“It’s powered by electricity and sensors,” he informed me, like I’d never heard of the twenty-first century before.
He stood off to the side of the living room, where he’d just emerged from the dark hallway beyond, which probably led to his bedroom. He wore a dark, not quite black, suit and tie and looked like he was about to stroll into a board meeting. Or rather, a photo shoot of a board meeting in a high end men’s fashion magazine.
He also looked very serious, borderline grave.
Exceedingly gorgeous, dark-lord-tyrant vibes.
“Why do I feel like Jonathan Harker arriving at Dracula’s castle?” I said.
“I have no idea.”
I looked around at the state-of-the-art kitchen, the beautiful expanse of the living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the water. “Where are the caves? The icicles? The bats? The frozen bones of the small children whose blood keeps you alive?”
“I’m confused. Am I supposed to be a vampire, or the abominable snowman?”
“Both.” I walked further into the room. “Obviously, you didn’t decorate,” I noted. And why would he? He probably paid someone to do every single thing in his life except think for him.
And maybe service his dick.
“My aunt decorated,” he said. “It’s been updated since, but this was hers, originally.”
That explained the soul-of-a-living-human vibe that permeated the place. There was even art on the walls. “Ah. There it is.” I wandered over to get a better look at a massive print, a stunning photograph of an iceberg in gray waters. “Beautiful. Frozen. Isolated. It’s quite to your taste. Is this one a self-portrait?”
When I turned, he stood between the living room and the open kitchen, where he’d pulled out a chair at the glass table in the dining area.
“Thank you for noticing,” he said. “It’s my best side.”
“Did you just attempt a joke?” I glanced around. “And no one was here to hear it but me? They’ll never believe me at the office.”
“Perhaps you can convince them. You’re a very convincing woman.”
“What, last night? I work well under pressure.”
“I noticed.” He tapped the chair. “Sit. There’s wine.”
“If it’s red and in a goth bottle, I’ll take white. I have no interest in getting drunk on your blood and my soul being bound to yours for a hellish eternity.”
“There’s white.”
“Great.” I didn’t even want any wine, but again, I was not going to show him a hint of weakness, even if it meant gritting my way through a bottle of wine while I was still half-hungover.
I set my purse aside, on the kitchen bar, and strolled over. I sat down, while he sat across from me. I was actually relieved he didn’t hover and try to push my chair in for me or something. He was earning no gentleman points with me today.
And I really didn’t need him putting his hand on my back again. Not while we were alone.
“Why am I here?”
His gaze flicked to something behind me, and another man materialized from the direction of the kitchen, rolling an elegant bar cart toward us.
“And where did he come from?” I asked Dane. “The false wall into the dungeon?”
“The staff kitchen,” he said evenly. “It’s through the door at the back of the main kitchen, there. And slightly right of the tunnel to the dungeon.”
Hmm. Why was he playing along? Making jokes at his own expense, and allowing me to get away with making them?
Was he really about to fire me, despite our handshake agreement last night, and planning to savor it? With wine?
“May I offer a drink?” the gentleman in the three-piece suit asked. He had kind eyes and looked way too nice to be working for a bosshole.
