Page 8 of Arrogant Heir

The next three months are going to be interesting… Or is it ninety days? That sounds shorter. But who’s counting?

CHAPTER6

Damian

I steal away to my suite on the top floor and flop on the sofa with a weary sigh as I pull off my shoes and switch on the TV. I’ve got the headache from hell and could have really done without another family dinner. Grandfather means well, but I wish he wouldn’t insist on us eating dinner together so often.

I tried to back out of it with the excuse of a video meeting with our New York branch, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Usually, he would let me off if the excuse was pressing enough, but I had no chance today. I could see it in the hard glint in his eye. He’s just as determined as my dad was when he makes up his mind, and I can see he has most definitely made up his mind about me and Jamie getting to know each other.

He said, ‘You have to let her in, or how can the poor girl be expected to do her job?’

He didn’t say I was the villain in so many words, but somehow, I’ve been painted into that corner. She’s the innocent writer just trying to do her job and I’m the big bad sullen wolf. Grandfather even came up here, which he rarely does, to give me my marching orders. ‘Please give her a break,’ he said, in that way, he has of making us feel like he’s giving us a choice, but we all know it’s a direct command. ‘Chat to the girl and make her feel welcome.’

So that’s what I did at dinner. Or at least, I tried. My attempt didn’t go down too well. In fact, you might say it was a complete fail. Somehow, I managed to prise out of her she lives near Clapham Common, but not much more. She clammed up as soon as I started talking to her, so I didn’t mention the book for fear of us clashing again and making things worse.

I tell myself I gave it my best shot at being sociable, but it’s not my strong point—I only really enjoy hanging out with people I know well, which keeps my circle tight. Sebastian says I’muptightand I suppose he has a point, sometimes.

The ghostwriter caught me off-guard, and I behaved badly when I met her earlier today. The truth is, I hadn’t meant for my words to come out like they did. Okay, so I thought we’d hired a guy, and I would prefer to work with a guy. But she’s fit as far as petite writers go—not my usual type at all, but there’s something special about her.

I shake my head and run my hand through my hair—that’s another reason we shouldn’t be working together. It would be simpler if she wasn’t so attractive. As it is I’m going to be even more self-conscious about sharing our family secrets, than if she was some weather-beaten old reporter type or an older motherly figure. Yes, that would be much better all round.

Even so, I know I shouldn’t have said what I said about it being a mistake and I can see how gutted she was, with me as good as saying she’s the wrong man for the job. Cursing my bluntness, I need to figure out how to salvage some kind of working relationship with her from this disaster. All I know is she’s coming to my office at ten in the morning. I asked if we could start a bit later, so I can clear my desk first. She seemed fine about that, so I guess she must have some writerly things to do.

I could see she was struggling with me at dinner, and so in the end I put us both out of our misery and let the effortless charmer, Caspian, who sat on her left, take over. They got on well and I heard her laughing throughout the meal as I turned over the latest profit and loss figures in my mind. It’s helpful for business that I have no problem recalling the numbers, but it’s not at all helpful when I want to turn off from work. Marian came over to give me a hug when we finished eating and whispered something similar to what Grandfather said about making an effort to be nice to Jamie.

Clearly, word has got out about what I said. You can’t keep a secret for long at Greystone, and certainly not among the Rochesters. Now that soppy lot feel sorry for her. I roll my eyes. It’s not that I dislike her for any specific reason, contrary to what she assumes about me being sexist, but I could just do without her being around. She’s an inconvenience and everyone respects—except for her, presumably—that I don’t allow myself to be inconvenienced. Being the oldest of so many siblings gives you a certain authority and sense of being the one who calls the shots. And, of course, beingthe heiralso means I’m the natural leader of the pack. The ‘ians’ as I dubbed them when we were kids, on account of us all having the dubious honour of having names that end in ‘ian’, stage mini rebellions occasionally, but overall, we all get on well enough.

I sigh again, and then get up for a glass of cold filtered water from the fridge and swallow a couple of tablets. This headache is debilitating, and I’ve had it all day. I hope I can get rid of it soon, as some of my headaches last for days.

Dr Findlay, the family doctor, says there’s nothing seriously wrong with me—they are just stress headaches, and I work too hard. They started after my father died. The doc warned me to take time out to relax and says I’m wound like a top. I don’t disagree, but the only time I allow myself time off is when I go out to a club for the occasional hook-up to relieve the tension.

Most mornings, I work out so I’m pretty fit. I enjoy pounding my frustration out on the treadmill and also get a lot of satisfaction from whacking my punch bag. My personal trainer fixed it up here for me in one of my rooms for when I’m too pushed for time to go down to the gym. There’s one here and at my penthouse in Chelsea, so there are no excuses. I know.Poor little rich boy has no time for his private gym.

I doze off on the sofa and wake up with a start when the movie titles roll and the music blares. That’s it. Bedtime for me. Thankfully my headache has subsided, and when I rest my head on the black silk pillowcase, I go out like a light.

Waking in the middle of the night, I check the time on my phone. Before I close my eyes again,herface flashes into my mind like it often does in the middle of the night, and I push the image away and command myself to go back to sleep.

Don’t think about Steph.

CHAPTER7

Jamie

My first thought as I open my eyes is, where am I? The shutters are tightly closed, and I can only make out shadows in the room. Grabbing my phone, I see it’s almost 7 a.m. There’s a message from my mum, and one from my best friend, Shanella, who’s travelling in Australia. I read it briefly and smile at the photo of her at Bondi Beach with the caption:Wish you were here.

Me too. We spoke the other day when I told her what happened with Simon. She invited me out to get away from it all, but as great as the offer is, I can’t go. I have a contract and commitments. I can’t afford to mess up my career on a whim. I need to make my own way more than ever now.

So much for commitments. I huff, pushing the duvet off and stretching my legs. I flip the shutters open and peer out. Hmm. Not as bad as yesterday, but it’s one of those unpredictable days where one minute there’s sun and the next it’s raining. We have a lot of those, unfortunately, which is why Australia is so tempting.

But I prefer to face my troubles head on, which is just as well as because I have a feeling today will not be much fun, based on last night’s conversation withthe arrogant heir, as I’ve nick-named him after his scowl at dinner last night.

Making some tea, I check my emails, and do a bit of business admin before setting myself up at the table overlooking the shimmering pond. I pull up a book plan to prepare for today’s session. It’s obvious I need to get my head in the game and be at my best, as it doesn’t seem likely that Damian is going to make things easy for me.

By about 9 a.m., I’m craving my morning coffee. I usually pop out and get a mocha latte and take a brisk walk around Clapham Common to get some exercise and wake myself up before sitting down to write for the day.

Stranded out here in the country, I’m going to have to get used to going without my coffee shop latte unless I drive into the city. That might not be a bad idea. It might stop me going stir-crazy holed up here all alone. Writers have a reputation for being solitary creatures and, as much as I enjoy my own company and can easily lose a few days buried in a manuscript, I still like to get out every day and experience real life.

Once I’ve got some content for the first chapter, that could be just the solution. It may be a ninety-day live-in contract, but it doesn’t mean I’m imprisoned at Greystone. I strategise how to get what I need from Damian in the shortest time possible so I can go off and write and not have to deal with him much.