My heart is doing all kinds of weird Wednesday Addams style dance routines.
Because my mom’s friend conveniently forgot to give me the most important piece of information about this job. Declan Byrne is a goddamned silver fox.
“Amelia. I’m Declan Byrne.”
He walks right up to me and folds both my hands into his. He doesn’t shake them. It’s a hand-hug, because a real hug would be inappropriate between the boss and his new employee as an initial greeting. Especially when the driver sets my luggage down beside me and waits for further instructions.
“How was the flight?” Declan’s attention is all on me.
“Long.” It’s the first word that I utter, in person, to my new boss.Long. Not hi. Pleased to meet you. How are you? You know, the regular kind of greeting that regular people generally say without even thinking about it.
Now that I’m here, now that I’ve seen my boss in person, the bubbly personality that my mom’s friend sold to him when she got me the job has grown wings and taken flight back to the comfort of home. He’ll be expecting me to wow him with stories of the city, the yellow taxi cabs, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, all the things that tourists want to hear about. Chili dogs.Home Alone. Central Park. And I’m going to stand here like a lump of cheese and gape at him.
He smiles. “I would’ve sent the private jet for you, but it’s on standby for my son. I’m sorry, Amelia.”
Private. Fucking. Jet!
Holy hell!
It gets my brain cells working though. “No, it’s fine. It was very kind of you to send the car for me.”
“It’s the least I could do.” He guides me towards the house, his hand hovering near the small of my back but not quite touching, and I follow him on muscle memory and shaky legs.
The accent. It’s the same as Ryan’s, only softer, more worn in, like the edges have been rubbed smooth, leaving only the warm, buttery insides. His dark hair has streaks of silver. I don’t need to guess his age—fifty-seven,it was included in the file my mom’s friend sent me—but he would easily pass for a man ten years younger.
A twenty-year age gap doesn’t sound anywhere near as bad as thirty.
And why am I even thinking about this? I haven’t entered the house yet and I’m already picturing this as so much more than an employer-housekeeper kind of arrangement.
It’s wrong on so many levels, I blink hard to bring the house back into focus.
On the plus side, it has taken my mind off Ryan Connors for a whole five minutes.
Declan stops inside the foyer which is large enough to hold a party in. The walls are wood paneled, the floor is wood too, so highly polished, I can see my reflection when I peer down at myfeet. There’s a sweeping staircase on our left, the banisters also polished to within an inch of their life, the carpet deep burgundy. It’s understated, classy, elegant, but if money had a smell, it would be this foyer.
“You must be tired. I’ll show you to your room, and you can freshen up before I give you a guided tour of the house.”
He gestures for me to follow him upstairs. Each step could easily accommodate four people without touching shoulders, so I keep a respectable distance between us, and steal some furtive glances at his profile.
Damn my new boss is hot!
I know that his wife died a long while ago, and he never remarried, but there was no mention in the file of another woman on the scene. Not that it alters my position here one way or the other. I’m simply curious. A guy this hot would have no shortage of women aching to go on a date with him, sexy underwear at the ready.
He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead, so by the time we reach the top of the stairs, I’m pretty sure that I would be able to pick him out of a police line-up by the scent of his cologne and his profile alone. Something about him looks familiar. Like we’ve met before in a previous life. But I can’t place him in my memories; I’ve never been great at remembering faces.
So, I just come out with it at the top of the stairs: “Have we met before?”
He faces me then, and time stands still, the house disappearing into the ether leaving the two of us behind in a transparent time blip.
“No, I would never forget… I’m sure I would remember.”
Just my imagination then.
I smile and pretend I’m living in a world where I didn’t just make things awkward between me and my new boss before I’ve even seen my room.
The upper level is as grand as the foyer. The landing is wide enough to fit a sofa sideways. It has the same burgundy carpet as the staircase, lights set flush with the ceiling, and abstract artwork on the walls with accents of that same dark red. I wonder if Declan had any input on the interior design or if this was his wife’s taste.
I want to know more about her. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but it would give me an insight into the kind of man Declan Byrne is without crossing any boundaries. I’ve known him for about ten minutes, and I’m already feeling self-conscious about spending too much time in his presence. Not because he scares me.
