Chapter 9
“Sir, what are you doing?” Ambrose asked, grabbing the box from Oliver, almost yanking it away.
“Helping.” Oliver’s brows knit together.
I laughed as I watched two grown men fight over who would carry the box. Dad always said the first day speaks to how well the project goes. The chaotic energy confirmed I was going to be on my toes.
Oliver’s biceps bulged as he relented. “I want to help.”
“Of course, sir, but you shouldn’t have to.” Ambrose swept past us, heading to the truck.
“I backed up my servers in case there were any electrical hiccups, and did some checks of the estate’s systems I am connected to. I will email you the results, Ms. Price.” Bl8z3 sounded proud. It wasn’t worth mentioning that I hadn’t shared my email address.
I bit my lip while Carter spun in a circle, eyes wide as he hunted for that bodiless voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“The kitchen is coming along, about halfway packed, I’d say. This crew is efficient,” Rue offered while easing Carter out of the way.
“I’m happy to offer some advice. I recently moved into my first apartment.” Carter’s proposal was ignored.
“Ms. Price is allowing me to pick all the new appliances. Anything I want.” Glee brightened Rue’s face as they bragged to Ambrose. His idea of casual wear appeared to be an untucked dress shirt and khakis, all ironed to perfection.
“I’m getting my tailoring room,” Ambrose boasted right back.
“Sorry, sewing machines do nothing for me. But an industrial fridge? It is going to be wonderful. And a new stand mixer that won’t have wires poking out of the bottom!”
“This place might no longer be a fire hazard.” Bl8z3 brought us back to reality.
“Well, it’s a long drive to the city. You might want to get going,” Oliver reminded Carter, then hoisted another box from the pile in the foyer.
Ambrose yanked it out of his hands, marching off with a glare, daring Oliver to try it again.
“I thought you wanted Carter to help,” I tried to whisper as a giggle circled my chest.
“Then I realized he’d have to stay the night,” he hissed back, his eyes daring me to contradict him. Which was tempting, but I didn’t want Cousin Carter to stay any longer either.
Teeth pressed to my lips, hard, I faced Carter. “Appreciate the offer, but I think we have it handled.”
Carter puffed out his chest. “Always happy to provide my expertise.”
“I’m sure you are,” Oliver grumbled.
“Drive safe.” I waved at Carter as Rue and Ambrose started another debate over who had more power concerning the reconstruction, ambling back toward the kitchen.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I still reserve the right to banish you.”
I nodded sagely. “Of course.”
“Glad we have that settled.” He stalked off.
I stood there for another moment. “Asshole,” I muttered despite my smile.
148 Days Until the Deadline
“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay?”
Jeff sighed. “There’s no reason. This is the most dangerous period, as your extensive list pointed out, while we figure out what this beauty is hiding under all that fancy wallpaper.” He was much too eager, palms rubbing together.
I opened my mouth.
“Which I will protect as if it were my child. I’ve heard all your lectures about the importance of preserving the original wallpaper. You go do your job—find some fabulous period furniture—and let me do mine.” Jeff knocked on his hard hat.
With so many bodies inside the house, he was right, I would only get in their way. But this was my project. What if something went wrong? What if there was an emergency?
“Fine, but I’m a phone call away. If anything major comes up—”
Jeff raised his palm. “I promise.”
“All right.” I opened Philippe’s door. “If you’re sure.”
“Oh, one more thing.”
With my body halfway in the car, I hopped back out. Ready for whatever.
“There’s someone else that needs to go with you. The estate staff are doing other things today, but there’s one other liability I can’t have in the house.”
“Jeff, no.” I knew what was coming even before Oliver strolled into the garage, shoulders clenched almost to his ears, clearly as thrilled as I was about this turn of events.
“Well, I guess this wasn’t your idea.” Oliver’s eyes rolled over me as I clutched the doorframe, unable to decide if I wanted to get out of the car or back into it. “Nice suspenders.”
“You have nothing else to do today?” It would be truly pushing my professional abilities to spend a day alone with him.
“I thought I was supposed to be observing you.” Oliver leaned over the roof of the car, as if daring me.
“I didn’t realize you wanted to be your grandfather’s lackey.”
Jeff coughed, reminding us we weren’t alone. “Well, on that friendly note, I’m off to go break some shit.”
Oliver opened his mouth.
I rolled my eyes. Every occasion when we had been alone together had been a disaster. All I craved was to listen to Taylor Swift and pretend I had the day off, not think about what was going on at the house without me. “He’s just saying that. We talked about this—ripping it down to the studs in a few places so we can figure out what we’re working with.” I climbed into the car fully. “It’s part of the process.”
