Chapter 3
RAINE
Itake two steps in and turn back to Leo.
“This is my room? I mean . . . I’m not a guest. I’m staff.
Are you sure?” The room’s quite a contrast to the rest of the hallway.
It’s bright; four sets of floor-to-ceiling windows are covered by gauzy curtains.
A large bed with a light wood headboard rises all the way to the fourteen-foot ceiling.
A crystal chandelier sparkles from a ray of sunlight poking through the clouds.
“You must have taken— You’re sure?” I ask again.
“Very much.” He inclines his head and strolls across the room. “Here is your en suite bathroom. Those doors are the wardrobe and linen closet.”
I’m scurrying behind him. The bathroom is the same size as the living room and kitchen I shared with seven people in New York City.
Granted, they were never all there at once.
I shared the primary bedroom with Harper and Wren, while the other bedroom had two bunk beds squeezed into a space meant for one.
Even after nine months in the city, there was one girl I’d only met a handful of times and another I’d never met at all.
In college, I always had a roommate, and growing up, I shared a room with my sister.
If I post pictures of this bathroom, it will be on a million inspiration boards within an hour. A giant shower, marble and glass, blends remarkably well with a claw-foot tub.
Leo crosses the room, opening a cream panel that turns into a door. “Here is your upstairs office. I wouldn’t imagine you’ll be bringing any of the collection up here. But I suppose that’s up to you.”
“I . . .” It’s up to me. What the hell, why not? Dream bedroom. Dream job. I can put up with a cranky boss. Maybe he’s not even that cranky . . . It did appear I was hiding my drowned raccoon self. “That would be lovely, Leo. Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up.” He gives me a bow and pulls the door shut.
I want to pinch myself. Instead, I pull my phone out to text Wren.
But she’ll be going through customs. I decide to do it anyway, ignore a message from another roommate, and stop typing when Jeff, my ex’s name, pops up.
He’s not my boyfriend. Oh, that’s not true.
I thought he was my boyfriend. But then, he thinks he’s a lot of people’s boyfriend.
I should block him. I’m not going to be in the city for a long time. I even told him. There’s no reason for him to be messaging me, anyway.
I leave him unread and put my phone on the nightstand.
I don’t know why I’m surprised to see a charging station next to the bed.
This place is a mixture of history and luxury.
I run my fingertips over the silk bedspread.
It reminds me of an elite hotel. A few months back, Wren used her rewards points to get us a room in a fancy hotel in Soho.
We went out drinking and collapsed onto the bed, giggling.
But the thing I loved the most was the signature scent.
This room has the same thing, not overpowering like the perfume of an old lady in a doctor’s waiting room.
Clean, breezy, like I want to snuggle into the bed and never get up kind of scent.
The loveliness of the room makes my wet, gross clothes and hair even worse.
I head into the bathroom and drop them on the floor, but then I pick them up and drape them over the tub.
Leo said there were toiletries in here, but there’s nothing in the shower.
The linen closet, however, proves to be a jackpot of goods.
Who would have thought to open a door and find supplies?
I open a bottle of French shampoo that smells divine.
My arms are loaded down with soap and towels, and I place them on the counter, then glance around.
For a room that appears guest-ready . . .
why weren’t there towels on the towel rod?
My lips shoot sideways. It’s something I do when I’m deep in thought. It’s mine—at least for now.
The storm outside the long window in the bathroom appears to have slowed. And I’ve scrubbed the raccoon off my face. Do I now look like a fourteen-year-old boy? Possibly, but I can fix that when Percy brings my bags up.
Water off, there’s a noise out in the main bedroom.
“Perfect timing. Thank you. I’ll be right out.
” My hair’s wrapped in a towel, another around my body.
I pull open the wardrobe in the bathroom.
But it’s not what I expected. It’s not a little closet with a robe and a pair of complimentary slippers.
It’s full of light blue clothing. I tense up because it really doesn’t feel like I should be in this room now.
The clothes are lovely, although it’s a little weird that they’re all the same color.
It’s more than weird. And it sets off an inkling of panic.
Even odder, all the clothes appear brand new.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” My mother’s voice echoes in my head. “Are you sure they only want you to catalog their art?” I shake her away.
Toward the back of the clothes, I find a robe. The tag’s in German, a label I don’t recognize, but then I’ve never bought clothes in Switzerland before. And I’m certainly not planning on it now. Most of the clothes I have are thrifted or gifted. My favorite kind.
