An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(16)

Anyway, it looked like she didn’t have to do much to get back at Mrs. Walker. Callie’s mere presence in the house seemed to be revenge enough.

Elsie came back in, looking tense. “You can follow me.”

Arthur came with them. When they got to the front hall, instead of going up the massive staircase, they continued through an ornate, golden dining room and into a restaurant-quality kitchen.

Elsie led the way over to a cramped set of stairs. After going up two flights, they emerged into a bare hall lined with six doors. Unlike the rest of the house, which was festooned with antiques, here there were no paintings or rugs. It looked downright institutional.

Elsie opened a door, revealing a single bed, a dresser, and a table. The walls were white, the floor made of more bare wood, and there was a radiator under the window that was making a hissing noise. Callie saw her things in the corner.

Servants’ quarters.

She looked at Elsie. The woman was obviously embarrassed as she pointed down the hall.

“The bathroom’s three doors down to the right. You’ll have to share it with Thomas, but don’t worry. He’s a neat freak, even if he looks like a Hells Angel.”

Callie cocked an eyebrow.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” she murmured, as she went in and sat on the bed. It made a rusty squeak and Elsie winced.

Callie smiled up at the woman. Whatever her feelings about the accommodations, she wasn’t going to be rude to the messenger. “This will work out just fine. I’m so tired, I could sleep on the floor.”

The bed let out another protest and she eyed the pine planks, thinking that might well be where she ended up.

Elsie started to back out of the room.

“It’s the rest of the staff’s day off. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said, as if she felt like Callie needed a friend in the household. “If there’s anything you want, just ask me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Oh, and there’s plenty of food downstairs. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Elsie stared at her for a moment and then left, looking as if someone had asked her to leave a stray puppy by the side of the road.

Callie stood up and glanced out the door, wondering whom she was sharing a bathroom with. Trading off shower time in the morning wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. But then again, had anything concerning Jack Walker gone according to her plans so far? Not hardly. She should be getting used to surprises.

Besides, she was just an employee, not a guest. And one good thing was that the chances of Mrs. Walker showing up in this part of the house were slim to none.

So maybe it was for the best.

Arthur, who was roaming around the room, investigating corners and sniffing under the bed, looked up as if to inquire whether they were heading down to the kitchen.

“Sorry, Artie. I need to get settled first.”

The dog heaved a sigh and fell into a heap at the foot of the bed. With his head down on his massive paws, his eyes followed her as she unpacked.

Parceling out her meager wardrobe into the dresser drawers, Callie wondered how long it would take for Jack’s mother to get out of the house.

Rule number one with bullies: A good avoidance strategy can nip a lot of conflict in the bud. She was just going to give Mrs. Walker a wide berth.

Callie pictured the woman’s haughty, disapproving face and grinned.

Kind of like you would with any other type of WASP.





6


JACK PULLED his Aston Martin into the garage and got out. He’d expected to get home much earlier, but the negotiations he’d begun with the blood brothers weren’t going as well as he’d hoped. There were some issues with their debt financing structure that were going to make securing a large, unfettered interest in the company close to impossible. The McKays had borrowed money from a legion of family members during their research and development phase and had given away a substantial amount of their shares in return.

Hell, he’d be lucky to get a quarter ownership of the thing, which would hardly justify the nine-digit investment they needed.

He’d learned long ago not to put his money into anything he couldn’t get it back out of. His father had taught him that lesson. The first hundred thousand the man had “borrowed” from him had been lost into the ether. After that, Jack had required that some transfer of property, either real estate, jewelry, or art, occur in his favor before he wrote a check to Nathaniel Six.

God, his father had hated him for that. But the elder Nathaniel had been more horrified at the thought of going to a bank and begging for money from people he wouldn’t have sit at his dinner table. Jack owned everything by the time Nathaniel Six died. The cars, the houses in Wellesley, Palm Beach, and the Adirondacks, the art collection, his mother’s big jewels. His father, after starting with millions of dollars in the 1950s, had just under a hundred thousand dollars to his name when he was buried.

Jack activated the automatic door and heard it shut with a rumbling sound as he walked over to the porte cochere.

Having the Copley portrait in his possession meant everything to him. As soon as the painting was conserved, it was going back over the mantelpiece in the living room where it hung when he and his brother were growing up. In reclaiming the first Nathaniel, he felt like he’d closed the circle and all of the financial chaos his father had caused was over. Finally.