Chapter 3
Natasha
This entire thing is so surreal that I’m trembling as I wander around, looking for the dining room. I don’t want to be late. Mr. Hoffman told me dinner is at seven. I have no idea how strict he is about that or if I will always be expected to dine with him.
Part of me feels like I’m intruding on his life. Just because I’m staying in his home doesn’t mean he needs to cater to me. I’m sure he has better things to do than babysit me.
Even though I’m twenty-two years old, somehow I feel younger in his presence. He’s so sophisticated. Plus, he’s twice my age. He must think I’m a toddler. I feel like it, too, considering how awkward I feel around him. I’m shy and quiet under normal circumstances. This situation is anything but normal.
This whole mansion is overwhelming. There’s a butler and a cook. I saw a gardener outside my bedroom window while I was gaping at the size of the grounds and how immaculate the gardens are.
I hear voices and follow them, finally stepping into the dining room. I’m slightly breathless from rushing for the last few minutes. Mr. Hoffman is standing near what looks like a bar. He’s speaking to Albert, but he turns when he sees me and smiles. “You found us. I thought I might need to send out a search party. I should have given you better directions.”
“I’m so sorry. It did take me a while to locate the dining room.”
“No need to apologize, Little one.” He steps away from the bar and pulls out a chair.
I glance down at my outfit. I haven’t changed. For one thing, I didn’t have anything to change into that would be deemed appropriate. For another thing, I don’t have enough clothes to wear multiple outfits a day. “I probably should have…”
“Don’t you worry. We’re not formal around here,” Mr. Hoffman says as he pushes my chair in.
I glance at him and then Albert and lift a brow. “Are you sure?”
Both men chuckle.
Albert pours me a glass of water. “This is just how we are. You’re not required to dress a certain way, sweetheart. But we also want you to be comfortable. If you’d rather have some nice dinner dresses, I’m sure Delilah can pick some lovely things out for you.”
“Delilah?”
Mr. Hoffman takes his seat at the head of the table. “She’s the woman I was telling you about. She’ll be here in the morning to get your sizes. I hope that’s okay. Did you need to be on campus tomorrow?”
“No. It’s Saturday tomorrow. I need to go to the library at some point, but it’s not urgent. Plus, I think your library might have more books in it than the school,” I joke.
Mr. Hoffman laughs. “I have no doubt its overall value could be higher, but I bet I’m lacking some of the specific works you might need for school. You can place any requests you have through the online system. Albert can go pick them up for you.”
I’m shocked for the millionth time. “That won’t be necessary. I really don’t want you all to alter your lives for me. I’ll stay out of your way and get through this last semester. Hopefully, I’ll get accepted into the master’s program and secure a room on campus for the fall.”
“Then you’ll need a place to stay for the summer, too,” Mr. Hoffman points out.
I shake my head. “I promise not to stay that long. I’m looking for a job. As soon as I get something, I’ll save my paychecks so I can afford rent over the summer. I’ll be able to work a lot of hours before classes start and build up some savings.” That’s always been my plan. It would have been tight even before my building was condemned, but I would have made it work.
Mr. Hoffman frowns. “There’s no need to get a job this semester, Little one. That’s too much stress combined with your classes. You need to focus on school right now. Plus, you wouldn’t get enough sleep. You can stay here through the summer.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “I know you didn’t plan on having me under foot for that long, sir.” The thought of not working my ass off for the next seven or eight months is so appealing that I’m nearly salivating, but it’s not practical. I can’t rely on charity forever.
“Pshaw.” The word is ancient, but coming from Albert’s mouth, it fits. “You’re wasting your breath arguing, sweetheart. Accept Mr. Hoffman’s help and say thank you.”
I bite my bottom lip. I’m uncomfortable with this arrangement because I don’t want to take advantage. But it seems I’m the only one who feels like I’m taking advantage. Edith has joined us in the dining room, and now all three of them are staring at me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say to get them to drop this subject at least for now.
Albert speaks again. “Since you left your keys in the ignition in your car, I went to move it to the garage, but it was sputtering and smoke was coming out from under the hood. I’m surprised it even got you here.”
I wince and try not to groan. I suppose he’s going to say he took it to a repair shop next.
Albert clears his throat. “So, I took it to my mechanic. He’s going to look at it first thing on Monday morning.”
I almost laugh at how astute I am and how well I can read this man already, but then I realize I don’t have a way to get to school.
“Let me know your schedule, sweetheart. I’ll drive you and pick you up for now,” Albert announces.
Of course.
I lean back in my seat and draw in a deep breath. If I didn’t trust Professor Arnalt as much as I do, I would be panicking by now. These three strangers have taken care of everything and thought of every detail. Maybe I need to stop arguing and accept the fact that, for once in my life, my luck has turned.
