Mistress's Personal Maid.

Claudia’s breath came out in a ragged laugh. “Fuck — that lady was scary,” she gasped, one hand pressed to her heart as if trying to steady the sudden tremor beneath her ribs. Her eyes darted along the driveway and up at the house; from a distance it looked almost ordinary, but up close the place had the faint, hollow air of somewhere slightly abandoned and somehow too grand all at once.

Reagan clicked the car unlocked and slid into the driver’s seat. “Just sit,” he said, a crooked chuckle tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Unless you plan on sorting yourself out of this place.” There was a teasing lilt that didn’t match the warning in his eyes.

She rolled hers with exaggerated annoyance as she tucked the bottle deeper into her bag. When she pushed the car door open and climbed in, she kept one hand at her chest and turned her gaze away, pretending distraction. Reagan watched her for a beat, amusement and something sharper flickering across his face, then started the engine.

“If you