Page 78 of Calling the Shots

“Oneof the guest houses?” My voice tips up. “There’s more than one?”

I mean, damn. I don’t have a guest room, let alone a house.

“Yes. It’s a large property. Been in my family for generations.”

“Generations?” I squeak.

“Yeah.” Mack scrubs his neck, the skin flushing pink. He obviously doesn’t like talking about his family, since this is the first I’ve heard any of this. I mean, he told me his family is well-off, but this. This is way beyond that.

Like next-level rich.

“Anyway, Emma Kate mostly hangs out. She isn’t working—I think she’s a social media influencer or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs. “She spends time with her friends, hangs out at the club. Her main goal is finding a husband.”

“Oh.” My stomach sinks as I mentally run through everything he’s shared. The house, the boat, the family money, all the chi-chi hobbies. I doubt I’m going to have anything to talk about with Mack’s relatives.

“Do they watch TV? Read? Anything nor—anything like that?” I bite back the wordnormal, not wanting to offend Mack. Because maybe I’m the one who’s not normal here, I don’t know.

“My mother only watches ‘serious’ television.” He takes his hand off the wheel for a quick second, air quoting the word ‘serious.’ “And by that, she means the news. My father watches the news, sports, and history documentaries. Emma Kate watches her cell phone.” He shakes his head again. “As far as reading, probably? I really couldn’t tell you.”

“Okay then…”

I grow more and more tense the closer we get to Augusta, the highway blurring as we speed toward Mack’s family home. He takes the exit and nausea rolls through me, palms sweaty. I should have packed more deodorant.

He drives through town, making a right turn down a long, gravel road lined with trees. In the summer, there’s probably a pretty shade canopy, but not now. We drive and drive, moving further away from town. Finally, he makes another right and pulls up to a wrought-iron gate. There’s a box with a keypad and Mack punches in a code. After a few seconds, the gate slowly swings open.

We pull through and I swallow down my gasp. In sharp contrast to the dull brown trees in town, the grass here is a verdant green and stretches for miles and miles in all directions. The gravel turns to pavers and we glide over the honed brick driveway.

Finally, Mack slides up to a massive two-story, all-white house with black shutters and a huge, fancy double door.

“Oh my god. Mack. You didn’t tell me your family lived in a mansion.” I rub the stack of bangles on my wrist, the light jangle echoing through the cab.

“It’s just a house, Gracelyn.”

“It’s not,” I breathe, gnawing my bottom lip as I stare at the stunning architecture, the carefully manicured lawn. “It’s way more than a house, babe.”

He reaches over, taking my hand. “It’s not who I am, Gracelyn. It’s where I lived, but it’s not me.”

I don’t know what he’s yammering on about. If I grew up somewhere as fabulous as this, I’d be shouting about it from the rooftops.

“Okay.” I nod, pressing my lips together.

The front door of the house swings open and a man in a dark suit steps out, but he doesn’t wave. Instead, he walks across the drive and opens my door, the creak loud in the relative quiet of the afternoon.

“Thank you, hi. I’m Gracelyn.” I smile broadly at the man and he nods, his expression blank.

“Good afternoon, miss.” He reaches into the truck, grabbing the luggage and maneuvering it out of the backseat. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Afternoon, Bobby. Is anyone home or are they still out?”

“Home, sir. I’ll take your luggage. The two of you may head into the solarium. Your mother has a tea service prepared for you after the long drive.”

Tea service? For real right now? And long drive?It was like two hours.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

Mack takes my hand and leads me inside. Stomach fluttery, my nerves hum triple-time as I step into the spacious marble foyer of the house. A massive floral arrangement sits on a round table in the center, directly below the most stunning crystal chandelier I’ve ever seen. Beyond that is a windy double staircase, spiraling up to a second floor.

“Wow.” I take in the grandeur, already overwhelmed. I’m scared to breathe too loudly in here, and I’m definitely sticking to clear liquids. I don’t trust myself with anything that could stain.

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