Christine cut me off. “Staffing, apartment allotments, most everything is ultimately overseen by a butler.”
“So Jeff knows we need that room,” I pointed out.
“He lives there, Blake,” Dair said. “In that room.”
“And he has for three years,” Christine mumbled.
“Okay, I’m obviously not catching—” I stopped speaking abruptly as it hit me.
And then I couldn’t continue speaking because I wasn’t sure, if I opened my mouth, vomit wouldn’t come out.
After I swallowed the bile, I forced out, “Mum and Jeff…?”
Christine was studying the wall beyond me.
Dair jerked up his chin uncomfortably.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. It was much louder when I exclaimed, “Gross!”
“Let me deal with this, darling,” Dair offered.
Hell no.
I looked to Christine. “Does he do anything a butler would do?”
Christine didn’t appear much more comfortable than Dair when she said, “Probably in order not to get the sack, he’s putting on a show right now, but no. When your mum wasn’t here, mostly he had his mates over to drink her liquor, eat her food, ride her horses, play footie in the back garden and mess up the lounge with pizza boxes and cans of lager.”
“But he didn’t work,” I said to confirm.
“Not as…” her eyes slashed to Dair before she finished, “such.”
Ulk!
“And now…what?” I pressed. “He’s refusing to move out of his room which is now my room?”
“Blake—” That was Dair.
“Yes.” That was Christine.
Again.
Hell no.
I turned on my very attractive riding boot and stomped down the corridor, Dair coming after me, calling, “Lass.”
I went faster.
Drat his long legs, Dair caught up with me.
But he didn’t stop me.
“Maybe let me deal with this,” he suggested again as I was jogging up the steps.
I stopped on the half landing. “Why?”
“Because ye have enough on your mind.”
God, he was such a good guy.
