Chapter 4
Chapter Four
SUMMER
Rycroft Castle looked like it belonged in a different century. In another country. Maybe in another dimension. In the center of an oversized lot in Buckhead, surrounded by trees that buffered the sounds from the road, it was easy to imagine I'd walked straight into a fairytale.
The massive house looked like it had been built centuries before. In fact, it was the dream of a tech billionaire who'd fallen in love with the idea of building his very own castle in the heart of Atlanta.
He'd had money to burn, and he’d poured it into Rycroft Castle, importing the marble from Italy, the bar from a pub in Ireland. Fashioned after a French chateau, with three-inch thick creamy limestone walls and a slate roof, it loomed over me, both imposing and fanciful.
Sporting an indoor pool modeled after a Roman spa, four separate kitchens, a theater, card room, three formal parlors, a music room, and a wine tasting room bigger than my condo, it was hard to imagine the owner had given it up.
After a few years of living in Rycroft Castle, he'd grown bored and moved out, focusing his attention on a modern monstrosity in Silicon Valley, closer to his corporate headquarters.
He still owned the place, renting it out under special circumstances to high profile guests.
When Cynthia Stevens told me she wanted to come home for a few months but had no intention of staying with family, I knew exactly who to call.
She was going to go crazy when she saw this place. Cynthia was larger-than-life, with a talent as overwhelming as her beauty. A princess to the core, she'd fit right in at Rycroft Castle.
Of all my clients, Cynthia was my favorite. She could be a diva, and like most wealthy and successful people, she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Cynthia was high on standards and low on patience. She was also funny and kind.
I wouldn't say we were friends, exactly. I'm a glorified PA and she's an Oscar-winning movie star.
But Cynthia never treated me like the hired help. She'd told me once that she saw her team as partners all playing a role in creating the persona that was Cynthia Stevens.
If any of my other clients had asked me to move in and manage their lives full time, I might have balked. Not that my other clients were bad, but there's a big difference between working remotely and living in the same house with someone. Especially when they were your employer.
I wasn't quite sure how this is going to go, but for Cynthia, I was willing to give it a shot.
She'd had a rough year, and her upcoming role would be demanding, physically and emotionally. She needed this break, this time at home. I was going to help her make it happen. I’d lightened my load with my other clients, clearing my schedule as much as possible so I could focus on Cynthia.
I was in charge of almost every aspect of the move to Rycroft Castle, except for the security. Cynthia wanted to handle that personally. I was hoping that meant she was bringing a team with her to Atlanta.
Celebrity security in Atlanta usually meant… Nope. Not thinking about him. Cynthia was bringing her team from L.A. I was sure of it. Problem solved.
Looking up from the list on my tablet, I watched two men in matching polo shirts carry Cynthia's Louis Vuitton trunks up the wide limestone stairs to the front entry. I knew better than to ask why she needed ten full trunks for a mere two months.
I'd be unpacking them soon enough, and I was sure I'd find umpteen pairs of shoes, piles of dresses, and anything else Cynthia thought she might need for two months of rest and seclusion.
I'd planned to have the movers out of the way and Cynthia's things unpacked before she arrived. The rumble of an engine up the drive told me that wasn't going to happen. If she was anything, it was unpredictable.
An oversized white SUV came to a stop in the circular drive, directly in front of where I stood at the base of the stairway.
The passenger door swung open, and Cynthia emerged, tumbled platinum locks shining in the summer sun.
Her apple-green eyes landed on me and a wide, genuine smile stretched across her face.
"Summer, darling, you're here!" Her spike heels tapped across the cobblestone driveway, Cynthia gliding toward me as if the surface were smooth as glass.
She wrapped me in her arms, wreathing me in a cloud of sweet perfume as she pressed her cheek to mine on one side, then the other, making a kissing sound with each gesture.
"I knew you'd have everything in hand. We're here a little early. I just couldn't wait to get started. This place is magnificent!"
"Wait until you see the inside," I said, returning her hug.
"I haven't unpacked your trunks yet, but I've already gone shopping, supervised the cleaning service, and double-checked the sleeping arrangements.
I'll give you a tour soon as we get settled.
I haven't had confirmation from the security team. We need a walkthrough on the system."
Cynthia waved a hand in the air dismissing my concern. "The security team will be here later this afternoon. We can talk to them then. Plenty of time to get settled first. These two will do for now." She gestured behind her at two hulks in suits who had emerged from the SUV.
Ignoring them, she looked up at her new home. "This place is a dream. I didn't even know it was here. Show me around. I think this is going to be a wonderful few months."
She looped her arm through mine, and we climbed the stairs to the house together. Room by room, we strolled through Rycroft Castle, and Cynthia's smile of delight made all my work worthwhile.
The sumptuous luxury of Rycroft fit her to perfection. When I showed her the expansive master suite, she cooed with delight. Only in a house like this could I unpack every one of those ten trunks and still have room in the closet.
"Now, where will you be?" she asked. "I didn't bring everyone.
Just Viggo and Angie. But there will be some people popping in and out while we're here.
I have to do combat training for the movie, and my acting coach will be coming out a few times to work with me on the script.
Other than that, I want things to be quiet. Peaceful. I need peaceful."
I reached out and squeezed Cynthia's hand in mine, understanding immediately. For the past year, Cynthia had been embroiled in an ugly divorce. Her husband, also an actor, had a series of bombs at the box office and had consoled himself with liquor and other women.
