Barely forty-five minutes later, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the large house. Had the maid been there, she would have been the one to answer the door, but on weekends, the task fell to him.
The man on the doorstep was exactly what he had hoped for. The sweat stain at the centre of his T-shirt only added to the package.
“Mr. Adams?”
“Come in.”
“What a lovely house you have,” said Alessio, his eyes lingering on the large marble statue of a satyr with an erection that inhabited the far end of the space.
Duncan ignored the comment. At the prices the agency charged, the young man had no doubt seen a sizeable number of lovely houses. No conversation worth pursuing could develop from any answer he could supply. Besides, his hard-earned dollars weren’t paying for chit chat.
“Fol