I’ve been on my own for a bit. And that’s hard enough in the city when you have a job that pays decently.
Because I wanted to docent at art museums for free, my hours for a real job were limited.
Hence how I became a house manager at a crash pad for my sister and her flight attendant friends.
I pay next to nothing in rent. My barista salary doesn’t leave much for clothes, though.
I hang the towel up and tighten the belt on my robe. It’s nice. Larger than usual sleeves, but not as big as divas, and no ostrich feathers either. Though, light blue feathers would be lovely. I laugh.
I’m tightening the cord when I catch myself in the mirror.
There on the collar is a mushroom. Not the kind you get on pizza but the type that’s normally red with little white dots.
This one is embroidered in all white with the dots raised.
It’s adorable. So adorable it matches the tattoo on my upper thigh.
There’s another noise out in the main room. Hmmm. I would have thought that Percy, the driver and I’m guessing handyman, would have left my luggage in the room and not hung around.
I inch the door open. “Percy?” I ask.
There’s a man sitting on the end of my bed.
His brown eyes flash at mine. He’s wearing charcoal gray suit pants, the top two buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, and his sleeves are rolled up.
On the side of his right arm, there is a dark tattoo that shoots part of the way to his wrist. A wing?
Maybe, but not a bird’s. I’ve got a weird thing for attractive arms. I divert my attention before he realizes I’m staring.
“I’m not Percy.” He crosses his arms over his chest, covering his forearms.
Too late. I’ve been caught. “You’re sitting on my bed.”
“Your bed. Interesting.” His amber brown eyes stare me down.
“I mean the bed in the room Leo assigned to me. While I’m here.”
“You mean Leopold.”
“Well, I call him Leo.”
“Do you now?”
My chest inflates and deflates. I’m escalating the situation, and I need to stop it. It’s suddenly become really warm in here. Too warm.
“It didn’t end well for the last person who called him Leo.”
I nod. Because Leopold—Leo—seems like the kind of man to tell me that for himself. “Well, let’s start over. I’m Raine Fischer. I’m the new curator for the collection at Cloud Rift.” I hold my hand out, but he doesn’t take it, so I drop it. “And you are?”
“Evander Slate. I live here.”
“As in this room?”
He laughs. “No, you won’t find me in here again.”
I give him a polite smile.
“I’m hurt, Raine. You’re relieved that I won’t be in your bedchamber again.”
“I’m here for a job. That’s all. I love art, and from the way the collection was described to me, I’m going to enjoy my job very much.” If the art is anything like the mosaic or the tapestries, I may never get over the next six months of my life.
Evander humphs. “You’ve signed the NDA?”
“I signed a lot of papers but no NDA—I would remember that. But it won’t be a problem.
” I took several classes in school about being a private curator.
Owners don’t want it known what they have in their collection.
Some because they’re afraid their collection will be stolen, others that their collection will be seen as not good enough.
“I would never tell anyone anything about a collection without the owner’s consent. But I’m more than willing to sign.”
“Collection,” Evander says, like I’ve said something off. “Yes, yes, the collection. Cloud Rift’s collection is quite impressive. Never complete.”
“Yes, it’s nice to keep things in focus. Selling off pieces that don’t fit or aren’t cherished anymore.”
Evander laughs. “Selling? Right, well . . . I suppose you’re set on staying.” He stands, and he’s even taller than the shirtless grump. He’s got a presence about him. It’s dangerous. I can only imagine what the girls back in the apartment would say if I showed them a picture.
“I . . .” Fake it until you make it. Right. “I’m the right person for the job. I will not fail Cloud Rift. I mean, the Cloud Rift collection.”
Evander’s face turns to the side, but I catch the smirk before I’m looking at the back of his head. “See that you don’t.” He walks to the door. And my stomach goes out from under me.
“Wait, Mr. Slate. I will sign the NDA, but I need you to know that I have sent some pictures to my sister. One of the outside turrets, and others of the entryway. Part of the mosaic, not the whole thing, only a small part by my feet.” I get my phone and show him the shots I took.
There’s a quizzical wince on his face, but it vanishes quickly.
“I see. Well, thank you for telling me. The one outside, of course, is fine. Anyone flying overhead or coming up the drive could see it. But this one . . . ? It’s also fine.
The parameters of the NDA are laid out clearly.
Be sure to read it thoroughly. Leo says dinner is ready and to make your way downstairs to the dining room.
” He nods and slips out the door before I can get out my questions.
Does he know where Percy is? Or where the dining room is?