Indecent Encounter: The Silverhaus Affair (8 page)

“I thought now might be a good time to talk about my part in your movie.”

Already primed by thoughts of Chelsea, I felt a slight bulge in the crotch of my pants. Now was
not
a good time. I cleared my throat and shifted in my chair. Instead of taking the hint that I didn't want to talk, she leaned closer, dropped a hand to my knee, and pushed it up toward my crotch.

“Unless you had something else on your mind, sexy,” April purred.

Shit
. How the hell was I supposed to handle this?

“
N
o
, Chelsea, I said the linen napkins. These are cotton,” Jamison snapped.

I turned around and rushed down the narrow servants’ hallways back to the butler’s pantry. I threw open the built in drawers and dug around for the right cloth napkins.

“It’s just his father,” I muttered. “What’s the big deal?”

The truth was, I was nervous too. I felt like Henry James Silverhaus was going to take one look at me, and tell me I wasn’t good enough for his son. Not that I was anything but a maid, I reminded myself. So it didn't matter.

I grabbed three linen napkins in two different shades of white and raced back to the dining room. Jamison was carefully measuring the distance between the fine china plates and the gleaming silverware. He adjusted pieces here and there until the table was set to his precise guidelines. I was pretty sure he'd gone to school for that.

Before long, we both raised our heads when we heard a commotion at the front door. Henry had arrived. With a domineering presence, he blew in through the front door like a hurricane in June, his voice greeting us before he did.

“What’s a man got to do to get a drink around here?”

Jamison straightened his tie for the twentieth time and hurried out into the entryway. I followed four feet behind him as the butler had instructed, but still almost tripped over him when Jamison stopped to bow.

“Mr. Silverhaus, sir. Nice to see you again,” Jamison said. His entire demeanor, tone, had shifted from how he normally behaved.

I glanced up at Alex’s father and swallowed a nervous bubble of laughter. So...here was the man from the picture on Alex’s website profile.

Henry James Silverhaus was good-looking, but sharp and wiry where his son was wide and strong. His hair was golden like Alex’s except it was silver at the temples.

“This must be the new maid everyone’s talking about. Not much there if you ask me,” Henry said with a derisive glance in my direction.

Wow. That was...something.

He strode past us and pushed open both doors of the library. Once inside, he settled himself in a caramel-colored leather chair and instructed Jamison to bring him a whiskey, neat.

When the doorbell rang, Henry waved a hand at Jamison and said, “Let the girl get it. This ought to be fun.”

I forced myself not to let my eyes narrow at his reference to me as “the girl.” Something was up, and I suspected I was about to be the brunt of a joke. Other than his good looks, the infamous Mr. Silverhaus was turning out to be nothing like his son at all.

I shot a glance at Jamison. His face was constrained, but he nodded for me to answer the door. I could feel Henry and Jamison watching me through the open library doors, so I smoothed down my crisp white apron before I opened the door. No matter what else was going on, this was my job.

“Who are you?” A blindingly blonde woman pushed past me and strode into the foyer. “I didn’t know Alex had a maid. Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen or something?”

It took all of my strength to keep from planting a hand on my hip and flinging a smart remark back at her. Or my shoe. But I had to remember my place here. Employee.

She tossed a gold satin wrap at me revealing a white dress cut so low it had no discernible neckline. It seemed to start at the waist. Despite her obvious attempt to look like a legendary movie star, I recognized her as April Temple. Her name was synonymous with ear-splitting screams, skimpy outfits, and terrible acting.

And being featured in several Silver House productions.

“Good evening, Ms. Temple,” I said.

Henry clapped his hands and stood up from the leather chair. “What an entrance, my dear. You look ravishing, as always.”

April dashed across the foyer and held out a hand for Henry to kiss. Jamison slipped around the fawning couple and nodded at me to follow him to the kitchen, where I was relieved to escape before my lunch made an appearance all over the floor.

When we were tucked away safely behind the giant kitchen island, the butler heaved a huge sigh, and I turned my attention to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” he said, and reached into a bottom cupboard for a hidden bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a stiff drink. He raised it in the air and said, “Quality alcohol. The only thing Alex’s father and I agree on.”

“Speaking of Alex, where is he?” I asked.

