Bo nodded quietly.
“Fine then. Look, I read the legal documents. You’re already in the habit of cleaning and caring for this place,” Max remarked. “You cooked and cleaned for Geoffrey. You could do the same for me.”
“Act as your housekeeper?”
“Why not? I’ll pay you the going rate, and I’ll let you continue to use the house for access to your property as well as for power. You’ll have a key so can shower whenever you want. You can have the bathroom for yourself; I’ll take Geoffrey’s en suite. I’ll also pay all the taxes until we sell up. I’m being more than generous.”
Whatever reply Bo had been about to make died on her lips when she heard Max use the word ‘sell’.
“Wesell up?” she asked him. “You mean together?”
Max nodded. “It makes sense to sell the properties as one. Selling them separately is a legal and logistical nightmare I don’t have the time or energy for, and I’m fairly certain you don’t either. My suggestion is this: when my work in London concludes, we put both properties on the market as one. When they sell — and they will, most likely quickly too — we cut the money right down the middle, taking half each.”
For a moment, Bo thought. “You’ve surprised me,” she confessed. “You know, I really thought you would challenge the will. Or try and buy me out.”
“Both were tempting options, I’ll admit. I’ll say it again though: I don’t plan on challenging the will, and I’m not a millionaire. I don’t have three million pounds lying around I can spare to purchase your half of the property. Not that I even want to. I’ll be entirely honest: you’re an inconvenience, but not one worth three million pounds to me.”
Bo couldn’t help but wince. Strangely, she remembered hearing the word “sweetheart” on Max’s lips the last timethey’d met and liking it. Now, she was nothing more than an inconvenience.
“I could just sell to a developer,” she mused. “You and I both know the land is worth more than the house. I’d make a lot more selling on my own than selling with you.”
Max nodded without surprise. She realized he’d considered that option too and was already prepared with an answer.
“You could, but I’d fight you on it. Selling to a developer so close to my Grade-II listed property? Not going to happen. Not without a year or two of red tape and legal action at least. You can’t afford that.”
“How do you know what I can afford? You don’t know me.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. I don’t know you.” His voice was calm and even, undercut with something that sounded a little like sympathy. “But I knew my uncle, and I can guess how little he was paying you. I remember your summer house at the end of the garden too. No real heating. No real kitchen. Not even a working shower. And I can see you now.” His eyes swept over her with quiet precision. “Your clothes aren’t expensive. They’re clean, they fit, but they’re not designer. Your dress has recently been hemmed, which means you take care of what you have. I can only assume you don’t buy new because you can’t.”
Bo stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
“So, no, I don’t know you,” Max carried on, softer now. “But I can read a balance sheet when I see one, and you don’t strike me as the kind who can bankroll a property dispute for years on end.”
For a long moment, the air between them felt taut, humming with her indignation and his frank honesty. Then, unexpectedly, Max sat back, and a small, weary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m glad you can’t,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be in a dispute with you, Bo. I’m tired of lawyers and tired of letters,and I don’t hate you, despite what you may think. I just want us to find a way to work through this, so that Geoffrey’s gifts to us don’t end up as a battlefield.” His tone was gentler again, and Bo stared at him, momentarily thrown off by his admission. His gaze was steady on hers, and she met his eyes, feeling suddenly and surprisingly at ease.
Thinking for a moment, Bo mulled over his suggestion. Did she want to cook and clean for Max Fitzroy? No, not particularly. Did she want to stay here in her summer house with access to power and water though? Yes, absolutely, and really, was Max’s suggestion the worst thing in the world? She’d cooked and cleaned for Geoffrey and not thought anything of it. She’d be here in the place she thought of as home and like Max said, he worked long hours. Beyond the bare minimum, most likely she wouldn’t even see him at all.
“What do you say then?” Max asked her, and there was a note of provocation in his voice even as he offered her his hand. His hand, with those long and strong fingers that still made unexpected waves of desire flow through her. “Do we have a deal?”
Bo was never one to back away from a challenge. She nodded slowly, reaching over to take Max’s hand, trying to ignore the tingle that ran down her back when their skin met once again.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “We have a deal.”
Chapter Six
“So, you’re going to cook, clean and basically keep house for this guy over the next three months until the house is sold?” Willa asked casually, watching as Bo painted her nail a bright shade of red.
“Yep.” Bo chewed on her lip, trying not to get polish on her cuticle. “That’s the deal we made.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s pretty much the same as what I was doing for Geoffrey before he died.”
“But you ate with Geoffrey, right?” Willa queried. “Are you expected to eat with Mr Two out of Ten too?”
Bo frowned. “I wish I’d never had that conversation with you. His name is Max, okay?”
