“Not if you want to get there before sunset.”
I’m going to want to die before this drive is over. Yay.
Standing, I brush the detritus off my jeans and take a deep breath. “Ok. I’ll yell when I need to puke.”
Ethan grimaces but indicates that he understands, and we get back on the road. This is absolutelynotan omen of things to come.
I fall out of the car and drop to my knees as soon as Ethan parks in an underground garage. The last half an hour has been hell. We had to stop twice more before we got to a tunnel, which we entered and never exited. We drove for at least ten minutes in the tunnel (which was as unfortunately curvy as the open air roads) and it opened up to the parking garage we’re in. Before he parked, I took in a collection of dozens of cars, almost all of which were some garish or flamboyant color like the hot pink car we drove in, but that’s all I caught.
As soon as I catch my breath and my stomach stops gagging me like I have anything in it left to expel, I get back to my feet,looking around the parking garage. I think I underestimated how many cars were in here. They’re organized by color, and we’re in the pink section. There’s a rainbow of colored vehicles in here, ranging from what looks like a lemon yellow model T to a sparkly superman blue Rolls-Royce.
I... I didn’t think that Rolls-Royce would let someone paint one of their cars that color. It seems so wrong, but I guess maybe this is one of those things that you learn to ignore when you serve the extremely wealthy.
Ethan helps me get my luggage, and once I have it secured, he gives me a short verbal tour of the garage as he leads me through it to a door with a pin pad security lock. On the other side of the door is a vestibule with a pair of elevators.
Ethan inputs the code to the one on the right. “This is the elevator to the house. It goes between the house and the garage. The left one leads to the offices and labs. You will not have access to those.”
I didn’t realize that this was more than just a living space, but I suppose a lot of people live and work on the same property. If their business is something classified, I don’t expect to have access to their work spaces, and I don’t want to know. I’m a lot of things, and good at keeping my nose in my own business is one of them.
Yep. That’s what I’m going to tell myself.Butlers are well informed, but they are never curious.
Dec Scion: totally boring and definitely not someone with a curious nature.
That’s why I’m fine with never seeing the train room.
Yep.
The elevator takes us up, and it must be one of those super fast elevators, because it almost triggers my motion sickness again when we accelerate upwards. It opens to a bright foyer with floor to ceiling windows that look out over an expanse of lawn that Iimagine it takes the gardener a full day to mow. Might even take a couple of mowers working together to get it mown. Beyond the lawn are hedges, and in small clusters scattered throughout the expanse are flowering bushes and decorative grasses. In the background of the picturesque landscaping, mountains rise up, snow-capped and beautiful on this sunny June day.
The foyer is covered in an assortment of tiles of various patterns that were shattered and put back together with gold like that Japanese pottery art,Kintsugi. It’s shockingly beautiful, and such a flagrant display of wealth that I have to convince myself to actually walk on it. Ethan has no qualms about walking out of the elevator onto the gold floor, but he keeps walking without so much as a word.
I start following, but the click of heels behind me along with what sounds like the jingle of a collar and the clatter of dog nails on the tile has me looking over my shoulder. I turn to see Maxime—uh, Mister Staiano—striding toward me with a jaunty gait and a broad, welcoming smile, wearing a brightly-colored, floral-patterned suit with a matching top hat and bearing a cane that he certainly isn’t using as a walking aid.
“Dec! You’ve finally arrived. Welcome, welcome. We are so very glad to have you at Chez Gargouille.” The man greets me with an enthusiastic handshake, which his dog adds to by sniffing circles around me.
“Thank you, Mr. Staiano.” As soon as he releases me, I lean down to give the dog a scratch. “Who is this lovely fella?” They’re a beautiful, medium-size dog with a full, fluffy white coat and long floofy tail.
“Oh this is Mr. Simms. He’s a Samoyed that I found wandering in a field full of wild goats in Maine. I rescued him and brought him home,” Mr. Staiano says, proudly puffing up his chest.
Ethan snorts, startling me because I thought he’d walked on without us.
“You stole someone’s herding dog.”
Oh. That’s not Ethan’s voice. That voice is sexy and smooth like expensive tequila, but rich and deep like a well-aged whiskey.
Whew. Did someone just turn up the heat in here?
I turn, coming face to chest with a giant. Ok, that’s not really fair. I’m shortish, and he’s tallish, and I’m looking at his pecs, so he’s only head and shoulders taller than me, but still. He’s broad like Ethan is broad, except Ethan is standing with him and is comparatively smaller than this new man.
Unfairly, he’s also stupidly handsome. Strong, clean-shaven jaw, straight nose that’s neither too long or wide, and big dark eyes that appear black even in the bright light of the windows. His cupid’s bow was made for staring at and lusting after, and—
Nope. No. I am not looking, thinking, or imagining anything at all.
Not that there’s much left to the imagination. The guy’s wearing beaded leather pants so soft and tight that I can see his dick print down his left leg (it’s both impressive and intimidating—my ass is sore just glimpsing it). His shoulders are so broad that the vampire red peasant shirt he’s wearing is fully open from his belly button, but it’s still stretched taut at the shoulders, exposing his massive pecs and displaying the bars running through his rosy nipples.
God. Damn. He’s hot.
No, Dec. You are not panting over your employer’s hot... something.
