Page 16 of Arrogant Heir
I was pleasantly surprised when he tried to clear the air between us. He could have easily just steamrolled through like he did in our first session. Maybe I’ve labelled him too hastily. I suspect he’s not used to being called out on his behaviour and I gave him what for about his out of line comments. He took it in his stride, so there’s hope for him yet.
Glancing up, I catch the last slivers of golden light reflected across the pond as the sun sinks over the parkland horizon like an old-master’s oil painting. Even after a full day working on the Rochester book, I’m not tired. If anything, I’m energised.
I left the house after the meeting with Damian with a renewed determination to make a great job of it. I always take pride in my work and aim to produce the best manuscript for all my clients, but with Damian, it seems even more critical. As if the honour of womankind rests on my shoulders and depends on the power of my pen—or my keyboard.
I won’t let the side down, I pledge. A fictional panel of women writers from throughout the centuries blazes into my head, cheering me on, and I laugh at myself. A writer's imagination can drive you crazy.
Then I take a deep breath and turn my attention to a different first chapter. The first chapter of my debut novel. I always knew I’d be a novelist, but not until today have I been clear that now is my time to start. It’s always been the wrong time and I’ve come up with a ton of excuses. The number one excuse was needing to earn enough money.I must be sensible, is another one.Must put the business first, and thenone dayI’ll write the book of my heart.
A lot of my baggage comes from it being just my mum and me growing up. My dad walked out on us when I was so littlethat the memories I have of him blend in with reconstructions of events my mum told me about over the years. She is surprisingly philosophical about their marriage ending so abruptly and being left to raise me alone. Mum says she loved my dad madly, but he struggled with commitment and part of her always knew he was only hers on loan for a brief period, but she says she wouldn’t change it.
It’s the stuff of tragic romance novels, and theirs wasn’t a happy ending. Although my mum disagrees—she says I’m the happiest ending she could ever wish for.
Maybe it’s being surrounded by the prosperity of the Greystone lifestyle and meeting this billionaire family that’s triggered me into following my dreams. But whatever the reason, I keep thinking, why not me?
Listening to some recordings from my session with Damian inspired me. I need to have a session with Arthur Rochester so I can follow up on specific details, but for now, Damian has shared the family story of Arthur’s rise from rags to riches. If the son of a Yorkshire village store owner can transform himself into one of the richest men in the world, then surely I can make enough money to pay my way and do what I love?
Following one’s passion always seems like such a pipe dream, but I can see it in Arthur and in Damian. Yes, they must make tough decisions and every minute isn’t joyful—that would be a fairy tale—but I can tell by talking to them about the business that they both thrive on it. I don’t know if it’s true that people are born for a specific purpose, but as I watch the sun disappear and dusk merge into night, excitement floods my body as I type. I don’t have a book title yet, but I know I want to write an enemies-to-lovers romance with a feisty heroine and a moody troubled hero.
The sharp lines of Damian’s handsome face are fresh in my mind from our morning tussle, and as the words flow off my fingers onto the keyboard, it’s him I see before me.
After amazing myself by making a fast start, a knock at the door interrupts the dialogue playing out in my head.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I call, and hurry over to open the door after completing my sentence.
Seb stands there, suited and booted, presumably from his day in London.
‘Hello, this is a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you back again so soon.’
His tall frame fills the doorway and I step back to let him in.
‘Me neither,’ he says. ‘I planned on heading back to Richmond. I love being at Greystone, but I need to be in London for work. It makes no sense to live here anymore, which is a shame.’ He adds, ‘My daughter lives with me in London.’
Smiling up at him, I say, ‘It’s so peaceful here, I can imagine never wanting to leave!’
He points to my laptop. ‘How’s it going? Getting what you need out of Damian? It’s ironic you’re working with him on the book when he’s the most private of us all.’
‘He’s not the most talkative client, that’s for sure, but we’re getting there.’
When we met at dinner, I instantly liked Sebastian, but as charming and utterly gorgeous as he is, I’m antsy about interruptions when I’m in my writing flow. Unfortunately, it’s an occupational hazard when you work for yourself from home—people think they have carte blanche to interrupt you any time they feel like it. What you really need are fewer interruptions because you must set your own schedule, and if you get side tracked you don’t produce, and you don’t get paid. It’s a very different lifestyle from being an employee with a set salary, not that I’ve been one apart from having a few brief part-time summer jobs in my uni years.
To his credit, he picks up on my unease. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t think you’d still be working, although I should have known anyone working with Damian would work all hours.’ He throws me a wicked conciliatory grin.
There’s definitely some sibling rivalry going on, I note, at least on Seb’s side. I don’t know about Damian, as Seb hasn’t come up in our conversations so far.
‘To tell the truth, I wasn’t working on the family book. I did a lot on it earlier, but I’m working on my own novel now.’
His blue-grey eyes sparkle, and he says, ‘Ooh, do tell!’
I give him a potted history of my ambition to be a novelist and explain I’ve started writing a novel in my spare time while I’m at Greystone, seeing as I don’t have any other commitments for three months.
He seems genuinely interested, which is refreshing. Simon always found a reason to change the conversation when I mentioned my ideas.
‘Talking of which, that’s why I popped over. Aren’t you dreadfully bored, stuck out here on your own? My mother asked to see me, which is the reason I’m back so soon. I thought I’d ask if you want to join us for a bite to eat.’
He pauses and I have no doubt he has women chasing him by the truckload, which makes it even more thoughtful of him to think of me.
‘Or have you eaten already?’