Oliver stiffly nodded, opening the passenger door. After one final glance back at the estate, he removed the messenger bag he had slung across his chest, sliding into the passenger seat. “So where are we going?”
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. “How were you convinced to do this?”
“Someone might have told me it was a good idea to get out of the house, especially if I’m considering a job in the city.”
“Ah, Rue, huh?” I was going to refer to the chef as “the meddler” soon. Though I did agree with their logic, Oliver slowly venturing in the world would probably be an easier adjustment than being dropped, cold turkey, into a job at his family’s empire. “Very persuasive when they want to be.”
“Yeah.” Oliver rubbed his hands on his thighs.
While shoving him out of a moving car was tempting, I took pity on him. Something about him felt a little less defensive today. “I’m going to a warehouse about two hours away. They have historic furniture and replicas. The George II armchairs alone are worth the drive.”
“Will there be many people there?”
A chuckle escaped as I pushed the key into the ignition, listening to the hum of the engine as it flipped over. I was too used to boring people with my love of antiques. “I’d be surprised to see anyone else except us and the owner. Trust me, this is a niche place. They mostly do online sales.”
Oliver clutched at his beard, fingers fluttering.
“Big open space,” I continued. “No one else. And you can wander by yourself or stay outside. The road it’s on isn’t even paved—very off the beaten path—but the owner makes decent coffee.”
Oliver still wouldn’t glance at me.
“Or you don’t have to come at all. I could drop you off somewhere.”
We remained in the garage, car running, the driveway leading to the world beyond in front of us. The sounds of the house were muffled, but there. And we were in between; in between all the action, in between a choice. For once, I didn’t flick on the radio to fill the silence.
Oliver’s hand lifted, hanging in the air, maybe to open the door again. Instead, he stretched, clicking his seat belt in place before reaching over and somehow gripping my entire thigh, the heat from his large palm searing me through my jeans.
“I haven’t been to many places in the past few years. And when I have, I tend to get a reaction like the first day the crew showed up—plus cameras. I prefer to prepare myself for what to expect.”
He started to remove his hand, but I clasped his fingers with mine. “If you change your mind and want to leave, say the word.”
His skin was soft, and goose bumps broke out across my own as our hands hovered midair between us. His eyes widened and his palm shook slightly when his fingers enveloped mine. It wasn’t a handshake, but it was something. Something was happening here, but I couldn’t name it and didn’t know how to read his expression as his gaze drifted from our hands back to meet mine.
And then we untangled. I shifted my hands to the steering wheel, clutching it for a moment until my knuckles went white, before putting Philippe in drive and pulling out.
“No petals in your hair today?”
I smoothed out my ponytail; already a couple of strands had gotten loose. “Didn’t think it would stay in with all the driving.”
It sounded like he said, “A shame,” but he faced toward the window.
“So, you’re considering the job with your grandfather?”
He shrugged. “Someone reminded me it’s time to stop living in the past.”
“Rue again?”
“No.” He shuffled his legs, nervous energy filling the car. “You.”
That was the last answer I’d been expecting. I glanced at him, to find him staring right back.
“Eyes on the road,” he ordered without any bite.
“Yeah, yeah.”
There was a future for him in a management position.
“Any thoughts on the reconstruction so far?” I was partially hunting for a compliment, but I was also honestly curious.
“Can we not talk about the house?” He rubbed at his thigh, legs jiggling.
“Okay, let’s play a game.”
“Can’t we drive in silence?” His arm brushed mine, maybe by accident or on purpose, and every part of my body lit up. Even my appendix began doing a strange thing. Stupid, unnecessary organ.
“You’re the one who wanted to come along. It’ll be fun. I know that’s a foreign concept.” His elbow bumped into mine again. “We’ll have a rule. Any question you ask, I have to answer. Same goes for you too.”
“Why would I care what your response is?” His retort was all aloof and chill.
And he was back to making me want to hit him. “Because we still have over an hour in this car, and I can’t stand silence.”
“Would never have guessed.”
I huffed out a breath. I was going to count down the seconds until we arrived.
“Fine. But I go first,” Sir Stubborn announced.
“Ask away.” I gestured for him to continue.
“What got you into house restorations?”
“You mean how did I, a sad, homeless girl, get involved in restoring homes?” Okay, so maybe I was still feeling defensive. But could you blame me?
He let out a huff. “Are you passing on the question?”
