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calms my nerves as I sit in my car outside his mansion, trying to summon up the courage to go inside.
    “Just chill, Char. This is going to make your career. Just remember you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? Be safe, and stay in touch so I don’t have to worry whether he has you buried in his basement.”
    I laugh, my shoulders relaxing. I have no idea why, but her comments do make me feel better.
    “Okay. I’m going in. Love you, Jess.”
    I press the intercom button, my throat constricting when the gates begin to swing open. I follow the stone driveway around the beautifully manicured gardens, parking to the side where I can see a whole lot of other cars are parked.
    The walk from the parking area to the front door is short. Too short. I need more time to prepare myself, because I have no idea what I’m doing. Wait, no, that’s incorrect. I know exactly what I’m doing: I’m putting myself in the path of a suspected murderer all for the sake of a fucking story. So help me God, this had better be worth it.
    I take a deep breath and knock on the front door. I have no idea what to expect, because all I was told was to be here at nine a.m. sharp and to pack enough to stay on the premises for the next two weeks.
    An older woman opens the door, the same one who delivered my tea yesterday, only this time she is full of smiles. Her complete change in mood scares me, but then again, most people nowadays make me skeptical. Regardless, I smile back and take her outstretched hand. In an odd way she kind of reminds me of my grandmother.
    “You must be Charlotte. I’m Marina, Mr. Murphy’s head housekeeper. Come in and I’ll show you to your quarters.”
    My quarters? What am I, a nineteenth-century maid?
    Clutching my small suitcase in my hand, I follow her inside. The place is just how I remember it, but instead of turning right we walk up a flight of stairs and down a long, narrow hallway.
    She opens a door on the right, halfway down the hallway, and lets me enter first. I’m taken aback by how big the area is. Even from the small living area, I can already tell it’s bigger than my apartment. The place has been tastefully furnished with what I don’t doubt is thousands of dollars’ worth of antiques.
    I move through the room, taking in my surroundings. The bedroom is huge, with a king-sized canopy bed as the centerpiece. A matching reading chair and dressing table finish the look.
    “Wow,” I mumble. This by far outdoes anything I was expecting. If this place were a hotel I’d be expecting to pay thousands for the privilege of staying here.
    “Mr. Murphy never does anything halfway,” Marina says with a slight raise of the eyebrows. “You’ll meet the others later, but for now, Mr. Murphy would like you to relax. You’re to meet him in his office at twelve sharp.” She turns and heads for the door before pausing and looking back. “A word of warning: Mr. Murphy doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”
    From the sounds of things, Mr. Murphy doesn’t tolerate much .
    As soon as she leaves, I reach for my phone and set an alarm for 11:45 because the last thing I want to do is make a bad first impression. Unbuttoning my jacket, I discard it on the bed and walk around the room, examining everything. I’m hoping for a clue about who Jaxon is—anything that will help me understand him better. I laugh, because I don’t know why I’m expecting to find anything in a bedroom all the way up the other end of the mansion from his room.
    What I need is to find out exactly what is expected of me here. Other than a basic description of what my duties might entail and a roster that puts me on shift today through to Friday and the same next week, I have no idea how this is all going to play out.
    I already know I’m not the only girl working for him. He said as much during my interview, and Marina just confirmed that by saying I’d meet the others later. Maybe they’re my in. If I can just get