Chapter Three #2
I rolled onto my back, phone pressed to my ear, and surveyed the room. “It’s less a mansion, more a historical reenactment with better plumbing. I have a balcony. There’s a painting of a wolf staring into a canyon over my bed.”
Peggy cackled. “Sounds like a cult. Are you allowed outside, or is it all work, work, work?”
“I got the grand tour. There’s a rose garden, a library that could eat the New York Public, and the head chef tried to peer-pressure me into drinking black coffee like a lumberjack. Oh, and there are actual wolf gargoyles.”
“So you’re in a gothic novel,” Gram said, with the satisfied tone of someone who’d spent seventy-two years wishing real life had more drama. “Any dashing young heirs lurking about?”
She didn’t even try to be subtle. I felt my face go hot, as if the sheets had turned to liquid magma. “Maybe. He’s more dash than dashing, if you know what I mean. Also, not young.”
“You like him.” She sounded proud of herself, as if she’d scored a point in some invisible tennis match.
“I do not. He’s… he’s a robot.” But not when he was staring down my blouse. “He makes Elon Musk look like a golden retriever.” My voice dropped, betraying me. “And he’s sort of…intense.”
“Uh-huh,” Gram said, drawing it out like she was savoring a particularly juicy piece of gossip. “You always did have a thing for the broken ones.”
I covered my eyes, mortified. “Please. No psychoanalysis. I’m in full-on survival mode here. Just keeping my job until I pay off enough loans to maybe afford my own rent someday.”
“That’s my girl,” Gram said. “Don’t let the handsome ones make you stupid.”
“He’s not handsome,” I lied. “He’s just…” I fumbled for a word and came up empty, because any word I picked would be proof of something I was trying to deny. “Anyway. How are you? Did the new rice cooker explode yet?”
She launched into a twenty-minute monologue about her new rice cooker.
“The directions were in Japanese and French, so I improvised”, her swim class, “The lifeguard thinks I’m a danger to myself, he’s not wrong”, and a recent doctor’s appointment.
“He said I’m not dead, so I bought a lottery ticket.
” Every sentence was punctuated with a dig at her kids, her neighbors, or her own memory lapses.
With each minute, the tension in my body unraveled. I sat up, wandered to the window, and watched the gardeners chase the corgi again. It was like living in a sitcom written by a team of very tired, very sarcastic comedy writers.
“So, what’s the plan, kid?” Gram asked, once her stories ran out. “Gonna make the billionaire fall in love with you and sign over the estate?”
I snorted. “I’m aiming for ‘not fired by Monday’ and maybe a decent line on my resume. Everything else is fantasy. Even the decent line might be too much.”
“That’s how it starts,” she said. “One minute you’re managing his calendar, next thing you know you’re starring in a sex tape. Don’t forget to moisturize.”
“Oh my god, Gram.”
“What? It’s the modern world. I read things. Is the food good, at least?”
“Stupid good. The chef is terrifying, but she made me eat brie and I didn’t even pretend to hate it.”
“You’re living the dream. Don’t screw it up.”
“I’ll try,” I said, and meant it. “Thanks, Gram. I’ll call soon, okay?”
“You better. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up, dropped the phone onto the bed, and let the quiet fill in around me. The lavender scent seemed richer now, as if it had been waiting for me to relax enough to notice. I curled onto my side and hugged a pillow, the way I used to when I was little, hiding from bad dreams or thunderstorms.
For a minute, I pretended that the pounding in my chest was just from caffeine, not the way Gareth’s eyes had made my pulse trip over itself. I told myself it was all in my head, that I’d get used to the mansion and the staff and even the boss.
But as I sank into the bed, I knew the truth. There was no getting used to it. There was just bracing for impact, hoping you didn’t shatter on the way down.
The next morning, I tiptoed through the house like a cartoon villain.
I told myself I was just exploring, not snooping.
The mansion was a maze, and even after two tours, I’d mapped maybe half the ground floor.
There was a room off-limits, and the rumor was that Gareth only unlocked it for “special occasions.” If you ever wanted to see a billionaire’s heart, you had to find the one place or prize they never let anyone touch.
I padded into the ballroom, nearly silent, and let the door ease shut behind me.
The air smelled like roses and something I couldn’t place.
For a second, I tried to picture what the place looked like in motion; couples swirling, music pulsing, champagne bubbling over the rim of crystal flutes.
In the right light, it would have felt like a portal to another century.
Curious, I crossed to the far wall, ran my fingers along the molding, and traced the outline of a carved wolf’s head. It was so detailed, I half expected it to blink.
“I’ve never seen anyone actually stand still in here.”
I spun, nearly leaping out of my skin. Leo Martin stood in the doorway, arms folded, a smudge of dirt across one cheekbone. He grinned, easy, and walked in as if the place belonged to him.
