Chapter 22
RAINE
Iblink at Leo. “But the truck is coming tomorrow.”
“I understand, Miss Fischer. That must be frustrating.”
“It’s not your fault, Leo. I thought I had completed all of my work papers properly. My dad’s an attorney. And I always make sure I read everything thoroughly. I’m so sorry for making this mistake. And it has to be done tomorrow?”
“It was the only appointment I could get you.”
“Well, thank you for trying.” I sink into my desk chair. “I mean, thank you for getting the appointment for me at all. I really appreciate it.”
“Percy will be waiting for you at six a.m.”
“Oh . . . okay.”
“Again, I’m sorry you won’t be able to be here for the installation of the cabinets. But I will make sure they are done to your specifications.” He taps the folder with all the specs I gave him.
“I have it all taped out on the floor. I’ve moved everything out of the way, everything but a few large plywood boxes that I’m not ready to unpack yet. Do you think you could get a staff member or one of the gardeners to help me?”
“I will find someone to help you,” Leo says, looking back into the collection room. The blinds are down today, and I have minimal lights on. The bulbs in here are the wrong type, but I have the right ones on order. I didn’t even cringe when I ordered them—three hundred dollars a bulb.
“I’ll be ready out front at six, with all my paperwork. I feel horrible that Percy has to drive all the way there and back.”
“Percy doesn’t mind driving, Miss Fischer.
He says it relaxes him.” Leo gives me an honest smile.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a similar smile from my father.
It’s the way he says it . . . I believe him.
I might not believe in Percy’s existence, but I totally believe that imaginary Percy enjoys driving.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him. I’m ready to move the last bits whenever someone is available,” I say.
“You are doing a very good job, Miss Fischer.”
An odd noise comes from my chest. Like a cross between an ah and a purr. “Oh, uh. Well, thank you. I . . . The collection deserves my best work.”
“And it shows,” Leo says, picking up my empty tea tray.
I’m not going to lie. When Leo told me about needing to go to Zurich tomorrow, if I’d been wearing my smartwatch, it would have told me I was stressed.
But after a little chat with Leo, I’m calm.
I’ve got this. I’ve been prepping for the cabinet installation all week.
Still, I call the company and double-check that everything is set.
I’m putting my phone away when Evander and Roark come through the door.
“You’re the muscle?” I ask.
“You don’t think we can move some boxes?” There’s a twinkle in Evander’s eyes, and it hurts. There’s a pang in my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.
I don’t want him flirting with me. They’re my bosses, I suppose. I’ve heard others around the castle calling them “the gentlemen thunder.” It’s a weird title. But it seems like Kieren, Evander, and Roark are equals from the way the staff talks about them—the little I’ve overheard.
“Of course you can move the crates. I figured you all had more important things to do than help me.”
“Never, Duchess. I’m happy to help. Just point,” Roark says.
“Those I want as far back toward the windows as possible and out of the way. I’m having a track system installed so we can fit even more units in here.
With the crank on the side, it will move down, and then there are large panels for bigger artwork that will slide in and out.
I should be able to contain everything in here along the one wall. ”
“Sounds like you’ll have room for more, then.” Evander taps the top of the crate that I need moved first.
“More . . . cabinets? I’m pretty sure I’ve ordered the right amount.” Granted, there’s a few boxes I haven’t opened. Evander’s brow is furrowed. “Oh, you mean art . . . yes. If that’s what you want,” I say. It reminds me of the article I read at lunch the other day, about someone buying up Monets.
“If it’s what you think the collection needs.” Evander moves closer to me. There’s an aura of warmth surrounding him, a magnetism. I want to get closer.
I close my eyes. I should step away. He doesn’t know how to maintain physical space. I should hate it. I should hate him. But then, it was just a kiss. He didn’t ask me to play house with him. One kiss after something dramatic happened. It doesn’t mean anything.
I wonder how many times I’ve thought that in the last week? Twenty, thirty, fifty . . . His heat sinks into me, vibrating me at my core. Probably the same number of times I’ve looked at the picture of Roark or the picture that Wren found of the three of them at the charity event in Paris.
I don’t want to be attracted to him. I don’t want to be attracted to any of them. But it’s like I’m being pulled to them.
Build my resumé, soak in all the amazing art that’s in this room, and save enough money to finish my degree.
“All right!” I say louder than I need to.
“I don’t need to take up all your time. Let’s start with this one.
” I’m trying to keep the tremor out of my voice, but it’s not working.
The vibrato is somewhere between crying teenager and grandma.
“I have a cart to tip it onto.” I turn around to get it, but Roark and Evander are moving it like it’s a pizza box. “I guess you don’t need a cart.”
“I’m not actually holding anything,” Evander says, taking a step back.
Roark sets it down by the windows.
“That’s light for you?”
“Where do you want this one?” Evander’s holding the other one, just as big. “Down there? It will give the installers more room to work.” He jerks his head to the side, down the great hall to the end of the room.
“That would be great. I figured we weren’t going to be moving them far. But this is better.”
“I can move this one, too, Duchess.” Roark hugs the plywood crate to his chest and follows Evander.
“Sure, great.”
With the last box moved, they’re both staring at me in that awkward I-don’t-want-to-go-but-I-don’t-know-what-to-say way—yet I don’t want to leave.
Evander turns, looking at the space. “You’ve done a lot in a week.”
“Thanks. This is the part where it looks like progress is going to be made quickly. After things are in cabinets, that’s when the real work begins.”
“You hung a painting up by your desk.” Roark has his arms crossed over his chest, his feet shoulder-width apart, glaring at the painting with the little mushrooms on it. “Why this one? Out of all the ones in the collection?”
“It speaks to me, something about it. I know it’s quirky, like one of those artists that paints over paintings they find in the thrift store.”
Roark furrows his forehead.
Evander’s lips are twisted to the side. “I don’t have a clue what that means.”
“Oh, some artists, for fun, will take a painting they find at a . . . charity shop and paint a lighthearted scene over it. Like adding a spaceship and people with light sabers to a forest landscape. These mushrooms are original to the painting, but it’s fun.
You know, whimsical. And there’s something about the mountains.
Look at the depth. Lord knows I’m not a hiker, but they call to me.
I want to walk along the little trails the artist has put in.
It’s just given me a good feeling. A feeling of home. I can’t explain it.”
“I think you’ve done a pretty good job,” Evander says. “Have dinner with us tonight.”
“I . . . I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“The rumor is that you’re not eating dinner. You don’t have to be afraid, Kitten. It’s just dinner. Kieren’s not around tonight, anyway.”
I cock my head at being called Kitten. “I’m not afraid.”
Evander’s face softens in apology. “Okay, I didn’t mean to imply that you are. But have dinner with us,” he says.
“Please,” Roark adds.
When a giant tatted man says please like a little boy . . . how can I say no?