Page 8 of The Stipulation
Gavin inclines his head politely. “Yes, he was quite something. The world has lost a great mind. I worked for him for twenty years, and I have to say, he never failed to impress me with his brilliance. Now, if you follow me, I have arranged transport for you. You will be staying at his estate, Oak Grove. Betty, the housekeeper, will meet you there and take care of you.”
Gavin takes me to a waiting black limo.
“Your suitcase is already in the trunk,” he informs. “So, I will leave you to get settled in tonight, and I will be in touch tomorrow with more details.” He hands me a business card, and I take it. “In the meantime, if you need anything, you can either ask Betty or call me.”
I thank him, and he smiles slightly.
“I know this is all a lot to take in,” he says. “Don’t worry if it all feels a bit surreal right now, but it will get better.”
That’s exactly how it feels, and I nod gratefully. He holds open the rear door of the car, and I get in. As he slides into the driver’s seat, the driver greets me politely by name, then startspulling away. In a daze, I take in the unfamiliar streets of New York. Soon, the city gives way to mansions ablaze with lights and set far back into perfectly manicured grounds.
When the car drives into a tall set of black gates, I can barely breathe. It’s a hulking huge mansion. Colossal, imposing, and made from white stone it has at least four floors. Six massive columns hold up the front structure. On either side of me are sweeping front lawns of rich green. On the left, there is a large lake with a fountain. Water pours out of the mouths of a group of roaring stone lions.
Everything about the property screams immense wealth, power, and control.
My heart starts beating really fast. This can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen to me. We come to a stop, and I get out gingerly. The driver silently reunites me with my suitcase, and I thank him. He tips his hat at me and gets back into the car. For a moment, I stand where I am, butterflies fluttering in my belly, and watch the car drive away. My life is about to change in a big way and I’m not sure I want it to. I love the little life I have built in England, with my job, my apartment, and my intimate group of friends.
Then, before I can chicken out entirely, I balance my laptop bag on the top of my suitcase and start to wheel it towards the big house. The door opens before I reach it. A petite woman stands at the massive doorway, looking out at me. She looks to be in her mid-thirties. Her red curls are pinned up neatly, and her hazel eyes are bright and quick. When she smiles, they light up.
“Miss Button,” she says warmly. “I’m Betty, the housekeeper. Would you like me to show you directly to your suite or perhaps some refreshments in the music room first?”
“First of all, please, call me Jo,” I say with a smile. Betty is the first person I’ve encountered since this crazy adventure began,who feels like someone I could become friends with, and I don’t want us to be too formal if I can help it.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“My room first. I think I’d like to freshen up a bit first.”
“Come on in,” she says, standing back and gesturing for me to step inside.
I enter and look around in awe. The space is vast with polished granite floors, Roman stone statues, magnificent crystal chandeliers, and soaring ceilings painted in the style of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Betty closes the door and comes to stand beside me.
“This is amazing,” I murmur, still quite unable to believe this is happening to me.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she agrees quietly. “Once you’re settled in, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”
I’m interested in seeing the rest of the mansion, but I am more interested in picking Betty’s brain about my father and his life here. I turn towards her. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Let me get Joe to take that up for you,” Betty says, reaching for my suitcase.
“Oh no, don’t worry about troubling Joe,” I say. “It’s only a few clothes and toiletries. I can manage.”
She peers at me for a moment with surprise, then she breaks into a wide smile. I think that is the moment she realizes I’m not like the other people she encounters here who see her only as the hired help.
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
She nods. “I’ll show you to your suite now if you’d like to follow me.”
We cross the marvelous foyer and ascend a gorgeous marble staircase. Just as we reach the top, I catch a glimpse of someone crossing the hall. He sees us too and stops. For someweird, inexplicable reason, my stomach lurches as I take in the stranger.
He’s tall and broad, and looks impossibly composed and arrogant, carrying that ‘I’m a step above everyone else’ vibe. He has one of those American jawlines. It looks like it’s been carved out of stone. His shoulders are wide enough to make every thought about breathing stop. He has dark, longish hair, and a little of it falls over his face as he turns his head to look at us. Startlingly green eyes fringed with thick stubby eyelashes measure me with a sort of cold precision. I get the impression that he has already judged me and found me wanting.
I feel my pulse quicken, an involuntary reaction to the man’s very presence. I have to tear my gaze away from the naked disapproval in his eyes.
“Jo,” Betty says softly. “This is Axel Rhodes. Mr. Rhodes, this is Miss Jo Button, Mr. Manswell’s daughter.”
I wait for him to hold his hand out for me to shake, quickly wiping my palm on my jeans in case it’s clammy, but he doesn’t reach for my hand. In fact, he barely acknowledges me. All I get is a faint lift of his brow and a pinched expression that I guess could be seen as polite in theory if it wasn’t dripping with disdain. My brain screams that he’s obnoxious in the way the wealthy often are (in my job I’ve met a lot of rich slimeballs), but my body … well, my body just doesn’t care.
