Chapter 4
“Sir!” Ambrose appeared torn between wanting to bow and salute Oliver in the same movement, while Rue shrieked.
“Please have a seat, sir, I was about to start on your omelet.” Rue fiddled with the knobs on the stove. “I’m so glad you are joining us.”
Sir Asshole shifted his stance, not moving any farther into the room. “I wasn’t planning to—”
“Stay!” All three shouted at once, a mix of amusement and fear across their features. How cushy—a chef, butler, and maybe some child labor at his beck and call.
Ambrose shoved my mug out of the way, almost knocking it over until I rescued it, in order to prepare one for Oliver, who seemed to consider fleeing altogether, before crossing his arms, eyes focused entirely on me as a frown formed on his face.
Yup, I’m still here, asshole.
“This is wonderful timing, sir. We were just getting to know Ms. Price and learn about her plans for the estate.” Rue plated some fruit, ignoring his hesitance to sit next to me in a way I respected and admired. I was going to have to ask them for tips on how to handle him.
Despite the activity in the room, we were in our own silent conversation.
“I told you to stay away from me,”Oliver’s arched eyebrow screamed as he plopped next to Nick.
“I was here first,”was my silent response, eyes narrowed, arm extended over the back of the bench as I tried to relax into my seat, which was impossible with the nail digging into my spine. But I would claim my territory. I refused to tiptoe around this place for him.
As I winced—this bench would be one of the first things hauled off—his lips pursed, like he knew the exact reason and enjoyed the idea of me being uncomfortable.
With a final shake of his head, Oliver turned his focus to Nick, who offered him a fist bump, pushing her notebook toward him as he plopped down. He reviewed her work, even nodding along as if he understood, fingers scratching at his beard.
Once Rue finished cooking, all of us sat around the booth, squished in together. I did my best to minimize myself, squeezing my thighs. Rue attempted to keep up a constant chatter, but no one else seemed interested. “We want to hear all about your ideas.”
I set my silverware down, smoothing my linen napkin out on my lap. “I’m still completing my plans. I have to examine all the rooms”—Oliver let out a not-at-all subtle cough as I rolled my eyes—“and take some measurements. But if you have any input, any improvements you would like to see that would make your lives easier, please let me know.”
“Oh.” Rue pressed a steaming chipped mug to their lips. “That would be lovely.”
“A laundry room—a proper laundry room.” Ambrose barely took a moment to ponder my request. I almost did a double take at his willingness to offer me help, let alone be the first to speak. “To iron properly, steam, even sew.” His eyes gleamed as his arms waved around, gesturing how the layout would be.
“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for,” I said, nodding. “My goal is to bring out the original character of the estate while making the necessary modern improvements. It’s still a home people live in, and I want it to be functional and around for generations to come. Not a museum, but a historical atmosphere.” I sagged against the bench, almost giddy, my elbow bumping Nick’s, thrilled to listen to Rue and Ambrose bicker over whether his new tailoring room should cut into the square footage of the kitchen.
“I am quite modern,” Bl8z3 chirped. Could an AI be nervous?
“You have nothing to worry about.” My promise tumbled out, unable to stop my head from tilting in the direction the voice came from, still not entirely used to the AI system. I wasn’t even sure I had the knowledge to do anything other than try to unplug it. I had to stop falling asleep to movies about robots attempting to take over the world.
There was an electronic chirp that seemed to indicate its relief.
The tough part of the conversation was out of the way, and I was proud of myself for not sticking it to Oliver that the staff was taking things a lot better than he had. I dug into my omelet and almost moaned. “This is so cheesy, it’s perfect.”
“I usually double the cheese from whatever a recipe calls for.”
We grinned at each other. Rue was my kind of cook.
“What do you think, sir?” Ambrose asked, his entire body leaning forward despite the table that separated him from Oliver. All right, maybe I hadn’t fully won over everyone yet.
“Stop calling me that.” Oliver stabbed his fork into his last bite of food, the room filling with the sound of his chewing as he deftly avoided all eye contact, before rising, finished with the meal and us.
Ambrose almost knocked Oliver over in his attempt to grab the plate. “I have this, sir.”
It was entirely ridiculous, but Nick and Rue didn’t even blink as Oliver stalked out. I shook my head, eyes briefly closing as he abandoned the room. At least he hadn’t banished me again, because I was pretty sure Ambrose would pick me up and boot me himself if Oliver told him to.
Continuing with his efforts, Ambrose cleared the rest of the table as we finished up, refusing all our offers to help, eyeing the knives when Rue wiped down the table. Despite the sorry appearance of the estate, he took pride in his job, as reflected in his crisp outfit and mannerisms. No matter his feelings about me, his support would be essential for me to get this right.
I recognized the kinship there, the fondness. It was something I felt for all the properties I had worked on, lived on for a time, until inevitably moving on to the next, because it was never my place to stay. Ambrose cared about this place. If he could restore this house with his own two hands, he probably would.
Having cleaned up everything, only stopping short of spraying Lysol in my face, Ambrose cleared his throat, perching on the edge of the booth. “Sir, eh, that is, the younger Mr. Killington, he keeps to himself. If you do not disturb him, I am sure we can work something out.” Ambrose took a sip of his own coffee, pinky wiggling.
