Page 42 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

“I’ve seen it. Maddox’s house is this huge.”

“And you’re just trying to keep up?”

Thanks to the paper copies of his personal investments I’d stored on hand, I was privy to more information about Duncan’s finances than I probably should have been. However, I had no recollection of this particular investment, which meant it had been a recent acquisition.

Was itbecauseof Maddox? I’d never seen where the owner of Wonderland theme park lived, but I could imagine it was pretty magnificent.

As far as I knew, Duncan lived in a high-end apartment—in a building he owned. Was he jealous of his friend? Was that why he’d purchased this?

Whatever the case, it was gorgeous—and he was missing the first impression. I nudged him with my leg.

“I saw pictures,” he said, not looking up.

“A picture isn’t the same as seeing it in person.”

He slammed his tablet down. “Rosie?—”

“Don’t start that now. Look out the window.”

The car pulled to a stop, and I bolted out, eager to take in as much of this place as I could. While I wanted to be born in a different time, that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate modern conveniences and designs today, which in a lot of ways were much better than anything else.

The cabin’s roof was just as corrugated as the road to it had been. Its gables were stacked and angled in alternating but attractive directions, giving the impression of its size.

Stones covered the base level of the log colossus. Exposed logs built up from the wraparound porch. Two large wooden garage doors set off by sconces on either side served as a base layer, holding up a balcony above which then led to the impeccable front door.

I had a strange urge to skip along the pavestone circles leading to the steps.

“Look at this place,” I said, my breath momentarily stolen.

“Now, I bet you’re glad you came.” Duncan smirked at the structure as though he’d been the one who designed it, framed it, and added the finishing touches himself.

My lip curled. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

ELEVEN

rosabel

I wasn’tsure what it was that bothered me so much. It was his whole attitude. Here, Duncan had this incredible home, and he wielded it like some kind of badge, like something that made him better than everyone else and I should count myself honored to be granted entrance.

And he’d criticized the 1800s for their version of social inequality.

I despised him for ruining what could have been an amazing moment otherwise.

Turning my back on Duncan, I retrieved my bag from the driver, getting my first full look at his face. Clive was in his mid-fifties, I’d guess, his hair graying at the temples. Kindness lingered in his eyes. Kindness, and apology, as though he were telling me not to mind his boss. Like Clive had any say or opinion on what Duncan did.

“Clive, thank you for the music and for such astute navigation on the snaky roads.”

Clive chuckled. “Thank you for giving me an excuse to listen to the Fab Four.”

I beamed at him and then led the way up the wooden stairs to the second level where the main door lay. Not far behind, Duncan skipped up, unlocked the door, and let me in.

I allowed my gaze to roam, from the vaulted ceiling with rich, exposed wood beams marking every new angle, to the granite counters, and the seat of the hearth around a thirty-foot-high brick chimney. I’d never stayed anywhere this beautiful or cozy.

The room was perfectly staged. I longed to curl up on the couch with a good book and burrow for a while.

To my surprise, a delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron, with her graying hair tied back in a bun, circled around the barrier wall blocking us from view of what I assumed was the kitchen. Her hair curled around her face, suggesting that she’d been at work for a while.

“You made it,” she said.

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