“It’s like a fallen kingdom,” she murmurs.
I glance around as I try to see what she sees.
It looks the same to me. I walk through the entry and across the house. Everything looks like business as usual. Maybe Dad already sent someone in to clean up.
It’s not until I get to my father’s office that I sort of see what she’s talking about.
Drawers look like they’ve been upended.
Paperwork spills onto the floor, covering every surface, including the leather couch that lines one wall. Like he’d really be stupid enough to keep records of his illegal dealings here in the house. Maybe he was.
Maybe they found something, but the knocked-over lamp and broken artwork that once hung on the wall to the left of the desk tell a different story. They came, they searched, they couldn’t find what they were looking for, and they destroyed in frustration.
Another painting hangs crooked, and the perfectionist inside has me walking over to it. I straighten it, and that’s when I hear her soft gasp at the doorway.
“They made a mess,” Tatum murmurs.
I turn and nod. “Fallen kingdom,” I repeat. I walk over to the desk and gather some of the paperwork. It looks like files for the Bradley Group. It appears to be contracts for construction work, not anything to do with an illegal gambling ring.
Tatum helps, gathering papers off the couch. I can’t help but wonder what my father is doing right now. Has the arraignment happened yet? Is he still in jail? Should I go visit him?
I’ll hear from Liam. He’s going to the arraignment. He’ll let me know what bail is set at, and we’ll make the call to our financial advisors to move forward with dividing it by two and putting the money to cover it into a new account.
It takes a while to straighten the office, and we work in silence. We walk through the dining room toward the kitchen, and she seems to be sizing the place up as I look in every corner to assess whether there’s any more damage or if his office took the brunt of it. It could take a while to go through this entire place, and maybe it’s a job for someone else to handle.
I look around for anything and everything that might need to be fixed, painted, or otherwise dealt with before we list it. I’ll send a professional in to do the same to get the listing up as quickly as we can, but I’m glad I came to assess what needs to be done.
When we get to the kitchen, I glance at the space where the keg was all those years ago, when our lips met and then our tongues danced for the briefest of moments before we were forced apart.
Tatum nearly immediately lifts herself up onto the huge kitchen island countertop. She swings her legs for a beat as she sits there, and then she moves to a stand.
In her heels.
I move over and wrap my arms around her legs by her knees to steady her. It’s an automatic move on my part with no other intentions meant, but my hands are on her gorgeous, smooth legs, and my dick vibrantly and willfully jumps to attention.
She sets her hand on my shoulder. “I’m fine,” she assures me, but I don’t move.
“You’re in heels. I saw the way you couldn’t keep your highlighters on the tray table. I’m not taking any risks.”
She giggles.
“What the hell are you doing up there, anyway?”
She holds her hands out to indicate the space. “Picture this, Ford. We could knock down a few walls, separate the kitchen from the rest of the space, and fix it up a little, and this would be a freakingkickasswedding venue.”
“I’m sure it would be, Tate. But you know I’m here to list it. Do you have fifteen million lying around to stop me?” I ask.
She pushes my hands away and hops down as if she’s not wearing high heels. “Come here,” she says, walking out of the kitchen. She taps the wall of the dining room that separates itfrom the entry. “We take down this wall.” She walks out of that room and toward the study on the other side of the entry. “We take down this wall. We unify the flooring, of course, and we have this grand ballroom.” She nods to the other walls in the entry. “We open those up, too.”
“What about the staircase?” I ask, not because I’m on board with this plan but more out of genuine curiosity.
“A gorgeous backdrop for dreamy wedding photos or beautiful ceremonies. There’s, what, twelve or so thousand square feet of space on this floor, minus the kitchen? That’s enough for three hundred guests or even more, depending how we set it up. Upstairs could be bridal suites for the wedding party to get ready. Maybe an office.”
I can almost see her vision as I listen to the excitement in her tone.
“I see fairy lights and floral arches over here,” she says, pointing out the spaces. “And the backyard is a perfect backdrop for a spring wedding or for a photo backdrop any time of the year. It’s literally the perfect venue. We could do outdoor or indoor depending on the weather. Big or small.”
Jesus, she’s gorgeous when she’s impassioned and excited.
