Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
T he next morning greets me with another bout of heavy, dark clouds and the kind of stormy wind that could give a baby hurricane a run for its money. Pushing the comfortable sheets aside, I throw a hesitant glance out of the window and quibble with myself about whether Sinead’s job is worth drowning on my way to work.
Then I remember it’s Saturday. No work for me today. I’m also supposed to meet her at the pub, but that’s hours from now. I’ve already checked out most of the house and the bad weather doesn’t invite long strolls outside.
For the first time since my arrival, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m about to switch on my tablet and check whether there’s anything about the Walsh estate (obviously, I’m not interested in looking up Patrick’s yearbook or anything! Maybe I’ll just have a peek if I so happen to come across it.) when there’s a knock on my door.
No need to ask who it is. Only two people live in this house, and one of them seems to be making a habit out of camping outside my bedroom door.
Not literally, of course.
“I’m not decent,” I yell, even though the sheets cover every inch of bare skin on my body. My concern is the mess of hair on my head and the fact that I’m not a pretty sight on the best of mornings. Most days I’m glad the mirror can’t talk and tsk in disapproval because of the blotchy skin and dark shadows under my eyes.
“I wasn’t planning on coming in,” Patrick yells back. “There’s a parcel for you. Apparently I’ve turned into the mailman now.”
In spite of us being still on bad turns, I find myself smiling. He does have a sense of humor, I’ll give him that. That doesn’t make him less insufferable though.
“Just leave it there.”
An instant later, something lands on the ground with a thud, but there are no sounds resembling receding footsteps. I hold my breath, waiting for him to depart.
Why the heck is he hovering by my door?
“Anything else?” I prompt. “Are you waiting for a tip?”
“I’m reminiscing, memorizing the décor and all. I won’t be seeing it in a while.” I can’t tell whether he’s joking or not, and I don’t get to ask because he’s already halfway down the hall, the sound of his heavy footwear reverberating in the silence.
He must be wearing boots.
With the storm wreaking havoc outside, they’re probably the sensible choice of footwear, but I can’t believe he’s wearing them inside the house, probably spreading caked mud all over the polished floors. I make a mental note to talk to him about that…right after I deal with the parcel.
I jump out of the bed and open the door a few inches, staring left and right to make sure the enemy, aka Patrick, is nowhere to be seen. But just to be on the safe side, I squeeze my leg through the opening and use my toes to pull the parcel through the gap.
It’s heavier than the previous ones so it can’t be lingerie or rose petals. The next step might be sex toys. I definitely draw the line at that.
I open the lid and stare at the most gorgeous pair of high-heels I’ve ever seen. They’re black with a thin strap encrusted with tiny rhinestones holding them in place around the ankles, and so high I get dizzy just looking at them. They look so darn expensive, I don’t even need to check the designer label to know they could easily cover my rent for a month back home.
They’re the kind of shoes you wouldn’t walk around in doing your grocery shopping. The kind you don’t buy for yourself; you let a guy with a lot of money buy them for you and then let him watch you wearing them in the bedroom, right before you wrap your thighs around his hips.
Needless to say, I’ve never owned anything resembling fuck-me heels, let alone walk in them. I’m about to put the lid back on when I spy the little note almost lost amidst a mountain of delicate tissue paper. The message is written in silver fonts on a shimmering white background and reads:
Wear them tonight.
As with the other packages, there is no sender details, but I can already guess who my admirer is. Only two people know of my plans for the night. One of them is Sinead and I doubt she would ask me to wear high heels for her.
That leaves Duncan.
I take a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. I should have let the guy off the hook rather than keep silent in the hope he’d sense my lack of interest in any kind of romantic entanglements. Now it’s too late.
They’re just a pair of really beautiful shoes.
I peer at the gift again, unsure what to do. I can’t just meet him downstairs and toss the box into his outstretched hand without turning the evening and probably the rest of our business relationship into one awkward mess. I can’t pretend this isn’t happening either.
Damn it, Lori. They’re just shoes!
I can basically hear Mia’s voice whispering in my ear, and it doesn’t take a magic ball to prophesy what she’d advise me to do.
She’s a bad influence, even hundreds of miles away. My hand shakes slightly as I lift one shoe to admire the designer’s work.
They are gorgeous and would go well with anything, from a little black dress to a tight pair of jeans and an over-the-shoulder top. They would probably make the jeans look like a million bucks.
Live a little , Mia would say.
I groan and mutter, “Fine. But only a little, and only because I’m in the middle of nowhere. No one knows me and I’ll be soon gone anyway. They probably don’t even fit me.”