Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“ H ow is it? How’s everyone treating you?” Mia asks for the third time.
Sighing, I fight the urge to grimace at the phone even though she can’t see me. I tried to FaceTime with her, but my phone seems to have developed a life of its own. Maybe the Irish weather doesn’t agree with it because the reception is spotty at best, and the line keeps crackling. Holding a conversation with Mia borders on impossible. It is beyond frustrating when, back home, we basically finished each other’s sentences. In a way, we’re like an old married couple, minus the daily struggle of not trying to kill each other. Come to think of it, we even have that at times. But as best friends go, she’s the only person I trust. The only one who’s always had my back.
“I haven’t met many yet. But a first glimpse has left me wondering what the hell I’m doing here.”
“That bad, huh?” Mia says.
I laugh. “You have no idea. The guy who was supposed to pick me up at the airport never turned up. I was forced to ask around for an hour until I finally located a driver who was familiar with the area. The driver drove me around for hours after I told him I needed to get to Glenn Cereals instead of however you’re supposed to pronounce the name of this place. And then he left me stranded in the middle of nowhere to get back home in time for dinner.”
“He didn’t!” Mia chuckles, the sound interrupting me.
I frown, annoyed, as I recall last night’s events. “Wait for it. I’m not even done.”
“Okay, what happened?”
“Someone did come to pick me up, after keeping me waiting half the night. I thought I was going to freeze to death or worse—end up being eaten alive by the local mountain lions.”
Her gasp travels down the line. “There are mountain lions?”
“I’m not sure. I think I heard some roaring in the bushes. My point is, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s like I’ve reached the end of the world and then add a few more inches.” I sigh again and reposition my cell phone, cradling it between my shoulder and ear as I rearrange the few clothes I brought with me on the shelves in the huge walk-in closet. The problem is there are too many empty shelves to choose from, and I’m not good with decisions. To some people, one spot might be as good as the other. But to me, any decision is of utmost importance and can’t be impetuously made.
Then there is the fact that I’m not used to having so much space to myself. What Patrick calls a shed could be the home to a small family. I’m also overwhelmed by all the luxury. If the cottage is so stunning, I can’t even imagine what the rest of the estate looks like.
“Did you get the pictures of the shed?” I ask Mia.
“No, why? What does it look like?”
I groan inwardly. My phone is officially useless. It can’t even send a photo. Let’s hope I won’t ever need it to make an urgent call or else I’ll be doomed. Misinterpreting my silence, Mia goes on, “I didn’t want to say anything but I would have been surprised if the place was worth much. No one leaves anything of value to a complete stranger, unless there’s something wrong with—” Mia smacks her tongue, leaving the rest unspoken. She doesn’t need to spell out the obvious. No one gives anything of value to a stranger unless the place comes with a mountain of debt or old clutter no one really wants.
“Unless there’s something wrong with it?” I prompt, laughing.
“Yes.”
I had been thinking the same thing when Ms. Walsh’s lawyer contacted me out of the blue to announce my sudden inheritance. She and I weren’t related so I expected something of sentimental value, maybe a book or a coin, a piece of old jewelry at the most. I would never have thought the old lady I only met once would leave something so lavish to me.
“The weird thing is—” I hesitate, looking around.
“I’m sorry, Lori. On the bright side, even a cottage at the end of the world is worth something to the right person. Whatever you get, it’s better than nothing, right? I mean, you sure need the money. Any money.”
“Actually, this is way more than I expected. It’s—” I struggle to find the right words. “Nicer than anything I’ve ever seen, and it’s not even the main house. That’s the weird thing. The estate must be worth a fortune. She basically left me something few people can afford in ten lifetimes. For the life of me, I can’t fathom why.”
“So it’s not a dilapidated cabin?” Mia asks.
“Cabin? Far from it. I’m not even sure I can call the main building a house. It’s bigger than a mansion. It must be worth millions.”
For a moment, both Mia and I fall silent. Suddenly I feel like a fraud talking about a stranger’s house in terms of money. You can’t put a value on someone’s home with all its memories, laughter, and tears. My gaze brushes over the décor, the antique furniture, the nondescript paintings adorning the paneled walls, and a lump forms in my throat. I didn’t get to know Roisin Walsh on a personal level, but somehow I see her shadow in everything around me. It’s like the very place absorbed a part of her while she was still alive, and now the memory of her lives on.
