Chapter Seven – Rose
ROSE
Duking It Out
I n general, finding somewhere where my canary yellow van didn’t look out of place was extraordinarily difficult. After all, it wasn’t every day that you saw such a bright vehicle roaming around, and yellow was a tough colour to pull off.
Sunflowers? Nailed it. Lemons? Smashed it. Highlighters? Bit dodgy, but in general they were all right.
Little baby cars like the Fiat 500 or a Volkswagen Beetle? Cute as heck.
Big arse Ford Transit van named Ramona with a wonky rear brake light and a classic nineties Troll doll hanging from the rearview mirror? An absolute fucking eyesore, if I was honest.
But hey—this eyesore got me business. Who wouldn’t stop and gawk at such a monstrous vehicle on the road?
More to the point, Ramona was somewhat of a local icon, and everyone knew it was me inside.
Word-of-mouth was my bread and butter and had been for Lawn and Order since Gramps had formed the company.
So, nothing delighted me more than sitting in this slightly miserable looking van while it was parked outside of the grandest house in an eighty-mile radius.
That’s right.
My arse was plonked outside Hanbury House as I waited for my meeting with His Not-So-Grace.
I didn’t give a shit what his official style was.
His Grace, my left tit.
Nobody with any grace would walk into the village his estate oversaw and immediately seek to sell the heart of it. Although it made sense, given that he didn’t appear to have a heart of his own.
Perhaps I was slightly jaded by the late duke’s portrayal of his son and grandson. We were hardly close enough to share titbits about our lives, much less engage in personal discussions, but I knew exactly how he felt about his successors.
At least until his son had died. Then he’d refrained from even speaking about him at all, but Oliver hadn’t received the same treatment.
If anything, he’d been even harsher on him.
All because their values didn’t align. The old duke was a bit of a fossil—he didn’t want the estate to change in any way, and since adapting to the times was Oliver’s ultimate goal, they’d butted heads on more than one occasion.
I’d always kept a neutral position on things. It wasn’t my place to offer a comment on their familial relationships—or lack thereof—but right now, I found myself doing the impossible.
Agreeing with that curmudgeon who’d popped his clogs and left me to deal with his grandson.
That gnarly old bastard. I knew he’d haunt me one day.
Of all his complaints about Oliver, he’d never once mentioned that he sought to sell the land the allotments were situated on.
Rupert Hanbury was many things, but above all, he was an ardent supporter of community and the outdoors.
He would never, ever stand for the allotments being sold to someone else for housing.
Which was why I wanted to march on down to the cemetery and kick his headstone for not warning me about this potential development.
I bet he’d done it deliberately, the snide old git. He was probably up in the clouds right now with a whiskey in one hand, pointing at me as he laughed hysterically, just like that bloody Leo DiCaprio meme.
I sighed.
My time was up.
I had to leave now.
Ugh .
It was never comfortable to accidentally run into someone you’d slept with, but this wasn’t just going to be a nightmare.
Constantly having to face Oliver would probably breed a new sleep paralysis demon.
I grabbed my bag and hopped out of the van. It was fine. I could do this. I was a professional, and I was here in my capacity as chairman , thank you very much.
Did it really matter if I’d seen the man naked? Or that he’d seen me naked? Or that more than one part of his body had been inside me at one point?
No.
No, it did not.
Ha.
Ha…
All right.
It totally did. It mattered. It wasn’t as though I could walk in here and forget the time we’d spent together. I was only human, after all, and I was a thirsty one at that.
And boy, oh boy, Oliver de Havilland was a tall glass of ice water if ever there was one.
Shame he was a life-ruining bastard.
I got out of the van and walked up to the huge front doors. If I were the type to be intimidated by anything, these doors might just do it.
Fortunately, the only thing that’d ever intimidated me was my mother.
I rapped the brass knocker and pinged the doorbell a couple of times for good measure. There was always someone standing nearby to open the door, but that was my calling card, so all the household staff would know it was me.
You know, because the bright yellow van wasn’t enough of an announcement.
The hinges creaked as the door opened, and Bruce glared at me through the little gap. “State your name and business.”
“The Grim Reaper, here to haunt your master,” I replied. “I left my scythe in the van for security reasons.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nobody who goes by the name ‘Grim Reaper’ on the appointment list for today.”
