Page 9 of Arrogant Heir
A double tap at the door startles me and I hear the familiar deep velvety voice from dinner. ‘Morning Jamie. Are you there?’
Luckily, I’m dressed and I walk over to open the door. It’s Sebastian. He’s even more handsome by day than by night. His swoon-worthy movie star good looks are really something, and I catch myself thinking perhaps it might not be so bad to be imprisoned at Greystone after all.
He jiggles a paper coffee cup in front of me. ‘I hope you like one of these—had to guess—I don’t have your number, so I ordered a selection for you. Latte, Mocha, Flat White or Americano? We’ve got with or without cream and various combinations of syrups. What’s your poison?’ His smile would melt butter in a snowstorm, and something deep within me shifts. A glimmer of hope. Maybe my mum is right. There are loads of fish in the sea and with five handsome Rochester brothers, perhaps this is just the place I need to be after being so rudely dumped.
‘Jamie?’
I forget to speak as I get lost in my little fantasy. ‘Sorry, didn’t expect this. How thoughtful of you!’
‘It’s no problem at all. Mari hounds me to get her morning coffee when I’m here, so I was going, anyway. Personally, I drink Americano, but she loves this chump coffee with all the toppings. Even my mother likes it, which, for a committed tea drinker, is saying something.’
I choose Mocha without cream, mostly because I know how many calories are in it and in my profession, I need to watch my weight. It’s easy to not move all day when you’re writing and before you know it, you’ve got a muffin top.
‘Does your mum live at Greystone too?’
‘Yes, but she only got in from New York on the red eye this morning. She’s keen to meet you, by the way.’
I don’t know why, but I’m strangely nervous about meeting Damian’s mother. ‘How lovely. What’s her name?’
‘Vivian. My dad was called Julian. Theianthing started with them.’ He smiles, but I see a shadow cross his sunny expression as he mentions his dad.
‘Ah, yes. I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘It’s been a while, but it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.’
I reach out and touch his arm, my eyes shining. ‘I can imagine,’ I say. The moment passes as I sip my drink. He says he had better deliver the rest of the coffees before they get cold and calls over his shoulder that he’ll see me later.
It’s time for me to get ready and make my way over to the house for my first session with Damian. My heart hammers and my palms are clammy just at the thought of his cold green eyes assessing me.
I must calm down or I won’t be able to get this book done. But the more I tell myself to calm down, the more worked up I feel.
I grab my bag, pull my jacket off the hook, in case it rains again, and race down the path. I choose flat shoes today in a minor act of defiance. Damian will tower over me no matter what I wear, so I may as well be steady on my feet.
When I asked for the cottage key, Sebastian told me the estate has tight security, so there’s no need to lock it from outside. The media are always after photos of the family, so they have security 24/7.
A hazy sun glistens across the green parkland and the leaves on the trees form a multi-coloured spring patchwork beneath the pale skyline. I remind myself how lucky I am to be in such an amazing place. The estate is breathtaking, and I’m excited about having a proper look around later. When I’m done with Damian… My mood sinks as I rap on the door.
The same elderly butler who greeted me last night, stands before me and after I follow him inside, he offers to show me the side entrance if I want to come and go as I please without formality. Albert is a friendly old soul, and we hit it off. He says he’s worked for the family for forty years and remembers all the grandchildren being born. He invites me into the kitchen for a quick cuppa. I decline as it’s almost ten and I need to get going, but I take a rain check. The staff could be a wonderful source of family anecdotes and as long as I get permission, some of them might work as personal colour for the book.
Albert escorts me to Damian’s office door, which is towards the back of the rambling ground floor, and an authoritative deep voice calls for me to enter. He looks slightly less forbidding today, in a pale grey shirt. I try to stop the blush reaching my cheeks, but I’m flustered and I’m sure it shows. He beckons for me to take a seat. There’s something about him that unravels me.
‘Take a seat,’ he says. It’s more of a command.
‘Morning,’ I reply, determined to be civil. God, why are we so awkward around each other?
I usually get along with people just fine, so I can’t understand why it’s so difficult for us. Although, he insulted me at our first meeting, so perhaps my reaction is understandable. It seems to be a case of hate at first sight.
I unzip my laptop from its case and position it on the edge of his desk, like a temp who’s not really supposed to be in the inner circle.
‘Somehow, I expected you to use a reporter's notebook and pencil,’ he says, one black eyebrow rising, his green eyes narrowing as they probe mine.
‘Next, you’ll be saying I should take shorthand, Mr Bond,’ I reply with a flirty Miss Moneypenny accent. The sarcastic observation leaves my lips before I can stop it, and I hold my breath, curious how he’ll deal with me in full-on sass mode.
But he smiles. He actually smiles, and my heart does a sharp salsa move. I feel as though I’ve worked hard and won something extremely rare and valuable, which is a strange reaction considering how much I dislike him.
The smile fades from his lips so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it. You’d think smiling is an illegal activity. He’s so frugal with his. We look at each other in some type of bizarre staring contest. I drop my eyes first because I’m in danger of giggling and feel like a naughty schoolgirl.
Clearing my throat, I raise my head and venture in my most professional voice, ‘Tell me what you’re looking to get out of this book. Is it purely a brand building exercise or what other purpose does it have?’ I shut up and wait. I’ve learnt it’s best to let clients take some time to think things through. No matter how accomplished they may be, most of them say they’ve considered their book carefully, but are rarely clear about what they want and what it takes to produce a book.