“It’s how I grew up. I enjoy imagining all the happy memories, the people who lived there, the people who will live there in the future. I like to think I’m helping give them a place to build more memories.”
“You never wanted to do anything else?” His voice rose an octave, as if I’d surprised him. Why had I started this when I couldn’t see his face?
“My dad tried to get me to take internships in high school and college, but I hated sitting at a desk. I had options, a choice, and I made it.”
His fingers flexed, fluttering on his thighs. “What’s that like?”
My heart gave a squeeze, knowing how lucky I was to have Dad, even if our life wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t imagine love being this conditional thing, like it seemed for the Killingtons. “Nope, that was your question—no cheating.”
“Wait, don’t I have to answer too?” It meant something that he was willing.
“I’m not that cruel. You have time to make your decision, you have a choice, take it.” I was interested in what his plans were with his grandfather’s ultimatum, but not to torture him. His family did that all on their own.
Oliver hummed under his breath.
I racked my brain, blurting out the first question that came to my mind. “Are you dating anyone?” I asked with complete nonchalance and lack of interest. This was a game, after all. I wanted to stump him. Instead, now I was desperate to jump out of the moving automobile I was driving, wishing I could take the words back.
“Yes, I kidnap them. Haven’t you discovered the dungeon yet?”
“Excuse me?” Somehow, I didn’t jerk the car into the next lane.
“What does this have to do with anything?” Apparently Mr. Gruff Hostility had never left.
“Just making conversation.” Think. Think. “Forget it—then I don’t have to answer either.” Which was for the best.
I fiddled with the stereo; my innocent curiosity had pushed things too far.
“I told you: no one comes to visit me. Living as a recluse isn’t exactly something that encourages dating. I’m not exactly a catch.”
“No one?” I squeaked.
“Yes, it’s pathetic. You don’t have to tell me.” He shifted to lean his shoulder against the passenger door.
“Hey.” My hand hung in the air, hovering, before I returned it to the steering wheel. “I don’t think you’re pathetic. It’s just surprising because, you know, you look like you, and if you wanted to be with someone … It just makes me sad you’ve been alone.” Word vomit all over the car. My entire body cringed.
“Bigfoot, that’s what I resemble.”
I had the world’s biggest mouth, and I’d had to learn not to shout at Finn every time he asked how things were progressing with my roommate when I called to check in with him and Sebastian. “Listening in on my phone calls?”
He sniffed. “The house isn’t that big.”
Liar.“It’s a mansion.”
“All right,” Oliver interrupted. “So, there are Bigfoot aficionados I should attract?”
“Bigfoot wasn’t fair.” I wracked my brain for a better comparison that wouldn’t show my hand or the feeling in my stomach. I could, objectively, find him handsome while still not being able to stand him.
“Are you calling me attractive?” His tone was flat.
“Your word choice.” Probably mine too, but subtlety was my middle name.
He hummed, my body vibrating to the same tune as I shifted in my seat. “You have to answer too,” he reminded me.
“I’m single.” A rush twirled within me before plummeting, leaving my palms sweaty and my stomach a mess. Why had I agreed to any of this? “All right, next question.”
“That’s it?”
I flicked at his thigh. My fingers went tingly at the contact.
“It’s your fault for answering more than was asked.” He didn’t need to hear about my ex.
“Thank you, Law and Order.”
“Oh, so that show you watch?” Of course. Can’t check out one of the best film trilogies ever made, but Law and Order he’s seen.
“I had to. The lawyers required it when they did an episode based on me.” His dry reply made my stomach sink.
Crap, I had heard about that. I was always saying the wrong thing around him—mostly unintentionally. The few times it had been intentional, he’d deserved it.
“Nothing sends you to therapy faster than having a popular show accuse you of murdering your parents.” Resentment filled the car.
“But wasn’t the guy on the show found not guilty?” I had seen the episode years ago, never connecting it with the man next to me until now.
“Yeah, after paying off the jury. Screams innocence.”
“Oh.” I was doing great with this game.
“It’s fine.” Something about his voice said it wasn’t, his body pressed against the door.
“It’s okay if it’s not.”
“What’s the point of complaining?” he toyed with the neck of his black T-shirt.
“Sharing your emotions isn’t complaining, it’s …” I was desperate to say the perfect thing here. “It’s sharing the load.”
“No one wishes to hear about my feelings.”
“I do.” I tried not to cringe as we sat in silence, the low buzz of the radio not doing enough to distract from the lack of filter between my brain and mouth.
“Because you’re leaving?”
