Eight
STORY
* * *
Crowne Hall was the last remaining bastion of old Crowne Point. Like the family itself, it stood out amid the blue and white beachy shops and houses of the town. Once upon a time, the town shops had been black like the Hall, but the new wealthy felt that was a bit too gothic for a New York beach town.
Down in the servants’ quarters, they hadn’t bothered updating it like the rest of the house. Hundreds of maids, valets, and chauffeurs were crammed into a small, dank room, the only light from a dusty chandelier. They played cards or did shots on centuries-old wood tables. Anything else while they waited to be called. This was what the Swan Swell party had always meant to me.
“New game.” A servant with red hair, Andrew, slammed his hands on a table. “Every time a Crowne calls us up for something they could’ve easily solved themselves, do a shot.”
“I don’t feel like getting alcohol poisoning tonight, so…”
One of them, a girl with dark-brown hair, sat up when she saw me and rushed over. “Story!”
I didn’t have friends, but Ellie was the closest thing. We’d worked together in the kitchens, and though she hadn’t moved up with me, we’d remained close-ish.
“Where have you been?”
“I, um,” I rubbed my forehead, no idea where to start with an explanation.
“Your bedroom was cleaned out when I went to say good night. There are rumors spreading about you and Grayson Crowne,” she whispered. “Stephanie swears she saw you go into his wing.”
“I did,” Stephanie said. “So either you’re fucking him or you’re lying. You’re a code-breaking slut.”
I glared, and she shrugged. There are two types of servants. The lifers, and the rest. Lifers watch each other’s back. We cover for one another, a family without blood. Because we live by a code. It’s us vs them, and you don’t cross the line.
“I’m fucking Grayson Crowne? That makes as much sense as you being on time for a fucking shift.”
Stephanie flipped me the bird.
The servants had set up their own spread of food, nothing like upstairs, but I quickly grabbed a piece of pizza, not sure when I’d get the chance to eat again.
“Which one of these chicks is Lottie’s girl?” I asked Ellie, shoving the pizza into my mouth. She raised a brow, and I shrugged, having no way to explain it. But Ellie was Ellie, and she trusted me, so she pointed to a small brunette on her phone.
I plopped down next to her on the worn plaid couch. “Uh, hey.”
She didn’t look up from her phone. “What?”
“So…” I said. “I need info on Charlotte du Lac.”
Her brows popped, interest piqued, and she lowered her phone, looking me up and down. After a second or two, she said, “You’re the one fucking Grayson.”
“T-That’s—” I broke off as the mainline phone to the Crownes started ringing and everyone shouted:
Shot, shot, shot, shot!
“No!” I shouted over them.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you know how it works. Pay up.”
I narrowed my eyes. “One week’s wages.”
“Two.”
“One and a half.”
She arched a brow, then said, “Fine.”