Remember that he doesn't know the real you,Paisley reminded herself, a thought that never failed to quench her good mood, as effectively as a bucket of cold water dumped over her head.If he did, he'd despise you, I can guarantee it.
On that pleasant thought, she glanced around the pub, looking desperately for some chore to do to distract herself. Her gaze fell on the staircase, leading up to the mezzanine landing, and a dark passageway beyond. There'd be something up there to clean, she was sure of it.
But what about the customers? Brodie had told her to take care of them. Diving under the counter, Paisley rummaged through the boxes and untidy drawers kept underneath until she found what she was looking for.
She straightened up with a satisfied smile, clutching a bell in her hand. It was old and rusty, and the clapper was cracked, but when she gave it an experimental shake, it rang out nicely.
The drunks glanced over at her inquisitively.
"Gentlemen," Paisley said – they liked it when she called themgentlemen– holding up the bell. "I shall be going upstairs to clean. If you need anything, please ring this bell and I'll come down directly."
She received a chorus of affirmatives, and so left the bell in an obvious place on the bar counter.
Picking up her bucket of grubby water, along with the scrubbing brush, duster, broom, and handful of rags she'd cobbled together for cleaning, Paisley headed towards the stairs. She was very pleased with her own initiative.
Sure enough, the landing and stairs were thick with dust, needing a good clean. She placed the bucket and cleaning supplies in a corner, surveying the landing. It was natural that her gaze should be dragged towards the passageway in the corner, dark and intriguing as it was.
The passageway was long and thin, stretching to the very back of the building, as far as she could see. There was a round window, grimy with dirt, at the end – she would clean that first, Paisley decided – and there were closed doors branching off on either side of the passageway.
Resolutely ignoring her mother's warnings thatcuriosity killed the cat, or some such serious fable, Paisley tiptoed down the hallway, trying the door handles as she went.
They were guest rooms, mostly. Simply laid out, with a bed in the corner, a washstand, and sometimes a wardrobe. They were dusty and smelled stale, but aside from that, they were perfectly serviceable rooms.
She would clean them all. And then, when Dominic finally appeared, he would be impressed by her initiative and hard work, and then...
Well, Paisley wasn't entirely sure what would happen then. It didn't seem very in character for Dominic to give her a big smile and a tight hug and tell everyone who was listening that she was the best hireling he'd ever taken on.
She cleared her throat, not wanting to dwell too long on their fantasy, or on Dominic hugging her.
She approached the final door in the corridor, and found that this one was unlocked, too.
Rather than opening into another guest room or even a storeroom, this door opened onto a small, crowded office.
Bookshelves lined the walls. Paisley had never seen so many books together at once, except of course at that moldy old bookshop in the main street that smelled of something other than paper and seemed to have no filing system or type of organization at all.
They had a library at home, of course, but Paisley didn't count that. Hundreds of glossy book spines filled their shelves, immaculately organized, regularly dusted, carefully indexed, and never read.
It was only once she'd left home that Paisley understood what a treasure trove they'd had, all to themselves, and she had never appreciated it. None of them had. Every single family of her acquaintance kept a remarkable library, which was shut away and kept only for their own use.
And then they never did use it, did they? It was a terrible waste.
These bookshelves were not carefully organized at all, and there were no glossy, untouched leather covers. The books were all well-read, pages yellowed and curled, dog-eared at the edges. They were jammed into the bookshelves at strange angles, books fitted in between the shelves, piled up on their sides, and tucked into the corners. There were piles of books sitting on the floor, and there wasn't a single empty spot on the shelves themselves.
Mesmerized by the active chaos, Paisley took a nervous step into the room. There were floorboards here like everywhere else in the pub, worn smooth in places where the inhabitant of the room had walked to and from. Mostly, the worn-out places led to a desk, laden with papers, pens, pencils, andmorebooks, and to...
There was a bed, tucked against the same wall as the door. Paisley flinched back at the sight of it. She hadn't noticed the bed at first, since it was a narrow pallet-bed, and almost hidden behind the opened door.
What was worse, there was a man in it.
It was Dominic, of course. Paisley recognized him at once by his prematurely gray-streaked brown hair, sticking up every which way from the whiteness of his pillow.
He seemed younger, somehow. She knew, of course, that she ought to leave the room at once and close the door, and never again be so bold as to waltz right into his office and personal quarters.
Paisley did not take this very sensible course of action. She stayed where she was, staring at him.
In sleep, Dominic's face was smooth, only the groove between his eyebrows hinting at his habitual scowl. There was a prickle of dark stubble on his cheeks and under his chin, highlighting his sharp jaw, and his body seemed smaller under the thick patchwork quilt. He was curled up on his side, and that seemed almost amusing to Paisley, that a man like Dominic Sutherland would curl up into a ball when he slept.
It was fairly obvious that this situation could only end one of two ways. One, Paisley could creep out of the room and softly close the door behind her, and revel in secret shame over watching the poor gentleman while he slept.
