Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Miss Button,” she says warmly. “I’m Betty, the housekeeper. Would you like me to show you directly to your suite or perhaps some refreshments in the music room first?”
“First of all, please, call me Jo,” I say with a smile. Betty is the first person I’ve encountered since this crazy adventure began, who feels like someone I could become friends with, and I don’t want us to be too formal if I can help it.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“My room first. I think I’d like to freshen up a bit first.”
“Come on in,” she says, standing back and gesturing for me to step inside.
I enter and look around in awe. The space is vast with polished granite floors, Roman stone statues, magnificent crystal chandeliers, and soaring ceilings painted in the style of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Betty closes the door and comes to stand beside me.
“This is amazing,” I murmur, still quite unable to believe this is happening to me.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she agrees quietly. “Once you’re settled in, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”
I’m interested in seeing the rest of the mansion, but I am more interested in picking Betty’s brain about my father and his life here. I turn towards her. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Let me get Joe to take that up for you,” Betty says, reaching for my suitcase.
“Oh no, don’t worry about troubling Joe,” I say. “It’s only a few clothes and toiletries. I can manage.”
She peers at me for a moment with surprise, then she breaks into a wide smile. I think that is the moment she realizes I’m not like the other people she encounters here who see her only as the hired help.
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
She nods. “I’ll show you to your suite now if you’d like to follow me.”
We cross the marvelous foyer and ascend a gorgeous marble staircase. Just as we reach the top, I catch a glimpse of someone crossing the hall. He sees us too and stops. For some weird, inexplicable reason, my stomach lurches as I take in the stranger.
He’s tall and broad, and looks impossibly composed and arrogant, carrying that ‘I’m a step above everyone else’ vibe. He has one of those American jawlines. It looks like it’s been carved out of stone. His shoulders are wide enough to make every thought about breathing stop. He has dark, longish hair, and a little of it falls over his face as he turns his head to look at us. Startlingly green eyes fringed with thick stubby eyelashes measure me with a sort of cold precision. I get the impression that he has already judged me and found me wanting.
I feel my pulse quicken, an involuntary reaction to the man’s very presence. I have to tear my gaze away from the naked disapproval in his eyes.
“Jo,” Betty says softly. “This is Axel Rhodes. Mr. Rhodes, this is Miss Jo Button, Mr. Manswell’s daughter.”
I wait for him to hold his hand out for me to shake, quickly wiping my palm on my jeans in case it’s clammy, but he doesn’t reach for my hand. In fact, he barely acknowledges me. All I get is a faint lift of his brow and a pinched expression that I guess could be seen as polite in theory if it wasn’t dripping with disdain. My brain screams that he’s obnoxious in the way the wealthy often are (in my job I’ve met a lot of rich slimeballs), but my body … well, my body just doesn’t care.
It wants him.
I murmur a cautious ‘hi’ just so I don’t come across as ruder than him. As I expected, he doesn’t return my greeting. My throat tightens. Asshole. He walks away without a word to either me or Betty.
“Wow, is he always that friendly?” I say, walking away, silently hoping I won’t see him again.
“He’s not so bad once you get used to him,” Betty says in a conciliatory tone.
Half of me doesn’t want to have to get used to him, but the other half of me very much wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. I push those thoughts aside. I am here for … well, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but it’s to do with my father and not the very rude Axel Rhodes.
Betty stops at a door and opens it.
“I’ll come back in an hour or so to give you the tour,” she says. “If you need anything in the meantime, just press nine on the house phone in your room. If you want to call out, press one for an outside line.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She smiles at me and starts to walk away as I close the door. The suite is stunning. To one side is a bedroom area with a king-sized bed made up with silk sheets and a thick duvet with a plush Oriental rug underfoot. On the other side of the huge room is a lounge area with a sofa and coffee table that is bathed in soft lighting that feels inviting. A large bathroom opens off the bedroom, and even from here, I can see it has a free-standing tub, plus a large walk-in shower, marble counters, and a hardwood floor.