“You scared me,” I said, trying to slow my heart.
“Sorry. I always forget how sound carries in here.” He crossed to me, quick and confident, and for a moment I wondered if he’d spent half his life on this estate, cataloguing every creak and echo.
“It’s the dome,” he said, nodding upward.
“All the sound bounces off the marble. If you clap, you get reverb for days.”
I clapped, just to test it. The echo was instant, a perfect, fading repeat of the sound. “Neat,” I said, and meant it.
Leo smiled, eyes twinkling. “You should try dancing. It’s the best way to test the acoustics.”
I snorted. “I don’t dance.”
“Everyone can dance,” he said, taking a step closer. “Some just haven’t found the right rhythm. Or the right partner.”
I tried to laugh, but my throat was dry. “You sound like a motivational poster.” Why did he make me so uneasy?
He shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe. But you never know what you’re capable of until you try.”
There was something about the way he looked at me, open and a little bit wild, like the world was a dare. I found myself standing up straighter, trying not to let him see how unsteady I felt.
He offered his hand. “Just one spin around the floor?”
I looked at his palm, then at the door. “I really can’t dance, sorry.”
“Just give it a try.” His hand stayed out, patient, as if time had frozen for both of us.
I didn’t want to, but the no drama clause in the NDA had me unsure if this counted. But something in his expression, a flicker of calculation, a hint of challenge, made me hesitate.
“I’m serious,” I said, forcing a smile. “I can’t dance, and I have two weeks to plan the most impossible party of my life. If I get caught dancing on the clock, Gareth will turn me into a soufflé.”
He let his hand drop, but didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be working so hard. You deserve a little fun. And don’t call him Gareth, he doesn’t like it.”
There it was. The switch. Flattery, laced with just enough bite to see if I’d flinch.
I smiled, even though I didn’t feel it. “I’m not here for fun, Leo. I’m here to do a job.”
“Even the boss takes breaks, you know.” He tilted his head, searching my face. “You don’t have to be afraid of him.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
He watched me a second longer, then nodded, accepting my boundary. “Alright. But if you ever change your mind-” He flicked an imaginary hat brim, “-you know where to find me.”
He left with a swagger that was probably effortless, but looked practiced. The room was quieter without him, but the energy he left behind buzzed in my veins, like wasps angry that their nest had been destroyed.
I let out a breath, then crossed to the mirrors to check my reflection. Still me, still pink-cheeked and wild-haired, but my eyes looked…brighter? Or maybe just less lost. I squared my shoulders and decided to keep exploring, hoping Leo and I wouldn’t cross paths again.
The main staircase was a mile wide, every step shining and just a little too tall for comfort. I was halfway up, thoughts already darting ahead to the next item on my agenda, when my left foot simply failed to clear the riser.
The next second happened in slow motion; my foot didn’t quite clear the step and I fell forward, arms windmilling, ready to die in embarrassment.
But before I could hit the marble, something solid caught me. Hands, strong and warm, clamped around my ribs, stopping my fall so abruptly that the air left my lungs in a rush.
I knew the scent before I saw his face; cedar, a trace of aftershave, and something sharper, expensive cologne. Gareth Wolfe. Of course.
He set me upright, but his hands lingered just a second too long on my ribs, as if double-checking I was structurally sound.
“You alright?” His voice was lower, less chilly than usual, but still edged with impatience.
“Yeah. Sorry. Stairs are my nemesis,” I whispered, embarrassed and, if I was being honest, very aware of every inch of where he’d just touched me.
He looked me up and down, eyes flicking over my hair, my hands, my lips. “If you break your neck, the insurance paperwork will kill me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of making more work for you.”
He just studied me in response.
I was breathless. I couldn’t meet his gaze, so I stared at his wrists, at the way the veins stood out as he held onto me.
He noticed, of course. “You should get back to work.”
I nodded, but my feet didn’t move.
He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, then took the first step up past me. As he did, our shoulders brushed, barely a touch, but enough for a tingling heat to race through my body. I bit back a yelp. He just smirked, as if he’d expected it all along.
I waited until he was gone before exhaling. My pulse thudded in my ears, and the way his hands held my ribs lingered in my mind like a brand.
Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed and let my limbs tangle in the lavender sheets. My thoughts chased themselves in circles; Leo’s offer, Gareth’s touch, the impossible tension that was now less background noise and more main event.
I reminded myself that I was a professional. That I had a job to do. That I wasn’t going to throw away my future for a pair of blue eyes and a contractually-forbidden tryst.
But as I drifted toward sleep, the only thing I could feel was the echo of Gareth’s hands on my body, the memory of his smirk, and the certainty that I was in way, way over my head.