manners. Even in his highest-flying days, Matthew had never treated an employee with this kind of condescension.
“So.” Matthew moved toward the coffeepot. “Is Natalie around?”
“No, she’s upstairs,” Bart said, taking his own mug and tossing its contents into the sink. “She went to look for something, but that was—” he looked at his Rolex and groaned, temporarily forgetting to be pompous “—for God’s sake. It was close to half an hour ago.”
So that accounted for the impatient drumming of fingers, Matthew thought. Bart had been kept waiting, and he didn’t like that, either.
“Maybe she couldn’t find it,” Matthew suggested helpfully.
Bart grunted. “She probably completely lost track of what she went up there for. She could be repotting a gardenia or cleaning her closet or teaching herself the tango. The damn Granvilles haven’t had a linear thought in six generations.”
But then he caught himself, perhaps realizing this wasn’t the kind of conversation you had with the hired help
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