Crap, crap.“This can be difficult to hear about a place that has meaning for you, but my goal is to ensure it’s around for decades to come. This house, this estate, has been neglected.” I held up my hand as Ambrose opened his mouth. “Not by you. Houses, especially older ones, need certain things for long-term upkeep—new roofs, the pipes to be looked after. I will do my best to ensure this will not disrupt your lives, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I only did half of the things that should be done.”
“Amb, admit it: it will take more than a good dusting.” Rue raised their eyebrows, finger running along a divot in the counter’s marble. “The cracks in the walls—I see the fear in your eyes every time it rains. We’re lucky this place is still standing.”
“I am insulted by your very insinuation.” Ambrose sniffed, lifting his chin in the air. “I am excellent at my job. Bloody hell, I don’t even take weekends.”
“Stop whining. No one blames you.” Rue was unflappable, at ease with the prim and proper butler. “We’ve only come on as staff a little over two years ago.”
And in the space between, the mansion had fallen into disarray. Another puzzle piece was falling into place. I gave Rue a quick nod, appreciating them trying to fight my battle. “Rue is right. If anything, your upkeep has kept the place together longer. The worst homes I’ve seen are the ones that have been entirely abandoned.”
We sat in the silence of Nick’s pencil scratching against the paper, none of this ruffling her. Rue had a faint smile on their face, though I knew their ultimate allegiance was to this place and Oliver. Ambrose was as prickly as his employer, just more vocal about it.
“I do not foresee any problems as long as the Young Mr. Killington remains happy.”
I would not ask why he continued to speak of Oliver so formally, I would take his acceptance and run with it. “But I thought his grandfather was your employer?” Okay, I couldn’t hold the curiosity in fully.
“He may own the estate, but the Younger Mr. Killington is the reason I am here.”
“I see.” It was not any clearer, but the firm look on his face shut down any of my other questions.
“But—” Ambrose knocked his fist on the table, ensuring all our attention was on him. “This home is special to the few people who also mean something to me.” His eyes flashed to Rue and Nick before glancing at the door Oliver had walked out of. “Please treat it with care, as if it was your own. It may not seem like much to you, with all its imperfections, but there are precious memories here, things that deserved to be saved, preserved—” He stopped abruptly, fingers fluttering until he hid them under the table.
“I promise,” I breathed out, needing him—them—to believe me. I may not have had a home of my own, but I could bring theirs back to life. Even if their employer was an ass.
I’ve found him, the love of your life.
The text from Sebastian popped up as I sat in my bedroom’s armchair, sketching on my iPad. When I was deep in a project, I hunkered down, barely coming up for air, let alone remembering to eat. Dad had reviewed my drawings and sent some suggestions, potential contacts he’d worked with in the past, but this project wouldn’t fully be ours until our proposed plan was approved, and I’d still probably be holding my breath until we started construction.
Bell: Not interested.
Sebastian: Soulmate. Soul. Mate.
Bell: New phone. Who is this?
The screen flashed to show Sebastian was calling.
“Okay, but seriously, I met him last night at a gallery I was touring with Finn. He’s a writer, kind of moody but loves animals. Big movie and TV binge-watcher. Could he sound any more perfect for you?”
Sigh. “I told you, I have zero interest in dating right now.”
“Are you against dating or is it because you’re letting yourself believe those lies that douche told you? You’re better off without him.”
Was it a lie, though, when Dan had been right? During our project about a year ago, he was the on-site carpenter. He came around daily, even on his days off, the attraction between us undeniable. I enjoyed talking to him, the simplicity of someone else understanding my daily life. He never had a dazed look when I talked about the evolution of chairs throughout history.
Two weeks before the project was scheduled to end, I slept with him. My mind filled with ridiculous fantasies about dating after the project finished. But on my last day on-site, Dan blew those dreams to smithereens, then stomped all over them to ensure they never returned.
“This was a lot of fun, Bellamy, but I never associated you with a relationship. You’re the right-now girl, not the forever girl. We had a good time, but you can’t expect someone to take you seriously when you’re always thinking about the next project, your next destination. You have no roots. Everything about you screams short term, not a commitment.”
It hurt because it was the truth. Even with this project, potentially the biggest I’d have in my career, I was already planning the next steps, the job that would hopefully change my life and help me become a person capable of putting down roots. It left me with guilt, wanting something different from what my dad had provided, but it wasn’t that he had done anything wrong. I couldn’t be prouder to be Maurice Price’s daughter—I adored my life, my childhood. He’d taught me everything I knew. But something in me ached, yearned to find a way to take my passion and still relax into something long term. Be able to plan a trip with Sebastian and Finn further out than the weekend before. To have a home, someone waiting for me, who trusted I would come back.
“I told you I’m on a dating hiatus,” I reminded Sebastian, shaking my head to return to reality. “I’m concentrating on my career.”
“I want you to be happy, and I think you two would get along.”
