I stare at the huge woman, waiting for her to elaborate. She stares back, waiting for me to crack. I grind my teeth. Does this bitch want me to grovel for answers? After several beats of silence, I purse my lips. Apparently, she does.
“Why can’t I meet Adele?” I ask with a sigh.
“She’s under quarantine.”
The fork drops from my fingers, clattering against my plate. “Quarantine?”
“Typhus fever.”
My throat tightens. I stare at the mask covering the lower half of her face. “Wait, how serious is that? I mean, is she okay?”
Instead of replying, Mrs. Fairfax disappears through the door again and pulls it shut.
I glare at the closed door. Seriously?
“Is she contagious? Should I be worried?” I ask with bite, even though I know she’s pretending to be busy at work.
No answer. My nostrils flare. What’s up withthis freak? If this is some kind of power game, then she’s winning.
“What’s wrong with Adele?” I ask, trying to mask my exasperation. “Has she had a diagnosis? And what’s the point of bringing me here if she’s contagious?”
“Mr. Rochester handles such matters,” she says from the other room, her voice muffled.
If I had muscles the size of this she-gorilla’s, I would rip open that door, slam her to the wall and order her to stop messing with me. But a woman on the run from law enforcement is in no position to make demands. That doesn’t mean I’ll put my health at risk. Mrs. Fairfax isn’t just wearing that mask to hide a square jaw.
“What the hell does that mean?” My voice rises several octaves.
More silence.
I count to ten. Repeat my question. Count to ten again. Shoulders sagging, I continue with my breakfast. What the hell is she doing there? Waiting for me to leave? By the time I finish my plate along with a second croissant, I decide that backing down now would only give her the upper hand. So I ask her again.
A door creaks. My jaw drops. Did she fucking leave? I shoot out of my seat and throw down my fork.
“Mrs. Fairfax, are you still there?” I snap, ready to throw open that door.
“Typhus fever is highly contagious,” a deep, velvety voice says from behind me. “But there’s no need for concern.”
I turn around, my pulse quickening. A man stands in the doorway in a charcoal suit tailored to his athletic frame. He’s tall, elegant, with fathomless black eyes that make me forget every lie I rehearsed. Pressure builds upbehind my ribs, a tightening that’s equal parts fear and desire. The last thing I expected to find in a place like this was someone so lethally handsome.
He crosses the room, extending a hand. “Edward Rochester. A pleasure.”
My boss?
He’s in his early forties, with jet-black hair starting to gray in the temples, which only accentuate his strong brow, regal nose, and high cheekbones. His features are sharp and defined, perfectly aristocratic, and I’m already picturing what that mouth could do to me in bed.
I accept his hand. His grip is warm, firm and confident in a way that makes my nipples tighten. It’s the kind of handshake that says he’s used to taking control. I hold his gaze for as long as I can stand before my cheeks turn hot.
“Pleased to meet you,” I manage. “I’m Annalisa. Annalisa Burlington.”
He raises a brow, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. As if he knows the name I’ve given him is bullshit. I try not to squirm in my seat.
Still maintaining his unwavering eye contact, he says, “I trust Mrs. Fairfax has helped you settle in.”
“She has,” I lie, swallowing hard. I had a question about his daughter, but I’ve already forgotten under that penetrating stare.
“The house can be disorienting at first. If you need anything, just ask,” he adds with another disarming smile.
I nod, unable to relax. Just being in the presence of Edward Rochester steals my breath. I can’t remember the last time I found a man so attractive. Or so familiar. Maybe I’ve seen his picture in the business pages? He looks like the type of high roller I would seek out in a clubor a casino. Like the kind of man I’ve always wanted to approach but never dared. His type never comes alone to seek arrangements with girls like me. They’re never short of sycophants and dates.