Jamison shook his head and knocked back the whiskey shot, “I don’t know but, for god’s sake, go find him.”

With raised brows, I followed Jamison’s gesture as he pointed to a narrow door. Behind it, I discovered a small spiral staircase that I hadn’t seen before. I followed the stairs and they led me to the narrow servants’ corridor on the second floor. When I pushed open the first door, I found myself straight across from the master suite. Alex and I hadn't seen each other since we'd had sex, so I knocked quietly.

“Chelsea?”

Caught by surprise, I jumped two feet in the air and spun around as Alex came trotting up the main staircase. I pressed a palm to my heart and said, “Sorry, I thought you were in your room.”

He laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Everything all right? You seem a little jumpy.”

I smoothed down my crisp white apron again, and shook my head. “You’ll never believe who’s downstairs. April Temple is in the library, and your father is drooling all over her. By the way, does Jamison hate your father?” Alex grinned as I clapped my hands over my mouth and squeaked around them, “Sorry, I talk too much when I get nervous.”

“No need to apologize. I meant to tell you about April before she arrived…give you a heads up. She’s quite a handful, to say the least.”

Alex was talking, but I was having a heard time listening. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was dressed in a dark Italian suit with a muted silver tie, and his handsomeness hit me all at once. He stood two stairs down from me, and for once we were eye to eye. I could see he was about to tell me something, but my willpower had gone weak along with my knees, and I acted without thinking. I leaned in and stopped him with a kiss.

Alex pressed into the kiss with a soft sigh, and when we broke apart he smiled with his eyes closed. “What was that for?”

I blinked. I wanted to grab him, run away with him before the magic ended. I didn’t want to be his maid or a secret fling. I wanted to own him and be his lover. But then I remembered why I was here. And who he was. Why what I was thinking could never be.

I tried to play it off with a casual remark, not wanting him to see any of what I'd been thinking. “I just couldn’t stop myself.”

To my delight, Alex smiled wider and pulled me in for another, deeper kiss, his tongue teasing at the seam of my mouth. I was just wrapping my arms around his neck when I heard Jamison calling up the hidden staircase.

I pulled my arms off of him and tucked my hair behind my ear in a nervous gesture. “Oh, god, Jamison wants me. Sorry, what were you going to tell me?”

He opened his mouth to speak but before he could answer, Jamison called my name again. I threw my hands in the air and said, “Never mind. I’ve got to go. Jamison is about to freak out over dinner.”

“Wait, Chelsea,” Alex called, but I was already through the narrow door and down the spiral staircase.

As I popped into the kitchen, Jamison was muttering as he stood over what looked like another one of his mouth-watering roasts. “Of course he’d request David’s favorite meal. Can’t miss a chance to poke at old wounds…see if he can get to Alex.”

“Who is David?” I asked stepping up next to him.

Jamison turned, efficiently transferring the roast to a spotless serving tray as he spoke, “David was Alex’s older brother. Not the best subject for dinner conversation, but I’m sure Henry will find a reason to bring him up.”

“
Was
?” I gently emphasized the word, anticipating what the answer would be.

“Drugs. A serious addiction. He died of an overdose about six years ago.” He spoke flatly with no emotion as he placed a large serving fork on the tray. “Alex loved him through all of it. Tried to help him. Nothing helped.”

I picked up the tray of prepared salads and said, “Oh, Jamison. I had no idea.”

“Better that you know. By the way, did Alex tell you anything about April?” Jamison asked.

“No, I think he was going to, but I heard you calling for me.”

“God help us all,” Jamison said and led the way to the dining room. I followed, wondering what he meant by that, but when I saw April sitting at the table, I had a feeling I was going to find out.

Jamison presented the roast to the table and then placed it on the sideboard to carve. I went carefully to Henry’s left side and placed a dinner salad in front of him the way Jamison had taught me.

When I reached April, she looked up with a simpering smile and said, “I’d like one without dressing, please.”

I nodded, served Alex who gave me an apologetic look, and then hurried back to the kitchen to make a fresh salad for April. When I returned I went to April’s left side to serve her, but she waved the plate away.

“Too late. We’re already on to the next course.” She tilted her wine glass at Alex. “New girl not working out too well, eh, Alex?”