“I don’t have time in my schedule to go back and forth to the city, and I definitely can’t host guests at a house that isn’t mine.” My voice came out harsher than I’d intended.
“All right, but—”
“Ms. Price? Dinner is ready.” Bl8z3 interrupted Sebastian’s protest.
“Okay, you softie, I have to go. But pinky promise I’m happy.”
“Fine, B, but please remember that when love smacks you in the face, I’m going to be laughing. Thrilled, overjoyed for you, but still laughing.”
“I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
I set down my iPad. As much as I adored Sebastian, I was delighted to have an easy exit. “I told you to call me Bellamy, Bell, B, anything except Ms. Price, Bl8z3.” Creating some order to all the papers on the desk, I leaned back into the chair, trying to roll my neck.
“It goes against my programming to refer to you colloquially.”
I was quickly getting used to the voice that could sound at any moment, full of personality. “Fine, we’ll figure out a compromise at some point.” A brief dinner break, to clear my head, give my cramped fingers a rest. I had a long night ahead of me.
“How about Young Miss?”
“Not a chance. Though maybe if I can convince you to call Killington Young Grump?”
“Afraid not.” Bl8z3 sounded disappointed. Whoever had programmed it deserved a Nobel Prize or whatever you give someone for kicking ass. Still, with its programming, I had my theories.
“Douche Canoe wouldn’t be as fun, but also acceptable.” Speaking of, I was grateful his rude demeanor stopped him from eating with the lowly staff after that initial breakfast. I had no interest in suffering through another meal with him.
“My algorithm can’t tell who would be a bigger fan of that, Ambrose or the Young Sir.”
Complete disbelief. “Bl8z3, did you make an AI joke?”
“I have my glitches.” Then: “Ba-dah-duh.” They not only had jokes, but sound effects.
“You are wasted on this house.”
“You are too kind. Dinner will be served in the atrium this evening.”
I strolled into the en suite of my room, splashing cold water on my face and tying my hair off in a messy knot. My appearance in the mirror didn’t exactly look refreshed, but a little less wired on caffeine and gummy bears.
For the past few evenings, I had been eating in the kitchen with Rue and Ambrose. Nick would sprint in and out but was always desperate to finish her homework or work on some other project. Constant motion, that girl.
I dashed through the hall and down the less squeaky staircase, rotating left toward the atrium.
The momentum took me through the open glass French doors. It was one of my favorite rooms in the mansion; my fingers itched to get my hands on it. Though the room was not too neglected because of how empty it was, Ambrose had told me the plants had all died long ago, with no one ever replacing them. The back exterior wall of the mansion was stone, and the remaining walls of the room were glass, with wooden beams dividing the cloudy panes—which would all need to be restained and refitted with energy efficient panels. But with the sun setting, the splendor of the room couldn’t be denied. It was the perfect location for dinner before I went back upstairs and shut myself away.
There was a small table with two chairs down at the other end of the room. And notably, not a single soul around.
“Bl8z3, where is everyone?” I narrowed my eyes, studying my surroundings further. For the first time since I had arrived a few days ago, Bl8z3 was silent. The tile floor was carpeted in rose petals. Candelabras were set around the space, flickering, with a large piece on the table among covered serving dishes.
Alarm bells were going off in my head. I spun around, only to slam into a wall.
“Wha—”
Oliver’s warm palms gripped my shoulders, holding me to the solid planes of his chest. He prevented me from collapsing backward; his mouth opened slightly, eyes wide. Probably still expecting me to leave and never return. We stood there for a moment before he gave his head a shake and let me go.
He had kept his promise until now, turning on his heel every time I walked into a room the past few days with my tape measure and camera. Bl8z3 was too useful, taking notes for me as I called out the information. This trap was my reminder that no one, not even Bl8z3, owed me any loyalty.
The frown that seemed to constantly cross Oliver’s face was out in full force as he released me, fingers flexing, before he shoved them into the pockets of his pants. His hair was slightly less unruly today, tied back in a neater ponytail. “Price.”
“Killington.” I acknowledged back.
Everything I had learned about him and his family as I lay in bed Googling, when I should be sleeping, flashed through my mind at his presence. Oliver hadn’t been seen by the public since his parents’ funeral. There were various theories about why, all stories from not very reputable sources. He had died in the accident with his parents; the accident was all a hoax; he was hiding on some island; aliens had taken him (I forwarded that one to Finn).
I was beginning to wonder if he had been in this house the entire time. Had he been alone until the arrival of Ambrose, Rue, and Nick? I didn’t have to like him to be sympathetic, even a little embarrassed by how I’d busted through the doors that first night. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but maybe explained it slightly.
The rest of his family wasn’t in hiding. Drug overdoses, dating scandals, some insider trading, and a tendency to throw outlandish parties seemed to be a common thread, though I looked at it all with a new sense of skepticism. His twin sisters were paparazzi darlings, in the news more often for the parties they attended rather than their participation in the family business.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver’s beard-covered jaw clenched.
“Living my life, breathing the air, existing.” My pulse raced, his eyes narrowing as I hit his buttons. He made it too easy.
And then it got worse.
The glass door snicked shut, followed by a click—the turn of a lock.