I sniffed. “This isn’t very professional of you, old man. Don’t you know who I am?”
Bruce sighed and stepped back, pulling the door open properly. “Please come in, Miss Matthews. His Grace is waiting in his office for you.”
“That’s more like the treatment I expect. Good job, Bruce.”
“I get chills every time I have to be nice to you, child,” he replied dryly. “Follow me. I’ll take you there.”
“Why? I know where I’m going.”
He shook his head. “The duke has selected another room to use as his office for the time being. You’ve not been there before, so stop arguing and do as you’re told.”
I huffed as I trudged along after him, clutching my file to my chest. “Of course he has. I bet he’s chosen a room I’ve never been in just to throw me off kilter.”
“This may come as a grand surprise to you, Rose, but not everyone is out to get you.”
“Mm, I have years of school bullying that says otherwise.”
“Weren’t you the school bully?”
“If finishing fights makes me a bully, then sure.” I shrugged. “I never threw the first punch, though.”
My mother taught me many things, one of which being the words I’ve lived my life by until now: you don’t start fights, you finish them.
Now, did I have a history of provoking arseholes into throwing the first punch?
Maybe.
I’d never tell.
A girl had to keep some secrets.
It was a part of my feminine charms. Since I didn’t have many of those, I had to work hard on the limited few I was in possession of.
“I remember there being far more victims of your punches than you being punched,” Bruce said.
“That’s because my daddy taught me how to dodge and then break someone’s nose in one hit.” I grinned. “It’s not my fault if the other kids couldn’t hit hard.”
“You’re so hard to argue against. A trait from your mother.”
I fought back a laugh. He was indeed correct—my mother had the gift of being able to verbally demolish anyone who crossed her path. She’d really missed her calling as a politician, to be honest.
There was nobody who could bullshit quite like her.
A fact I knew because I was an adult who, sadly, had to pay attention to the self-serving pricks in politics every now and again. My mother put even those rats to shame, and that was truly saying something.
Bruce sighed and knocked on the door in front of us.
“Yes?” Oliver’s voice echoed from inside.
Bruce pushed the door open and poked his head through the gap. “Your Grace, I have Rose Matthews here for your meeting.”
“Ah, let her in. Would you bring us two cups of tea?”
I poked Bruce’s arm. “Do not bring me tea.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, stepping to the side and holding the door open. “I know how you feel about tea, Rose.”
I nodded my head. “The only good tea is lemon iced tea.”
“With vodka in it.” He finished, then sighed again. “I think I have a headache.”
He could join the club.
I had a headache just from being here.
My aristocracy allergy was kicking in, clearly.
“Go on in,” Bruce said. “I’ll be back shortly with your drinks.”
I shuffled past him into the office and glanced around, pausing when I saw Oliver sitting behind his desk, wearing glasses and a light blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his forearms off like a dirty little slut. “Huh.”
Oliver peered over at me. “What?”
Aside from the fact he was irritatingly handsome in glasses… “Nothing,” I replied. “Thank you for making the time to see me.”
“Mm. No need to pretend to be thankful, Miss Matthews. You knew exactly how to get me to make the time.”
I cleared my throat and glanced away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Suit yourself.” He committed the cardinal sin of pulling off his glasses. “Take a seat. I hear I’m apparently in breach of contract and you’re willing to take legal action. I’m surprised you wanted to speak with me directly.”
“All right, first, let’s cut the crap.” I sat down on one of the chairs facing his desk and put my bag on the floor by my feet. “This fake politeness is making me nauseous, so just say what you mean the way you mean it, and this conversation will be far more tolerable for the both of us.”
Oliver’s lips twitched on one side. “How do you know my politeness is false?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“I wouldn’t have asked a question if I didn’t want an answer.”
“Fine.” I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair and set my chin on my fist. “We spent several hours together and the only time you ever said the word ‘please’ was when you were asking me to open my legs wider, so I can see right through this bullshit.”
“Hmm, I suppose you’re right.” He twirled his glasses with the arm, staring at me with an expressionless face. “And even then, you didn’t like it when I said please. You much preferred it when I ordered you around.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, I only do as I’m told in bed, and I don’t see one of those around here.”
“It could be arranged. There’s nothing I can’t do in this house, and I can’t say I’m against the thought of you pleasuring yourself against my tongue again.”
Bastard.