Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Which is why you better not view James as a friend, I remind myself, even though the way my body is reacting to him is not very friendlike.
“I’m just boring as hell,” I tell him. “When work is done, you’ll find my nose in a book.”
“Oh yeah?” he says, brows raised. “What kind of books do you like to read?”
Tell him the truth, a small voice says inside me, the voice I usually shut up.
“Psychological thrillers,” I say. This isn’t a lie, but my preferred reads are young adult and middle grade books, and at my age, if you tell most people that, they’ll look at you like you have two heads.
“Ah,” he says. “Gone Girl and the like. Stories of complicated women who doff their husbands.”
“Something like that.”
The servants’ quarters is a modest building down a short path from the main one that looks like it used to be a barn before being converted. It’s made of the same stone as the main house, though its arched windows have mullions instead of diamond panes. A single door is in the middle of the front of the building, an art deco–patterned bronze, and has the family crest above it. James holds the door open for me and we step into the hall.
“You met the rest of the workers yet?” he asks, lowering his voice now since it’s late. The building is two levels, with four bedrooms down on the first floor and four more on the second, which is where my room is. As far as I know all the rooms have an en suite, so you never really run into people here.
“Just the cook and gardener,” I tell him. “They seem nice.” Well, the gardener is nice. The cook doesn’t say much and gives me the stink eye, but James doesn’t need to know how sensitive I am to things like that.
“Well, all us PPO live on the first floor,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll get used to us coming and going. For now, it seems like we’re on the same shift.”
“Wait,” I say, stopping at the foot of the stairs, a red velvet carpet running up them. “Why aren’t you with Eddie—I mean, the duke—right now if he’s in America? All that distraction seems right up your alley.”
He runs his hand over his jaw, his facial hair making a scratching sound in the quiet of the building. For a split second I wonder how that hair would feel on my soft skin, but I push that intrusive thought away. Totally not wanted.
“They gave me time off,” he admits, looking sheepish. “Frankly I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but…” He trails off and then straightens up, his face growing impassive, like he just caught himself telling me something he shouldn’t have. “I appreciate it, though. I’m such a workaholic I probably wouldn’t take any vacation if they didn’t make me.”
“I get it,” I say with a nod, because I totally do.
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward a door that I assume is the one to his room. “I was going to change and then head out into the city since I don’t have to be up at a certain time. Do you want to join me?”
My stomach does a strange flip, something I’m not used to feeling. I can’t recall the last time a guy asked me out, even just as a friend or a coworker, which is what I assume James is doing here.
“Wish I could,” I tell him, waving the baby monitor in front of his face. “But I’m on duty around the clock until they get back.”
He frowns. “There’s no backup nanny?”
I shake my head. “Technically nannies are the backup for the mothers.”
“And you’ve only been working here a week or so, right?”
“Launched right into the deep end,” I say, mimicking a flying motion with the baby monitor.
He gives the banister a quick tap with his long fingers. “Well, perhaps when Monica comes back and if we both happen to have a night off…”
I stare at him for a moment and his mouth quirks up sheepishly.
“You know, if you felt like making some enemies.”
I laugh loudly, then clamp my hand over my mouth, hoping I don’t wake anyone up. My laugh is very distinctive. “Okay,” I tell him. “That sounds like fun.”
I can feel my cheeks burning for no reason at all, so I shoot him a quick smile and head up the stairs before I laugh at something else he says. What is it about this guy that makes me feel like a schoolgirl?
“Good night,” he calls after me.
“Good night,” I say over my shoulder, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest.
I quickly go to my room and shut the door, letting out a deep breath. Even though I haven’t been here long, I’ve already started to associate my room with a sanctuary. I’m aware that my room could be searched at any time, that it’s not really mine but comes as part of my employment, so I keep everything as organized as possible. Still, I go to the closet and bring out one of my stuffed animals—Knut, a fluffy polar bear that my grandmother bought me after she took a trip to Svalbard to visit a friend. It’s managed to stay pristine white over the years, though the eyes are worn down and have lost their shine.