Cynthia didn't talk much about Clint Perry, but I'd seen with my own eyes how deeply in love they'd once been. In an effort to stop the divorce, he'd gone to rehab, quit drinking, and sworn off other women.
Cynthia had been hopeful until a month before when he'd shown up all over the tabloids with an ingénue young enough to be his daughter half-naked on his lap.
A few days later, Cynthia came up with a new plan for the summer. Get out of California and go home. Away from Hollywood. Away from the paparazzi. Away from Clint.
Clint hadn't taken her departure well. He'd insisted everywhere—the tabloids, on social media, in endless voicemail messages—that the pictures weren't what they looked like.
He hadn't been drinking. He hadn't been fucking around.
But Cynthia was done. Clint swore he wasn't going to let her go. Cynthia had blocked his number and arranged for extra security.
Rycroft Castle had been designed with no expense spared, including the security system. That wasn't good enough for Cynthia Stevens. We would have security on-site, twenty-four seven, as long as we were there. She needed peace, and she had the money to pay for it.
I led Cynthia down the hall from the master suite. We descended a set of stairs, went down another hallway, and climbed a second set of stairs to arrive in another wing of the house, this one tucked away from the owner's wing and the main section of Rycroft Castle.
Originally designed for key members of the staff or guests who didn't rate top-notch rooms, this wing was little more than a long hallway with bedrooms on either side, six of them total.
One for me, one for the head of security, two more for Viggo and Angie, the last two for any additional staff that might come and go.
Typical of Rycroft Castle, even the second-rate rooms were far from plain. Plush wool carpet, silk drapes, and marble in the bathroom. I was going to get spoiled.
Our small wing was almost self-sufficient, with a beautifully-appointed sitting room at the end of the hall, complete with a large-screen television, two couches, and a kitchen with stainless appliances, a double oven, and wet bar.
In Rycroft Castle, even the staff lived better than I did, and my condo wasn't shabby.
"Darling, tell me you've arranged for lunch," Cynthia said. She followed a very strict diet, as you'd guess, but she never missed a meal. Cynthia loved her food. It was one of the things I liked best about her.
It took a lot of time, effort, and self-discipline to pull off the facade of a renowned actress. Cynthia did what she needed to do. She had a healthy dose of vanity to give her motivation, but I'd seen her tuck into a cheeseburger with relish, even if she ate less than half of it.
I led her from the staff hallway back around to the main staircase and from there to the kitchens. The cook and two housekeepers had arrived the day before. They were staying in a suite of rooms over the five-car garage.
As we entered the kitchen, the cook, a portly woman in her sixties with steel gray hair, took one look at Cynthia and blushed a fiery red.
Used to her celebrity making people nervous, Cynthia flashed a wide, welcoming smile and held out a hand, covering the cook's nerves by saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, you come highly recommended.
I appreciate you taking on the challenge of my menu.
I know it's frustrating to have so many requirements, and I appreciate your patience. "
I knew for a fact the cook had scowled when she'd seen the list of Cynthia's do's and don'ts. Now, faced with Cynthia's smile, she babbled her delight at the chance to cook for Cynthia Stevens. She assured us that it would be an honor to make sure that every meal surpassed Cynthia's expectations.
I thanked her before she passed out from excitement and asked, "When should we expect lunch?"
"In about a half-hour, if that's all right, ma'am," she answered with barely a stutter.
I looked at Cynthia who said, "That will be just fine. We'll take it in the main dining room. Thank you so much."
With another dazzling smile, she turned and strode down the hall leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. I followed behind, tapping items off my to-do list and making notes.
Give Cynthia a tour. Done.
Introduce her to staff. Done.
Unpack trunks. TBD
Lunch. 30m.
Meeting with security. Undetermined.
"When are we meeting with security?"
Cynthia waved her hand in the air. “Sometime after lunch," she answered, "I need to check my phone. They texted. They said the property is secure. I'm just going to have a wander until lunch."
I knew when I was being dismissed. That worked for me, I had trunks to deal with. "I'll start with the unpacking and meet you in the dining room for lunch."
"Fine," Cynthia said, scrolling through the screen on her phone, already distracted. I headed for the stairs, hoping to make a dent in organizing Cynthia's closet before it was time to eat.
I only made it through three trunks, mostly shoes and day wear, before the cook called us to lunch. We were just finishing our meal when Cynthia's phone beeped with an alert. Looking down at the screen, a secretive smile spread across her face.
"The security team is here," she murmured. "This should be fun."
Finally, the long-awaited meeting with security.
Cynthia had uncharacteristically insisted on handling the arrangements herself.
She'd resisted any attempt of mine to help coordinate the logistics.
She hadn't explained why, and I hadn't pressed.
What Cynthia wanted, Cynthia got. I was paid well to make sure it happened.
I should have pushed for an explanation. I should have demanded answers.
I should have done anything but let Cynthia take the driver’s seat.
If I had, I wouldn't have felt like I was going to lose my lunch so soon after finishing it.
"Summer, be a doll and get the door, would you?"
I opened my mouth to tell her no one was there when, as if cued by a director, the sound of church bells echoed through the main level. Trust Rycroft Castle to have a doorbell that belonged in a cathedral.
Dutifully, I pushed back my chair and rose. "Of course. Would you like me to order coffee in the parlor?"
"That would be fine, thank you, Summer. I'll meet you there."
I texted a quick message to the cook on my way to the front door. Turning the heavy iron handle, I swung the door open and turned to stone.
Evers Sinclair stood in front of me, a knowing grin on his face.