I can’t help but feel like an intruder.
Mia says something, though I don’t catch it as the line crackles again.
I toss the last of my clothes onto a shelf and walk out of the closet with the purpose of a woman on a mission.
“Mia, can I call you back? I really need to get started on things. I don’t want to be here longer than necessary.”
“Sure.” She pauses as though she’s choosing her words carefully. “If you need anything, you know I’m only a stone’s throw away. I could take the ferry or train over the weekend. Apparently that’s the cheapest way to travel to Ireland from London if you can’t afford a plane ticket. Or so people keep telling me. There’s so much to catch up on. I’ve really missed you the last couple of months.”
I smile, and the lump in my throat seems to loosen a bit. “Ask me again in a few days. I’m meeting with the lawyer today. I hope he’ll help me get an appraisal, find a realtor, set things in motion.”
“If you need my help with anything, maybe with the local jargon, not that I’m familiar with it, give me a call. Or just say the word and I’ll be over in no time.”
“Thank you.” I hang up after promising to keep her updated, and then find myself disoriented for a moment. In the sudden silence, the lump is back, lodged in my throat. It’s only early afternoon, but it feels as though I’ve already wasted an entire day. I’m not here to lounge around, I remind myself. There’s plenty of work to do, and once I’m done, I’ll be on the first flight back home to sort out the mess I left behind.
Home where my life is in shambles with a mountain of debt, and the metaphorical Damocles sword dangling over my head. All because I was young, naive and easily impressed by the company who hired me. Looking back, I realize how foolish it was to trust the people close to me, a mistake that has cost me my career and future prospects.
I quickly change into a yellow, long-sleeved dress that reaches below the knees and top it off with a white blazer and black flats. I know nothing about Ireland. I’m not familiar with the local weather, but if the chilly breeze from before is any indication, I expect I’ll need my blazer to keep me warm during the meeting with the lawyer. It also serves the purpose of giving me a professional look above all else. I don’t want to give the impression of a con artist.
This place is too grand for me. It’s a whole new world compared to what I’m used to. My entire apartment, if you can even call it that, back home would probably fit into the walk-in closet. I’m not the missing piece in this puzzle of luxury. I’m more like the ugly stepsister in Cinderella who needs to cut off a few toes to even squeeze into the glass shoe, and it still won’t fit.
The glass shoe being the Walsh estate, obviously.
According to the letter, I’m supposed to meet with a lawyer today. He will see through my pretense straight away. He’ll probably end up laughing at me or worse, accuse me of having done something to the old lady to make her leave her entire estate to a poor girl from Brooklyn.
Sighing, I throw another look at myself and cringe. Even the pink lipstick makes me stand out, and not in a good way. I wipe it off, but that changes nothing about the way I feel.
“Let’s do this,” I say as I walk out the door. “Let’s get it over with.”
The car sent by the law firm is already waiting around the corner. It’s a make I’m not familiar with, but judging from the shiny metal and the polished leather seats, it’s anything but cheap.
Of course it isn’t.
What did I expect?
Anyone living in such a grand place will probably not skimp on the best legal representation money can buy. I should have been able to tell from the silver embossed writing on the letterhead.
Ellis he’s also infuriating. If I could smack him upside the head, I would.
The high road, Lori!
I need to take it, and fast, before I really do something I’ll come to regret. Somehow I just can’t picture myself in jail.
Holding his dark gaze, I straighten my back and try to turn away. It takes me ginormous effort to stop staring at him, and it’s an even bigger struggle to focus on my lawyer as I address him.
“Duncan, you said there was something else before you left?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Patrick cuts in, “He has bad news for you.”
Can the guy be even more infuriating than he already is? I’ve no idea what’s wrong with him, but slowly I’m starting to think it’s either personal or he grew up in a cave and has never heard of social skills.
I take a deep breath as I force myself to show no reaction. If I pretend he’s not here, maybe he’ll just see himself out. Or dissolve into thin air. Or both.
