Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Ten years ago or so, the doors whooshed open into a foyer of black and white veined marble, with spotlights on hanging masterpieces in gilded frames, track lighting everywhere, and there was a black lacquer table at the center of the space which held an enormous Ming vase, filled, year-round, with roses. It looked like a museum, dark and meant to impress.
I’d hated it. But I didn’t matter.
When Aaron fell in love with Duncan Stiel, though, then it mattered. Because Duncan hated it. He didn’t want to live in a gallery. He wanted people to immediately be happy they arrived, not be worried they’d knock something over.
Now the foyer floor was wood, the walls were a warm white, there were two rustic lighting fixtures that made the area bright and inviting, and there was what looked like a place for people to sit and talk, oversized stuffed furniture and a long coffee table. It served, Duncan had told me, two purposes. First, Aaron didn’t like everyone who visited to actually be in his home, and now they weren’t. Second, the space was now far more reflective of who they were as a couple. Aaron alone was a chrome, steel, and glass guy. That was what his office looked like, and I always felt like I could just fall out of one of the clear walls and plummet to my death forty stories below.
But Aaron with Duncan was softer, not so sleek and modern, more comfortable like their penthouse was now.
There was also a door. So instead of everything being open, from the foyer, you walked to a door that had to open to welcome you in. Duncan was standing there now, looking like he was barely awake, with a mug of coffee in his hand.
“Hi,” I greeted him.
“How did you get up here?”
It hadn’t been easy.
After I was cleared through the security detail in the lobby, a nice guard put me on a private elevator that only opened after scanning his eye. It was very Mission Impossible. Hannah had told me about the process before I went. Of course, she didn’t have to wait for anyone to let her up, as her scan was in the system. Of course it was.
“Hannah told me to tell the nice man downstairs that I was her father.”
He grunted. “Yeah. That would do it.”
“Coffee smells good,” I said hopefully.
Second grunt from him.
“May I please have coffee?” I snapped.
“Yeah, you can have fuckin’ coffee,” he growled. “Now what the hell are you doing up and looking all put together at seven in the goddamn morning?”
“Lot of swearing from a police commander,” I said snidely.
“Lot of swearing from a police commander,” he repeated, mocking me.
“Charming,” I replied sarcastically. “And weren’t you a soldier? Didn’t you have to wake up at the crack of dawn?”
“A long fuckin’ time ago,” he apprised me, scowling.
He moved sideways, holding the door open for me, and I waited until he closed it and led the way to the kitchen, where Aaron was sitting at the island and Mrs. Kappel, their cook, was standing over him shaking her head.
“What about plain eggs, no omelet?” she offered.
“No,” he whined.
She scowled, which he couldn’t see. “I have listed ten things and you said no to each. You have to eat or all the alcohol you consumed will eat your stomach.”
I turned to Duncan. “You guys go out and party last night?”
“It was a work thing,” he explained, walking over to the island to retake his seat beside Aaron. “And he got bored and drank too much.”
“What’s your excuse?”
“We were out late.”
“How late?”
He had to think. “Ten. Ten thirty.”
“Man, you are old,” I assured him.
“Oh please,” Aaron almost yelled, but the headache nearly killed him and his voice broke. The rest was said in a whisper. “Like ten isn’t late for you.”
“Fine,” I agreed.
“We’re all old. If people ask me to come out at nine now, I ask what kind of drugs they’re doing,” Duncan complained. “Have dinner at nine…horrifying.”
“You’ve met Sam and me plenty of times out late.”
“For pie or something, and only at the diner because it’s close to us,” Duncan reminded me. “I wouldn’t drive across town for you people.”
“Oh, the hell you wouldn’t,” I said, chuckling.
“Maybe,” he granted, wincing.
“I’m making you poached eggs on toast,” Mrs. Kappel announced, turning away from him.
“I don’t––”
“You will do as I say,” she replied, her tone telling him not to mess with her, and then glanced at me. “Are you hungry, Mr. Harcourt?”
“No, Mrs. Kappel, but thank you so much.”
She smiled at me. “Your daughter is an angel.”
“Oh, that’s kind of you to say.”
“Duncan, I’m making your omelet now,” she told the police commander.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kappel.”
The kitchen was big enough that when she went to the opposite side, she couldn’t hear us. It was crazy, filled with more counter space and appliances than I would know what to do with.