Page 9 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

“Come on, aren’t you curious about the home of your arch nemeses? Also, Sterling—doesn’t the idea of meeting him intrigue you a little bit?”

I give her my best uninterested stare. “Anika, from what I’ve heard about the guy from Carson, I’m almost sure he’s a jerk.”

“Oh, he is,” my sister assures me. “But he’s kind of a loveable jerk?”

I scoff. “Not interested.”

“Come on, Em. You’ll see him around town eventually. He’s going to be here awhile. Let’s just get introductions out of the way now.”

The thing about my sister is that she’s extremely skilled at getting whatever she wants. Anika wears you down so much that you have no choice but to say yes. Which is why later that evening, I’m in a car with my siblings, driving up a long, narrow, tree-lined road that leads to the Harrington estate.

I’ve never been here before, which is why I’m incapable of downplaying my shock at the display of wealth. I knew these people were rich but I didn’t think they were this rich. The tires crunch softly on the gravel as we drive up to the gated mansion.

Carson, at the wheel, hums along to the faint jazz music playing from the speakers in the car, while Anika sits beside him, scrolling through her phone. I’m sat in the back, gawking like an idiot as the road opens up to a sprawling vista. The mansion stands majestically at the end of the drive, an imposing structure with its symmetrical design and grand columns.

“Damn, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” I mutter under my breath.

We’re granted entrance through the gate by the security guard posted in front of it. Carson drives in, navigating a smooth curve around a large white fountain with an obnoxious statue in the middle of it before we finally come to a stop.

I step out of the car, blowing out a soft breath as I take in the grandeur. Near the entrance, there’s a man in his early fifties standing there wearing a crisp black suit, his expression devoid of any emotion.

“That’s Karl,” Anika says, coming to stand beside me. “He’s the butler.”

“Right…” I trail off. Of course they have a butler.

Karl stands poised, hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of practiced professionalism. Other staff members move discreetly about, each engaged in tasks that ensure the estate runs like a well-oiled machine.

“Welcome to the Harrington residence,” Karl intones, his voice smooth and rehearsed.

“Yo, Karl,” Carson says with a whistle and I almost facepalm.

You’d think my brother would act more courteous and formal in the face of all this. But nope, he just strolls forward, claps the butler on the back, and trades a few words with him, asking about his family. Karl doesn’t seem to mind, though. He offers my brother a small smile and then turns to Anika.

“It’s been a while, Miss Cameron.”

I don’t miss the way his gaze flickers toward me in question.

“How have you been, Karl?” she greets before placing her arm around mine. “This is my sister, Emilia. Carson and I thought we’d introduce her to Sterling. How is he, anyway?”

Karl’s smile turns into a grimace. “You’d have to see that for yourself, Miss Cameron. You can go in. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cameron.”

I offer him a warm smile before bending my head toward Anika.

My voice lowers an octave. “He knows he can call us by our names right?”

Anika laughs. “Don’t even start. Trust me, that’s a losing battle.”

“Let’s go,” Carson calls, leading us through the massive double doors adorned with intricate carvings.

I try not to make too much of a fool of myself gawking as we walk into the house. Karl shows us to an opulent living room before informing us that Mr. Sterling Harrington will join us shortly. The room exudes elegance, with high ceilings, ornate moldings, and plush furnishings that speak of so much affluence.

I take a seat next to Anika on the couch, while Carson stays standing beside Karl. They’re talking about his business and he seems really friendly with the butler. Then again, Carson’s friendly with everybody. All he has to do is turn up that magnetic charm with a smile, run a hand through his dirty-blond hair and everyone is putty around him. It’s so annoying.

Five minutes pass and Mr. Harrington still hasn’t shown up. Meanwhile, I’ve realized I need to pee.

“Excuse me,” I say, rising from my seat. “Could you point me to the restroom?”

Karl nods politely. “Certainly, miss. Down the hall to your left. I could call someone to show you there,” he offers.

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