“Well?” I persist. “You started saying something about the house. What about it?”
Duncan’s gaze flicks over to Patrick, and he clears his throat. “Unfortunately, he’s right. I have some bad news for you.”
“Told you,” Patrick says.
My brows shoot up as I choose to ignore his remark. “That being?”
“It’s right here, love,” Patrick says, drawing my attention back to him. “It’s literally staring you in the face. You only have to look.”
I heave an exasperated sigh as I lift my gaze and narrow my eyes on him. “What is it with you and your inability to mind your own business? As I’m sure you can see, I’m trying to have a private conversation with my lawyer.”
Ignoring my remark, he inclines his head, and shoots me something like a triumphant smirk. “What your lawyer’s been building up the courage to tell you is that you have a huge problem on your hands.”
I shake my head, unsure where the hell he’s heading. “And what is that? Vermin? Mold in the walls? Care to be more specific?”
“Me,” Patrick says coolly.
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in touch,” Duncan mutters. “It was nice meeting you, Lori.” The door opens and closes with a soft thud. I can sense Patrick and I are alone, but my mind can’t quite comprehend it because the huge house is suddenly too small for the both of us and I’m having trouble sucking air into my lungs.
“You,” I say, “as in, you’re my problem?”
“I believe those were my words,” he says with a smirk. “Do you need me to explain them to you? I’m not going anywhere .”
I blink as I try to make sense of what he’s telling me.
A disgruntled employee who doesn’t want to leave the premises?
That should be interesting.
“You’re going to be a huge problem, huh? We’ll see about that, pal.” I take out my phone and before he knows what’s happening I’ve taken a picture of him. And then another, just in case.
He frowns. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking a picture for the police records. As far as I remember, I fired you this morning, yet you’re still here.” I raise my chin, ready to stare him down if need be. Just because I’m the new boss, he can’t test my boundaries. He can’t be a jerk and get away with it.
“You still think I’m your employee?” His eyes glitter with challenge. “My name is Patrick Walsh. I’m the rightful owner of this house, and your hot arse is trespassing.”
I stare at him in disbelief, unsure whether to be flattered or offended that he called my ass hot. And then my brain finally connects the dots.
Patrick Walsh.
The rightful owner.
But how is that possible if the late Ms. Walsh left everything to me, unless?—
“You’re related to Roisin Walsh?”
He nods with that arrogant smirk of his firmly in place. “Her son, to be precise.”
“Did she disown you?” I whisper. “Oh, my goodness.”
His eyes narrow on me, and invisible daggers begin to fly through the air. “No, my mother didn’t disown me. She left me most of the money. Apparently it’s this house she didn’t want me to have.” He hesitates, as though there’s more to it than he’s letting on, then shakes his head grimly. “She made a mistake. There’s no other explanation for it.”
There must have been a family feud, some unresolved issue standing between them. Or why else would she not have wanted him to have the house?
“I suggest you don’t bother unpacking because it’s going to be a short stay for you,” Patrick says.
For a moment I consider doing exactly as he says but then I remember his mother wanted me to have her house. Whatever her reasons it was her wish.
“Too late,” I say. “I already unpacked, and I don’t intend to make use of my suitcase for a while.”
“You can have it the easy way, or you can have it the hard way. Which is it going to be, love?” He comes closer until our faces almost touch. I know this is supposed to be threatening but all I can think about is his hot breath on my lips and that I could close the distance in the fragment of a second.
Suddenly all I want is for him to kiss me. Slow. Fast. Any way would work for me as long as I get to taste him.
“I’ll take the hard way,” I mutter, angry with myself for mentally throwing myself at the guy. This is so not like me, and yet here I am, a melted heap of hormones at the feet of this man.
“Hard it is,” Patrick says. “Hold on tight. It’s going to be a bumpy ride for you.” With that, he turns and heads down the foyer. My gaze travels from his broad shoulders down his back, settling on the way his jeans seem to hang low on his narrow hips.
Damn! He looks so freaking good from behind.
“I like it bumpy, too. Bring it on, dude,” I mumble but he’s already slammed the door behind him, which is good. I wouldn’t want him to hear my ragged breathing.