I take several breaths in and out. My shoulders relax. Assuming I’m not dreaming and they are for real, a giant boulder has been lifted off my shoulders. “Thank you. All of you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Edith pats my shoulder. “You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, would you like milk with your dinner?”
I glance at her and nearly laugh. Milk? “No, ma’am. Thank you. Water is fine.” She didn’t offer me anything else, but that’s okay. I’m used to drinking water. I can’t afford soda or teas.
She brings out steaming plates next and sets them in front of me and Mr. Hoffman. I realize she and Albert aren’t going to eat with us. That makes me even more uncomfortable. I’m poorer than dirt. I don’t deserve a place at this table or this level of service.
The two of them quietly exit the room, heading for what I assume is the kitchen. I stare after them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mr. Hoffman says. “Trust me. I’ve done everything in my power to get them to sit at the table, but they’re old school and refuse. I have ensured they definitely eat the same thing Edith cooks for me, though, if it makes you feel better. I try to tell myself they enjoy dining without other people.”
I turn my attention back to Mr. Hoffman. “You normally eat in this fancy room alone?”
He shakes his head. “No. I normally eat in the kitchen at all kinds of odd hours.”
I gulp. “You’re eating in here, off this expensive china, because of me?” My voice squeaks.
“Yes, and I’m glad.” He reaches over and pats my hand. “Eat, Little one, before it gets cold.”
I’m still staring at him. He continues to stun me.
He sighs. “Natasha, the truth is I’ve been a hermit for a number of years. I go through the motions of life. I go to the office. I go to business dinners and meet with friends, but most of the time, this house is quiet and boring. I’m as excited as Albert and Edith to have someone young and alive join us. It will force me to sit down and have normal dinners again, like I did in this very room off this same ridiculous china as a kid.”
I sit taller, pick up my fork, and force myself to take a bite of carrots. I nearly moan around the flavor. I don’t think I’ve ever had cooked carrots, but they’re delicious. Whatever seasonings Edith uses makes my mouth water.
Mr. Hoffman points toward the pastry on my plate. “It’s Beef Wellington. Have you ever had it?”
“No, sir.” I pick up my knife, cut into the pastry, and find the most tender piece of beef inside. This time, I do moan as I chew and swallow. “Forget moving in the fall. I think I’ll stay here straight through graduate school,” I say before I can think to filter myself.
Nearly choking as I take a drink of water, I glance at Mr. Hoffman to find him grinning. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. We can revisit it when you’re no longer walking on eggshells, Little one.”
I wonder why he calls me Little one. It’s the oddest endearment. I know it’s an endearment based on his tone. Albert calls me sweetheart. Edith calls me sweetie. I feel oddly adored even though they all just met me.
We eat for a while in silence until I’m so stuffed I can’t take another bite. When I set my fork down, I find Mr. Hoffman watching me with that same pleased smile.
“That was delicious.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I’m sure Edith will go over the menus with you and make sure to cook meals you like.”
“I don’t even know what I might like,” I tell him. “I’ve never had anything that didn’t come from the freezer or a box.”
“Well, we’ll find out as we go then.”
“I feel like a spoiled princess. I can’t thank you enough.” I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out this was not real.
“Are you ready for dessert?” Edith asks as she bustles into the room.
“Oh. I’m stuffed.” I pat my stomach.
“I bet you’ll have room for a small slice of apple pie with ice cream,” she says.
I can’t believe my mouth waters at the thought. When was the last time I had apple pie? “A small slice. Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” She rushes around, clearing our plates and returning with huge plates of pie. Small was not in her vocabulary.
Mr. Hoffman chuckles as soon as we’re alone again. “Eat what you can, Natasha. She will overfeed you at every meal. Eat as much as you want, but don’t feel obligated to clear your plate.”
“Okay.” That’s going to be hard. I’m not accustomed to leaving food on my plate.
The pie is delicious, and I wash it down with water before leaning back about to pop.
“Tell me your normal routine, Little one,” Mr. Hoffman inquires. “What time do you usually go to bed and get up?”
“It varies. I usually work in the evenings, either waitressing or at fast food places. So, I often haven’t gone to bed before midnight. Sometimes, I still have homework to do.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. You don’t need a job anymore. No wonder there are dark circles under your eyes. I assume you’ve also been stressing about finding a place to live.”
“Yes,” I whisper, looking down.
He sits forward. “Take a breath, Little one. You’re in a safe place now. You’ll have a roof over your head and food in your stomach every day. You’ll start to feel more like yourself if you get on a better schedule. Ten o’clock is a much better bedtime. You can unwind and read for a while and then sleep eight hours.”
I bite into my bottom lip. It’s odd how he’s micromanaging me, but it feels good. I’ve never had a figure in my life who paid a bit of attention to whether or not I got enough sleep.
