel as he ushers us into a back foyer that leads to a large terrace and a sprawling backyard. From there, he circles around to show us the great room, the conservatory, the ballroom, the library, and the den. I don’t even know what the fuck a “great room” is, but it’s huge and has couches, chairs, and end tables artfully arrayed around the space.
The other wing of the first floor holds the kitchen and several guest rooms, with a humongous motor court and two garages at the far end. There’s a basement with a steam room and sauna, several rec rooms, a small basketball court, a wine cellar, and an actual mini-movie theatre.
At some point during the tour, my eyes stop bugging out of my head. I’ve seen too much to be surprised anymore—the level of wealth and luxury in this place is staggering.
As we’re heading up a different set of stairs to the second floor, a willowy woman starts down the steps toward us. She’s wearing a loose, expensive-looking top and flowing pants. Her chestnut hair is streaked with subtle highlights, and her berry-red nails are long. She looks younger than Mom, and for a second, I totally understand the struggle people go through when they meet me and my mom together—that moment of confusion about whether we’re mother/daughter or siblings.
Is this woman Samuel’s wife or his daughter?
She stops a few feet away from us, her eyebrows lifting with mild, bored interest. “Oh. Who are you?”
“Darling, they’re the new housekeeping staff. I told you they’d be arriving today, remember?”
Samuel wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her toward him and kissing her lightly.
Well, guess that answers that.
The woman shrugs out of his grasp, her gaze bouncing between me and Mom. She doesn’t seem openly hostile like her son did, so that’s good, I guess. But she doesn’t seem… all there either. Her eyes have a slightly glassy quality, and there’s a slowness to her movements, as if there’s a half-second delay between her brain and her body.
She smiles, her lips slowly stretching as she blinks at us. “Oh, yes. Of course. Welcome to our home. I’m Audrey.”
My mom makes our introductions as I step up beside her. Shaking Mrs. Black’s hand is like holding a piece of cardboard. It’s cool and dry and slightly stiff.
“I’m sure my husband will take excellent care of you.” Her lips float up in another smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Darling, I’ll be in the pool house if you need me.”
She brushes past us to continue down the stairs, and as Samuel starts leading us up again, my mom shoots me a look. Okay, even she picked up on that weirdness.
I shrug to let her know I don’t understand it any better than she does.
Rich people be crazy, am I right?
The Black family mansion is so huge and ostentatious that it actually has “service quarters”. After giving us a brief tour of the second floor, Mr. Black leads us to a self-contained one-bedroom apartment on the west side of the house, above the garage.
“And this is where you’ll be staying,” he says, smiling at my mom. He’s the only person in this house who seems to do that and mean it. Then he turns toward me. “It only has one bedroom, unfortunately. And it seems silly to ask the two of you to share when we have plenty of perfectly good guest rooms that aren’t being used. So you’ll be staying just around the corner, if it’s all right with you, in a spare bedroom near the laundry room.”
I shrug. “Sure. Works for me.”
He beams again, and I wonder if it’s always like this. If he’s trying to compensate for having a son who’s an asshole and wife who’s barely there.
“Wonderful! Then I’ll leave you two to get settled in. Penelope, tomorrow evening we can go over your expected duties and some household logistics. We’ve had live-in help before, so it’ll just be a matter of getting you up to speed on the systems your predecessor created.”
“That sounds great.” My mom nods enthusiastically. She shakes his hand again. “Thank you for having us. This is a wonderful opportunity. We can’t wait to get started.”