She walked straight through the front door. Past me. Down the hall. She opened the door to the guest suite. The one with the private deck. The one I rent for three hundred and fifty dollars a night.
“Oh, this is nice,” she said. “Ben! Bring our bags in here!”
Ezoic
She dragged the children’s bags into my office.
My private office. The room at the end of the hall with the door I always keep closed. My desk. My two monitors. My filing cabinet with confidential client files. Contracts. Financial records. A nondisclosure agreement for a project I was working on for a shipping company in Norfolk.
She dumped Poppy’s backpack on my desk. Jonah’s bag of toys on my chair. A plastic dinosaur rolled off the desk and hit the floor.
“The kids can sleep in here,” she said. “On the floor. We brought sleeping bags.”
