Page 3 of Arrogant Heir
I nod. ‘Yes, that’s a good point. How thoughtful.’
Arthur Rochester is already in my good books.
She hurries up the shrub-lined gravel path, and I follow closely behind. The door swings open to her touch, and she ushers me into the cottage. It’s cosy but modern. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved I won’t be staying in the main house. That would make it easier for me to get the vibe of the family, as at some point, they would get used to me being around and lower their guard. I planned to observe them in their natural habitat. Living at a distance will make it more challenging, but so much nicer for me to have my personal space.
Relief washes over me and it’s only then I realise just how nervous I’ve been about coming here. Reeling from the emotional fallout from the split with Simon, I must have switched onto autopilot about the job. Staying at a client’s home isn’t my usual modus operandi, even one of Greystone’s size, but the agency made it a non-negotiable and in these circumstances, it seemed like a blessing to escape London.
I like to keep my clients at a distance in between work sessions, so maybe this arrangement is for the best all round as long as I get plenty of time with the grandfather. I’m excited about working with him and have read a lot about his journey to the top from humble beginnings in Yorkshire. It will make for the perfect backdrop to a fascinating story.
I make a point of reading about business icons and have always been interested in how business empires are built. He grew the company from nothing and was a veritable force to be reckoned with in his heyday, but now, understandably, he takes a back seat after handing over the day-to-day running of the empire to his various grandchildren.
I think about interviewing Arthur Rochester and nervous knots buzz around my stomach.
The best way to grow is to push yourself beyond your comfort zone.
At least that’s what Simon says, and although I wouldn’t tell him so, he’s probably right.
‘Would you like me to wait for you and escort you back to the main house, Ms Jackson?’
The woman’s words jolt me out of my daze. ‘Please call me Jamie. No need for such formality with me. I’m an employee too, even if only for a short period.’
We share a conspiratorial smile and I grab my bag, so I’m ready to get started. She leads me back to the main house along the winding path.
Alice tells me that Mr Rochester, senior, is waiting, and she announces my arrival. Walking through the gleaming oak door, I see Arthur Rochester seated on a Chesterfield in a spectacular library with leather-bound books lining the walls from floor to vaulted ceiling. It’s my dream room and I could spend days here.
He rises as I enter, extending his warm hand to clasp mine, and somehow puts me at ease immediately. His manners are impeccable, and I sit down next to him on the sofa, feeling remarkably at home in such a grand setting with a stranger. An apricot-coloured ball of fluff rushes into the room and bounds towards me, barking and sniffing as she whizzes about my legs.
I reach out to stroke her. ‘What a sweetie.’
‘Meet Honey, my rather excitable Cockapoo. Calm down, girl,’ Arthur says, patting her, and signalling for her to settle at his feet. ‘It’s chilly for spring, isn’t it? We keep this old house as warm as we can but it’s a constant battle so if you need anything in your cottage, do please just let Alice know. I have asked her to take especially good care of you.’ He beams at me as if he’s genuinely thrilled to have me here.
My face curves into a spontaneous smile and my racing heart slows.
It’s all going to be okay.
I was concerned the family might be super snobby, but if the grandfather is anything to go by, my fears are unfounded. Briefly, I wonder what the Rochester grandchildren are like.
‘Please call me, Arthur,’ he says. ‘There are so many Mr Rochesters in and out of this old rambling pile. I pity the staff sometimes—it’s horribly confusing when we have visitors.’
I feel myself relax further as he confides in me. What I read about him must be true. He has a natural way with people. I make a mental note to ask him about it when we’re recording the content for the book because I suspect it must be one of the secrets to his phenomenal success.
He asks how I got started as a ghostwriter and I tell him I fell into the career after graduating with an English degree.
Sitting in the Greystone Manor library with one of the richest men in the world feels surreal. I describe how a friend of my fiancé wanted help writing a book to share his business methodology, and it took off from there. One project turned into two and before I knew it, I was a ghostwriter.
My fiancé—the words sting as I say them and my gut churns.I haven’t fully digested the fact that he’s now my ex, so the words roll off my lips before I can repackage my start-up story.
The last thing I want to get into is how my fiancé dumped me a month before our wedding. It’s too embarrassing. I haven’t thought it through and it’s too late now. I usually mention Simon as part of the story, but also to set clear boundaries with clients.
Arthur appraises me and says I’m perfect for the job.
There’s a firm rap at the door. ‘Ah, this must be my grandson. I’ve been expecting him.’
Honey’s tail wags and in strides the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He literally takes my breath away and I wonder which grandson he is. My gaze falls to his piercing green eyes, and then I know. He’s the one I read about in the press. He must be the eldest grandson; the one with a terrible reputation as a playboy. The one I was relieved not to be working with. I shift in my seat and wonder briefly why he’s here now.
He introduces himself as Damian. His grandfather’s eyes sparkle at the sight of him, but Damian looks troubled.
‘But you’re not the ghostwriter? There must be some mistake,’ Damian says, in clipped upper-class English, as his green eyes dart from me to his grandfather. He stares at me and raises one black eyebrow, as if he’s issuing me a challenge.