Page 10 of Arrogant Heir
Thankfully, he reduces the intensity of his green-eyed glare and scrapes his dark stubbled angular jaw with the fingers of one large, smooth hand. I can’t help noticing how beautiful his hands are. And you could eat dinner off his cheekbones. They’re so wide and sharp. He is beautiful enough to be a male model. Talk about having it all. Well, apart from a personality, of course. Good looking and rich doesn’t mean he’s not a charmless dick.
Whilst he’s looking at his notes and considering how to answer my question, my mind wanders to romantic heroes. He certainly looks the part. I hadn’t realised he wasthisgood looking. Yesterday, he pissed me off so completely that his dreamy looks didn’t register fully. And he’s got the classic Darcy-Rochester Byronic hero moodiness to go with them, which is especially ironic given his name.
He still hasn’t replied, and my mind wanders to the possibility of writing my debut romance novel while I’m here. You’d think it would be a terrible time—author recently jilted by fiancé—but Greystone couldn’t be a more perfect writing retreat, and I’ll have plenty of free time even with the Rochester book to work on.
I imagine myself being interviewed in the future and when they ask what inspired me to write my first novel, I’ll say my heart was broken, so I decided to write myself out of the slump by creating a fictional romantic hero who could only be found in a book—the perfect book boyfriend. I’ll pull myself back from saying something disparaging about Simon.I won’t stoop that low.
An international bestseller and streaming hit show will be revenge enough. By now, in my mind, my novel lines the shelves of airport shops around the world, and readers are raving about it and making videos on social media. Every time Simon gets off a plane on one of his business trips, he can’t help but see my name.
The scene makes me feel far happier than it should. How shallow I am, I chastise myself.
‘Ms Jackson?’ Damian repeats.
‘Sorry,’ I say, blinking. ‘Say that again, please.’
He talks about why the book is important to his grandfather and reels off some marketing data about the company. I scramble to get it all down because once he starts; he speaks fast and with great insight.
I ask more questions and fill out the book strategy plan. I’m realising just how clever he is. Not just a pretty face, then. And not CEO purely because of his name. He’s a super intelligent guy and takes the Rochester dynasty seriously. I had him down as just some privileged playboy, but I can see he has a head for business. It’s a mistake to judge people at face value, but for some reason I forgot that with him.
We talk for a while longer as I fill in more details, and then his assistant buzzes. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but there’s an urgent call for you on line one.’
It’s only 10.30 a.m. We’ve barely got started.
He raises his cold green eyes and asks whether I have enough material to get started. I would like the interview to go on, but I have just about enough to begin and I’m a terrible liar. Nodding, I gather my things and scramble to stand as he dials into his call. I exit his room and pause with my back against the door for a moment, realising we haven’t scheduled our next session. He’s already on his call and didn’t even glance my way again.
That’s me dismissed.Thirty minutes of his lordship’s precious time is all I’m getting.
Back at the cottage, I settle down to read the notes, so I can create a clear plan while it’s still fresh in my mind. As I read, I realise he didn’t offer one thing about himself or give me one titbit of personal information. This is going to be like penetrating the walls of Fort Knox.
Who are you, Mr Rochester, and what are you hiding?
CHAPTER8
Jamie
It’s only lunchtime and I’ve set up the book. Damian didn’t give me enough content to write the first chapter, so I decide I’m pretty much done for today. There’s research I can do, but I’d rather get the bones of the book down and then fill in any gaps and fact check later. Even with the agency’s commission, I’m being paid a juicy sum for this contract so there’s plenty of time and budget for research. It’s more than I’ve ever been paid for a book before. They are the only client I’m working with so they’re paying extra for the exclusivity.
The draft of the book needs to be handed into the publisher in ninety days so we need to work quickly, but this should be a fairly straightforward assignment as long as Damian plays ball and doesn’t throw his toys out the pram.
The Rochesters will have had no trouble attracting a mainstream publisher and what that means for me is as long as I hand in solid, clean copy by the deadline, and the editor approves it, I can sign off on the manuscript and pass it over to the publishing house.I’ll be on my merry way and will have made what I usually make in a year in just three months.Some might say it’s easy money. But they’d be underestimating how much work I’ve put in to building my skillset and reputation so I can charge premium fees.
My mind whirs as I gaze out over the Hampshire parkland. I must insist on a longer session with him tomorrow if we’re to make the progress we need for me to finish the book to meet the ninety-day deadline.
It’s stopped spitting and the sun is out now. It’s a typical spring day and this sunny spell looks like the perfect time to nip out and explore the estate. I make sure I’ve saved my work and tidy my stuff away before grabbing my jacket and jamming my trainers on.
Before leaving I shoot a quick text to my mum to let her know everything is fine and I’ve settled in. I spare her the details of the misunderstanding with Damian. She’ll only worry, and she’s already so concerned about me after the breakup. Heading back over to the house, I enter through the side door Albert showed me, and poke my head into the kitchen to see if he’s about. The butler is hunched over the farmhouse style kitchen table, nursing a steaming mug in his hands and reading the newspaper.
‘Afternoon, Albert,’ I say. He raises his head and clambers to his feet. ‘Ms. Jamie,’ he greets me warmly, a genuine smile curving his cheeks like two rosy apples. He’s obviously taken on board not to call me Ms. Jackson after our conversation yesterday but has come up with his own version of my name.
‘Jamie, please,’ I smile. ‘How are you today, Albert?’
He nods and says, ‘Have you met Bessie yet? She’s the head cook, you know.’
I say I haven’t had the pleasure but that if she was responsible for the wonderful meal yesterday evening, I’d very much like to.
Albert calls, ‘Bessie, come and say hello if you have a minute. A harried but friendly looking short, rotund woman appears in the doorway. She wears a cap on her head and random brown hairs escape, framing her cheerful face. ‘I was just trying to make some sort of order in the pantry. I must get the girls to do a proper job of it,’ she sighs. ‘And who have we here?’ Her brown eyes shine as they study my face. ‘Pleased to meet you, miss,’ she says, nodding her head.
‘Jamie—Ms Jackson wants to be called Jamie.’