Henry chuckled and took a sip of his water.

I just stood there, staring at the untouched salad, unsure what to do, afraid to hear Alex’s response. Now I understood Jamison’s remark about April, and I was also beginning to see why Alex referred to his own father by his first name. Henry was turning out to be an even bigger ass than I'd originally thought.

Without missing a beat, April chimed in with a toss of her curls. “Good help is hard to find. Attractive help, even harder.”

I took her caustic remark as my cue to leave, and ducked back into the kitchen, humiliated. Crushed. A few minutes ago, everything had been going so well. A hot, secret kiss on the stairs. I'd felt special, like I actually meant something to Alex, but the minute I stepped into the dining room, when he hadn't defended me, that special feeling faded and everything changed.

I
watched
, feeling like a dick, as Chelsea left the dining room. Her back was stiff from April’s insult, and there was nothing I could say before she was gone. The narrow door to the servants’ hallway hadn’t even closed when I turned to confront April, but she got to me first.

“Is it true?” April asked. “I heard a rumor that you hired her on the Internet. Your father said it was meant as a joke, but if that was true, why is she still here?”

Henry shot me a look. He knew I was pissed, but from the expression on his face, I could tell he didn’t give a damn. Not surprising, considering his history. April had heard about Chelsea from him, however, daddy dearest had conveniently neglected to mention anything else I’d told him, preferring to let people think the worst of Chelsea.

“I thought you said this was going to be a working dinner.” I glared at my father. “You wanted to discuss the role. Not my hired help.”

Considering I still had to sweet talk April into accepting the role, I realized my tone probably came out a little too cool. I got my emotions under control and continued with a little less ice on each word. “So…let’s talk business, shall we?”

April tossed her hair again and threw a downward glance over her shoulder. “Absolutely. Your home is so lovely and the guest cottage is absolutely charming. A bit dusty, but charming. I feel like a fairy princess…there’s even a secret path through the woods.”

I bit my tongue instead of my food as April turned to my father, fanning her false eyelashes at him. “I followed it before I came to the main house. Did you know there’s a clearing in the woods? Other people must because the grass was quite trampled. Young lovers meeting in the secret grove maybe?”

“Sounds familiar,” Henry said. He glanced at me. “Isn’t there a scene like that in the screenplay?”

“Not between the handsome hero and the hired help,” April said snidely. “Too cliché. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, would you like to discuss the screenplay now?” I asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic. She wasn’t a good actress, and now she thought she was some kind of expert screenwriter too?

April gave me a pouty smile, probably annoyed that I hadn't respond to her needling.

“Actually, I have a few ideas for several of the scenes, you know, ways to punch it up a bit,” she said.

“Punch it up?”
Oh, this wasn't going to be good.

“I agree with April,” Henry chimed in. “It seems a bit soft in places.”

Henry would agree with anything April said, short of marriage. I saw the way his eyes traveled over her skin-tight dress. Once he got into her metaphorical pants, he wouldn't care, but until then, he'd say whatever she wanted to hear.

“You have to think of it more as a romantic comedy than a slasher flick,” I told him, “maybe then you’ll understand this movie.” I knew I was getting in a jab at the old man, but Jesus–it felt like the two of them were tag teaming against me right now.

“As long as you understand the bottom line,” he retorted.

“Romantic comedy?” April asked. “Yes, I guess I can see that.” She pretended to mull it over as if she would bless us with her expert opinion, though I doubted there were many expert thoughts rolling around in that airhead. She’d completely missed the point that I was making a deleterious remark about my father’s taste in movies.

Chelsea would've gotten it.

“I mean the whole secret grove love scene is so sappy…it could be funny.”

Henry said, “Alex used to hide in a grove of birch trees when he was little. Pretended it was some secret kingdom or some such nonsense.”

“That’s sweet,” April said. She smirked. “But the whole love scene is only something a silly, naive girl would dream up. Who wrote this screenplay?”

“Does it matter?” Despite my best efforts to remain engaged and enthusiastic, my voice went flat, and I wanted to slump down in my chair. This entire charade was getting to me, sitting in my stomach like sour milk on a warm day. Henry didn’t care about my input, or about me. He'd proven that in the past, and I knew he would again in the future.