“You say that like it’s an insult. Where I come from, propriety is a virtue, not a vice.”
“You mean the Rupert Giles school of life?” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “I can only imagine.”
I couldn’t contain a grin. “A Buffy reference. Why am I not surprised?” She reminded me a lot of the titular nineties character. Often underestimated because of her looks and stature, but fiercely intelligent with a spine of steel beneath the delicate exterior.
“Because you know I have taste,” she said primly. She handed me the drink she’d been working on.
Strawberries. Pink. “Tradition.”
The idea of sharing a tradition with Isabella, even one as silly as a cocktail, pleased me even more than her potential jealousy, but I kept my voice bland as I took a sip. It was the perfect balance of sweet and tart.
“So we’re on a tradition basis now,” I drawled. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I have traditions with everyone, including my oversexed neighbor and the barista at my local coffee shop.” Isabella’s dimples flashed at the quizzical tilt of my brows. “Whenever my neighbor disrupts my sleep with his activities, I blast Nickelback and sing along off-key until I kill their mood. Usually takes about ten minutes. I like to think I’m doing the women a favor because their moans do not sound real. There’s nothing worse than performing vocally without getting paid in the form of orgasms.”
A laugh bubbled into my throat even as my blood heated at the sound of the word orgasms leaving her mouth. “And the barista?”
“His girlfriend is Filipino. He wants to learn Tagalog for her, so I teach him a new phrase every morning when I come in for my coffee. He’s getting pretty good.”
My smile softened at the mental image of Isabella teaching someone random Tagalog phrases at the register. It sounded exactly like something she would do. Beneath all the sass and sarcasm, she had a heart of gold.
“In that case, I’m honored to be part of such an illustrious roster.” I paused. “Minus the oversexed neighbor.”
“Lucky you.”
Isabella’s grin kicked my pulse into overdrive. I tried to stop it, but control slipped through my fingers like wisps of smoke.
It always did where she was concerned.
“I’m so sorry.”
The shock of hearing Clarissa’s voice snapped my defenses back into place. I straightened, taking in Clarissa’s flushed cheeks and apologetic expression.
“This is terribly rude of me, but I have to leave early,” she said. “An emergency came up at the gallery. One of our featured artists pulled out of the upcoming exhibition.”
A shameful breath of relief cooled my lungs. “You don’t have to explain. Work comes first.”
Clarissa glanced at Isabella. Recognition sparked in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave me a hesitant smile. “Rain check on our date?”
“Of course,” I said after the briefest of hesitations.
“The old work excuse,” Isabella said after Clarissa disappeared into the crowd. “You must be a terrible date.”
I ignored the obvious bait. The truth was, I was tempted to leave early too. I’d already talked to everyone I wanted to see, and after years of attending similar balls, I was unimpressed with the pageantry. I’d rather go home and lose myself in a book, except…
I’ve been working on it for a while, but I’m stuck…
All I have to do is finish my own…
How do you know?
My jaw tensed as my conversation with Isabella two weeks ago played on a loop in my mind. Her career aspirations were none of my business, but she’d looked so lost in that moment, and she’d sounded so sad…
“When does your shift end?” The question left my mouth of its own accord.
“In about an hour.” Isabella’s brow formed a questioning arch. “Why?”
Don’t do it, a voice of reason warned. This is a terrible idea. You should not tell her about—
“Meet me at the main staircase after you’re off,” I said. “I have something to show you.”
ISABELLA
I had a history of making bad decisions when it came to men, so it was no surprise I showed up at the stairs after my shift. If we got caught, I’d be in deep shit. Not Kai, of course, since his status protected him from any consequences. But me, a lowly employee? I’d be tossed off Valhalla’s premises faster than I could say double standard.
Still, curiosity was a demanding beast, and it held me firmly in its clutches as we walked up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway.
“You’re not luring me to a black site where you can chop me into pieces, are you?” I asked.
“Because that’s not how I’d prefer to spend my Saturday night. I have a strong aversion to physical pain.”
Kai slanted a disbelieving glance at me. “You’ve been doing too much thriller research.”
“Nope, just listening to a lot of true crime podcasts.” Which I supposed was the same thing. “It never hurts to be cautious.”
“I promise we’re not going to a black site. That’s reserved for Tuesday nights.”
“Ha ha. Hilarious,” I grumbled, but I fell silent when we stopped in front of a familiar door.
“The library.” Disappointment cut a swath through my nerves. “That’s it?”
I liked the library as much as the next person, but after expecting a maze of secret passageways or a fancy hidden room, it was a bit of a letdown.
A small smile touched Kai’s lips. “Have faith.”
Valhalla’s library soared two stories to an elaborate cathedral ceiling engraved with the founding families’ crests. Rolling ladders and filigreed spiral staircases connected the main floor to the upper level, which bristled with leather-bound books and priceless tchotchkes.
I followed Kai up one of those staircases to the mythology section, where he skimmed his fingers over a shelf of books so old their titles were barely legible. He stopped on a battered copy of The Iliad, twisted the gold lion statuette on a nearby table with his other hand, and pulled out the book before reshelving it.
“What are you…”
The soft creak of the bookcase swinging open swallowed the rest of my words. My jaw unhinged.
Oh my God.
Plush purple carpet muffled my footsteps as I stepped inside, feeling like I’d been dropped into the middle of a movie about some rich, eccentric billionaire who enjoyed befuddling his heirs with riddles and secret passageways.
So the surprise was a hidden room. And not just any hidden room, but the hidden room of my dreams.
A beautiful rolltop desk and chair occupied the right wall, complete with a vintage typewriter and Tiffany glass lamp that drenched the room in a soft amber glow. On the opposite wall, an antique leather trunk served as a table for piles of old magazines and assorted knickknacks. A cozy-looking couch sat in the middle of the room, piled high with cushions and a red cashmere throw.
A dreamy sigh escaped. I usually preferred noise and chaos over peace and quiet, but I could wrap myself in that blanket and stay here forever.
“My great-grandfather built this room when Valhalla was founded,” Kai said, closing the door behind us. “He was the most introverted of the founders, and he wanted a place where he could be alone and no one could find him. Only the managing committee knows it exists, and only my family knows how to open it.”