Deep

Not a deep sleeper like me, Richard didn’t stay in bed long. He eased under the covers and curled around me in the middle of the night, then he was up again at the crack of dawn.

My bedroom at his mansion was just for me. He had another somewhere upstairs—I hadn’t seen it yet—where he did private things, collected his thoughts, and dressed in his beautifully cut suits and jackets, dark jewel-toned shirts with cufflinks, and high-priced Italian leather shoes.

Used to living alone, I didn’t mind the privacy. I slid my arms and legs into a pair of black-satin pajamas. I splashed water on my face and gave my long oak-brown hair a brush. Then I dabbed on lip gloss and went to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Grant, Richard’s cook, and casual butler was preparing a meal that filled the house with tempting aromas. He stopped what he was doing to smile at me. With a style all his own, he wore a black apron over orange slacks and a red button-up shirt with a bowtie. “I made a fresh pot of co