Page 29 of Enthrall
“Um, no.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. My friend, Bailey.”
“Please don’t use your phone in front of clients.”
I gave a nod and shoved my iPhone back into my bag, hoping he didn’t ask to look at what I’d texted.
The phone vibrated with a new message.
Richard came closer and leaned forward on the desk. “You’re itching to see what it says aren’t you?”
I assumed it was Bailey again asking for all the rude details of yesterday. Of course we could have discussed this last night, but she was at her yoga class. I’d rented a documentary on Netflix, some penguin film I’d found hard to concentrate on as my mind kept dragging me back to when I’d flashed my boss.
“Well?” Richard’s face changed and he stood tall. “Ready?”
I rose and grabbed my bag. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“You have no idea what the appointment’s for, do you?”
I ignored that question and with a flick of my mouse sent my computer to sleep. “It’s nice to get out,” was all I could think of.
“This is certainly going to be interesting.” He led the way to the lift.
Inside the chauffer driven Lincoln town car, Richard worked on his iPad, pausing now and again to check his BlackBerry.
Sitting quietly beside him, nudged up in the corner of the back left seat, I marveled at his ability not to get car sick. He took a phone call and it was reassuring to see him loosen up, crossing his legs casually and laughing. Something told me the caller was Cameron.
After turning off the main road and heading up what appeared to be a private lane, I was grateful Richard and I were travelling together. I doubted I’d have found this place on my own.
White pillars rose high, emphasizing the grand entrance to an enormous mansion. The architecture mingled Italian and French styles and oozed billionaire. Lush landscaping wrapped around the estate and an ornate dolphin fountain welcomed guests at the front of the house. The lavish outside of the estate equaled the inside, with sumptuous furnishings evidently decorated by an eccentric stylist. It made me wonder if the residents had been too polite to pull the designer back and tame the leopard print theme.
The fifty-something uniformed housekeeper led Richard and I into a living room.
Though I wanted to keep my sunglasses on to ward off the brightness of mismatched golds and reds, Richard reached over and removed them off my face.
“We pay danger money,” he said, arching a brow.
I tucked my glasses into my bag and shoved it beside my feet. Perched on the end of a light blue sofa, I was nervous of causing a crease. Seriously, this was the richest house I’d ever been in. The enormous pink marble fireplace must have cost a fortune and the two ornamental dogs sitting on either side of the mantel gave it a regal air. All the furniture in here seemed overly decadent, garish even. I wondered what kind of people the Sullivan’s were and how they made their money.
Richard seemed relaxed, leaning back casually on an over-stuffed cushion. “Well?” he said, sweeping his hand wide. “What do you think?”
“This is the biggest house I’ve ever been in,” I admitted.
“What about the decor?”
“Not really my taste.”
“What is your taste?”
I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark by being honest. “Simple.”
“You mean cheap?”
I threw him an annoyed glare.
“I’m hungry,” he said grouchily.