My foster parents were great, and they did the best they could, but they had a lot of kids in the house at all times. Most of my life, I shared a room with two or three girls. No one tucked me in very often or made sure I brushed my teeth or took a bath. I kind of managed on my own and made my own decisions. I was old for my age by the time I was six. I usually had to help take care of younger kids by that age, too. I fed the babies and helped put them to bed. No one helped put me to bed. I didn’t need them to. I was…old.
“Natasha…”
I lift my gaze at the sound of my name so soft from his lips. So kind. Caring. This man I just met today cares about me.
“Bedtime, ten o’clock. Got it?”
A warm feeling races through my body. “Yes, sir.” Something weird happens to me as I hold his gaze and agree to his edict. I’m twenty-two years old. Why do I get warm and fuzzy when this man I just met tells me what to do?
He’s staring at me with the most pleased expression. His eyes are alight. I’m not sure what I said to make him look at me like that, but it feels like something has shifted between us. All I did was agree to his bedtime rule.
“Can you email me a copy of your class schedule so I’ll know when you need to be at school? I’ll forward it to Albert so he’ll be prepared to leave each morning and know what time to pick you up.”
“Yes, sir. Hopefully, they can fix my car, and it won’t cost too much. I don’t want to burden Albert.”
“Albert is beside himself. He likes to be needed. He’s probably out in the garage now waxing the SUV for Monday morning,” Mr. Hoffman teases.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Now, you need to know, I’m a worrier. I hope I don’t smother you with my overprotectiveness. It’s in my DNA. You’re under my protection, which means I’ll always be concerned about your safety.”
I give him a small smile. “Like not letting me climb the ladder in the library.”
“Exactly. And outside of your class schedule, I’d like to know where you are so I don’t fret. I know you probably have class projects you work on with others, lunch dates, and times you need to be with an adviser or in the library doing research. Can you shoot me a text so I’ll know you’re safe?”
I nod. It’s the oddest request. I should probably be freaked out, but I remind myself this is Professor Arnalt’s oldest friend. He can’t be too weird. Professor Arnalt is someone I hold in extremely high regard.
“Words, Little one,” Mr. Hoffman encourages.
I’m confused for a moment before I realize I didn’t respond verbally. “Yes, sir. I’ll text you.”
“Good girl.” His smile broadens.
My stomach flips over. I squeeze my thighs together under the table. Wetness leaks into my panties. Good girl . I feel much younger than I am. He’s treating me like I’m far younger. Maybe he doesn’t remember what twenty-two was like. I am an adult.
“There are crazy people out there, Natasha. I want you to be safe, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How late do you need to be at school most nights?”
“I don’t usually need to be there past the afternoon. My last class on three days gets out at four. The other two days, it gets out at three. I usually go to the library to study because it’s quieter than the apartment I was living in, and more comfortable than…my car.” I whisper that last part.
“Well, no one will bother you when you’re studying at the house, Little one. You don’t have to study on campus if it’s not necessary. I don’t like the idea of you being there after dark anyway.”
This is Seattle. It gets dark at four-thirty. The thought of being in this warm house where three people care about me and intend to dote on me is far more appealing than the campus library. I won’t have to worry about where I’m going to find dinner. It won’t come from the library vending machine. It will be here, in this mansion, cooked for me by Edith. Every day.
“Can Albert pick you up at four most days, Natasha?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, until my car is fixed.” What if it’s too expensive to fix? I don’t have a lot of money saved up. Albert can’t intend to drive me to and from school for the entire semester.
“We’ll reevaluate after I hear from the mechanic,” Mr. Hoffman agrees. “Now, what about friends? Do you have girlfriends you go out with?”
“Not really. There are a few girls from my classes I’ve had lunch with sometimes. We study together when there’s an exam coming up. I don’t really party or anything. I can’t afford it, and I don’t have time. I’m usually working.”
“What about boys?”
He’s so invasive. So intense. He’s staring at me hard, brows furrowed. He says boys as if I’m in high school instead of college.
I flush and shake my head.
“You aren’t dating anyone?”
“No, sir,” I whisper. I’m pitiful.
His lips twitch. I think he’s pleased, which is odd. My entire body is on fire from sitting next to him. I’ve never in my life reacted to anyone as strongly as I do him. He’s like the hero from a romance novel. He covers about ten common tropes. I’ve studied them in my classes: age gap, dominant hero, billionaire, protector... Hell, if I consider my part in this strange saga, I could add instalove, forbidden love, younger heroine, love at first sight, submissive heroine, rags to riches, and probably a few more.
“Can you stick to a nine o’clock curfew for my sanity, Little one?”
I almost choke. He wants me to have a curfew? At nine o’clock? I don’t think most fourteen-year-olds have a nine o’clock curfew.