I leaned my elbow against the doorframe, fisting my hair. “Yeah, of course.”
Oliver didn’t speak another word until I flicked the turn signal, the car rumbling over the gravel of the parking lot of the diner on the side of the road. It was partially filled, but I’d bet good money that most of the cars belonged to people who worked there. The diner had been a suggestion from Dani, the owner of the antique furniture place we were headed to.
“Bathroom break?” Oliver asked. “I might have a cup you can pee into.”
I huffed out a sigh, leaning into the backseat to rummage. I had an idea where he could put that cup. “This is an all-day outing. Might as well be well caffeinated.”
I set a baseball cap on his head, offering him my sunglasses, brushing a few wisps of hair out of his face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His gray eyes dilated, roaming over my features.
“Giving you a disguise.” I blew out a breath, pressing the brim of his cap down, as a slight blush crept over his cheeks. I stepped out of the car. A moment later, he was next to me, reaching forward, holding the door open, sunglasses covering up those eyes that I knew were watching me.
“Booth or table?” the hostess asked, popping a hip out.
“A booth would be swell.” I dropped my voice a couple of octaves. Perfect.
“What in the absolute hell are you doing?” Oliver hissed at me, placing his large palm gently against my lower back.
“Helping you stay undercover.”
“I think whatever accent you’re doing is making us more noticeable.”
“Don’t worry about it, buttercup.” I nudged him toward the last booth so he sat with his back to the rest of the restaurant as I plopped down across from him. “See? No one’s noticed you.”
He seemed conflicted, torn between scowling and smirking, and it was doing funny things to my appendix again. Maybe I was carsick.
“Nothing is ever simple with you, huh?” he asked.
“Nope.” My gaze roamed the diner, the laminate, the mini jukeboxes at each table, the smell of burgers and grease in the air. “I love this place. Let’s never leave.”
He chuckled while browsing his menu. “Careful, Petal, you’re going soft on me.”
Our mugs of coffee were set down, giving my heart a moment to recover, as I concentrated on putting the right amount of milk in mine. “Petal?” The warmth from the coffee spread over my cheeks. “I remind you of a wilting flower? Or maybe the thorns?”
“Not even close.”
I leaned forward on my elbows, hating how curious I was to understand him. “Have I told you how annoying I find you?”
“Constantly.” His sip of coffee did nothing to hide the smirk. Smug bastard.
“Good.”
We ordered food, then I browsed the jukebox.
He slid me a few quarters. “You can’t stand silence, can you?”
“I spent my childhood having to entertain myself while my dad was working. It was less lonely to have music or TV playing in the background. I got used to it, I guess.” I grinned, finding the perfect song: “Black Balloon” by the Goo Goo Dolls.
“It was like that after the funeral.”
My eyes bounced across the table, landing on him as he nudged his mug around.
“Just me. After a while, Ambrose, Nick, and Rue were there during the day. But at night, it was …”
“Quiet,” I finished.
“Yeah.” He met my gaze. “So, I attempted to find a hobby or something since I couldn’t play football anymore.”
My head tilted. “Like what?” He was probably perfect at everything.
“Well, at first, I couldn’t walk much. So, I tried knitting, then pottery.”
I imagined some strange version of Ghost, with Oliver bent over a pottery wheel, fingers fluttering against my chest.
“Later I tried horseback riding and writing fan fiction.”
“You wrote fan fiction?” I had to find this. “What was your fandom?”
“I will take it to my grave.”
“There’s a plot of land where I can make that happen. Tell me.” That he didn’t sit back on the privilege of his family, but wanted to contribute something to society, was surprising.
“Next was restoring cars, but my hands weren’t able to fit into all the tiny spaces. Apparently, you shouldn’t be scared of heights if you want to learn to be a pilot. Who knew?”
“Who knew?” I echoed.
“Needless to say, I’ve tried to find my next thing, job, hobby—anything—for a while now.”
“You haven’t found one?” I had to doubt that.
“It has become clear that I was only ever good at one thing in my life and … well.” He waved at his legs under the table.
The jukebox had gone silent, but I didn’t select the next song. We just sat there, all the things he had lost in the accident taking up the space between us: his parents, his future.
But I couldn’t let him give up, not with the memory of how he and Nick had looked tossing that football back and forth. Of the empty rooms of the west wing, waiting for his parents, his family, to fill it again with memories. “Well, this renovation might as well be a career fair. There are lots of specialties you may have never thought about.”
“Actually, since you bring it up …” He cleared his throat. “I think we should, uh … call a truce.”