Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
She pulled another blueprint across the table.
“The second-floor lobby is open to the first floor, and this is where we’ll have the themed public rooms. BDSM over here, the wet room on this side, group… and of course, in the lobby you’ll be able to purchase all the things you’ll need, like toys and safe sex supplies.” She bit her lip and traced another set of stairs. “And behind here, I’ve made a little room for us.”
“Oh?” That intrigued me. I spun the plan to get a closer look.
“It’s like a hotel suite, so we’ll have a place to stay and a room for private sessions.” Her gaze scanned my face, and I realized she was looking for my approval.
She had it, entirely. “I can’t wait to use it.”
Beaming at me, she moved on. “There are private rooms on the third floor, all themed, as well, and another public space for our exhibitionists and voyeurs. And then up here, the pool deck—”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?” Both Charlotte and I called out at the same time, and I cursed inwardly. This was Charlotte’s project, and I was in what was currently Charlotte’s space.
The door opened and Bethany appeared, her face grave. “Your mother’s butler is on the phone?”
“Allan?” That was weird. He didn’t usually call me. I wasn’t sure he was allowed to call anyone; it would take attention away from mother.
Bethany shrugged. “He identified himself as your mother’s butler.”
“Sounds about right.” I gave Charlotte an apologetic grimace, but I didn’t have to say a word.
“Go,” she said, handing me my cane. “Something’s up.”
Something was up, and if mother wasn’t calling me directly…
I tried to hurry to my office without looking like I was hurrying to my office. There was no reason for anyone on the floor to think I was angry or in a panic. But once I was alone, I nearly tripped in my haste to get to the phone.
He hadn’t called my private line, which meant he hadn’t been able to get it from mother.
“Mr. Ashe,” Allan puffed, audibly out of breath, when I answered. “You must come at once.”
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Mrs. Ashe insisted I not disclose the details over the phone. They’re far too upsetting.”
What the fuck.
“She needs you to come to Connecticut. Urgently,” Allan added. It could have been my mother’s word or his, but either way, the situation was dire if I was being summoned via butler.
“Tell her I’m on my way,” I said, and hung up without a goodbye.
I glanced toward the door. Charlotte had followed me.
“Is everything okay?” she asked in a small voice.
I shook my head. “I have no idea.”
But we had to get to my mother as soon as possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
(Charlotte)
We packed in a hurry and got into the car. Though it was a long ride, we didn’t say much. That was fine. We were comfortable with silence, usually. But there was a tenseness to this one that unnerved me.
“Do you think they’ll have taken her to a hospital,” I asked as we approached the gates to the estate.
“If they did, Allan would know,” Matt said grimly.
But without further details, Matt had spent the previous ninety minutes of travel in hellish limbo. At least, I assumed he had. Maybe he wasn’t like me in the “borrowing trouble” department. Because I’d filled my head with all sorts of possibilities, ranging from “I invested your inheritance in a Ponzi scheme and it’s all gone,”—best case scenario—to “a beloved relative has died,” worst case. In the middle was news of cancer or other terminal illness. But I didn’t understand rich people world, so there could have been all sorts of other problems. Like, “Your uncle’s cryogenic storage facility suffered a catastrophic power loss and now they’ll never be able to revive his severed head.” Or “Your cousin’s hot air balloon was lost over the South Pacific during his attempt to race around the world in eighty days.”
We stopped at the front door and Allan was already waiting, his usually grim expression even grimmer.
“She’s in the conservatory,” he said without further greeting, and led the way as if Matt wouldn’t know where that was.
I’d never been to the conservatory. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in any conservatory. But on the walk, I assumed we’d find Mr. Body there, murdered with a candlestick.
Instead, we found Elizabeth, seated at a small cafe-style table, cigarette burning down to nothing in its elegant holder as she stared past the tropical plants surrounding her.
“Mr. Ashe and Ms. Holmes,” Allan announced, and Elizabeth turned sharply. Her eyes were ringed with shadows from smeared mascara and eyeliner. She’d been crying.
“Mother,” Matt said, hurrying to her side and leaning down to hug her.
“My darling,” she cooed, fresh tears surfacing. “It was horrible. Horrible.”
“What was?” he asked, straightening.
“Catherine—” she hiccupped and pressed a fist to her mouth. “I’m sorry. She—”