He looks so serious, though. I think he’s just out of touch with my age or overprotective—or both.
He’s controlling.
This arrangement has the potential to get out of hand if I let it. I’m torn as he waits for me to respond. On the one hand, I’m worried he will take over my life. He might. On the other hand, I’m kind of okay with that possibility.
What if I let this man, who is twice my age, control me? And where is he coming from? Is it a place of nurturing like a father figure? Or is he seeing me as a woman? He’s hard to read. I see both of those possibilities in his expression at the same time. It’s confusing.
I’m probably misreading him entirely. Surely, he’s neither lusting after me nor trying to replace the father I never had. I’m overthinking this. He’s just a man who’s got control issues and doesn’t want me to be in any unsafe situations. Lord knows there are a lot of unsafe situations in the world, especially in the dark and late at night. Even the campus gives me the heebie-jeebies sometimes when I’m walking to my car alone.
Mr. Hoffman has his elbows resting on the table. He’s been leaning toward me for a while. He finally lifts a hand and strokes a finger down my cheek. “I can practically see your mind working, Natasha. You have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. They’re whispering in your ears. Which one are you going to listen to, Little one?”
I can’t help but giggle. “I’ll be home by nine, sir.”
“Good girl.” He sits up, looking smug and pleased. “Was that the devil or the angel speaking?”
I shrug, almost laughing. “Let me keep at least one secret, Mr. Controlling.”
He chuckles. I’m relieved. I was afraid I might have gone too far. Apparently, he doesn’t mind. “Touché.” He glances at his watch. “It’s late. You’ve had a long day. You should get to bed.”
When we stand, Edith bustles into the room as if she were waiting for us to leave. She hurries over to clear the table.
I reach for my plate and glass. “I’ll help you clean up,” I say.
Edith shakes her head. “Not necessary, sweetie. I’ve got it.”
“I’m not used to being waited on. I can load a dishwasher or wash dishes by hand, you know.”
Mr. Hoffman chuckles again. “No sense arguing with her, Natasha.”
Edith grabs several plates and stacks them. “If Jameson finds out other people are better than me in the kitchen, I’ll lose my job.”
I roll my eyes. “That will never happen.” Somehow, I know this to be true. Mr. Hoffman is a good man who clearly takes excellent care of his staff and his freeloading houseguests.
“What time shall I serve breakfast?” she asks, glancing at Mr. Hoffman first and then me.
“Is eight okay, Natasha?” Mr. Hoffman asks.
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
Mr. Hoffman reaches for my elbow to guide me toward the exit. “We’ll take breakfast and lunch in the kitchen, Edith. No need to be formal.”
“Okay, sir. Have a good night. Sleep well, Natasha.”
As soon as we’re in the hallway out of earshot, I ask, “Do Edith and Albert live here?”
“Yes. They have a private apartment on the third floor. Most of it is their living quarters.”
That’s good to know. I won’t wander up there.
We climb the stairs in silence, and when we reach my room, Mr. Hoffman turns on the light for me and hesitates in the doorway. “Do you shower or bathe at night or in the morning?”
“Uh, in the morning, usually.” What a strange question.
Mr. Controlling. Is he going to tell me I’m doing it wrong and list the reasons I should shower at night instead?
“Do you have anything you need to do for school tonight?”
It’s a Friday, so I don’t have anything urgent. “No, sir. I’ll probably just unpack my things and read for a while.”
“Okay, don’t take too long. I can tell you haven’t slept enough in months, maybe longer.”
Am I that transparent? It’s never seemed like an issue before since most college students are in the same boat, walking around like zombies. If I don’t have to work or cook or clean, I’ll be the most well-rested student on campus.
He glances at his fancy, expensive watch. “It’s nine fifteen. Can you be in bed by ten? Lights out at eleven?”
I swallow. “Yes, sir.” I come so very close to saying yes, Mr. Controlling instead, but I’m not sure how well that’s going to go over indefinitely. He chuckled the first time. He might not continue to find it humorous.
“Good girl.” He beams. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come to me. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He pulls the door closed and disappears. His footsteps get quieter on the hardwood floors until another door opens and closes.
I don’t move for a long time as I process the many odd things he said in the last five minutes. He’s truly the bossiest man alive. He’s micromanaging me. Hell, he’s macro managing me. I probably should have told him to stop. Instead, I let him steamroll me.
What would happen if I stayed up past ten? Would he know? I shudder. Somehow, I suspect he would. And I’m certain he will look in the hall at eleven to make sure my light is off. Would he know if I were on my phone past that hour? It’s a tempting idea to find out, but on the other hand, I’m exhausted and have no interest in being awake past ten, let alone eleven.
I’m betting it will take me that long to get my mind to stop running through everything that has happened since I got here, though. It’s been a lot.