Page 2 of Mr. Aster
“Iwillbeusingthese floors since that’s the door to my room right over there,” I said, now as annoyed as he seemed about the idea.
“Of course,” he said, disturbed and inconvenienced. “Very well, then.”
“I’m Darcy,” I said directly, not wanting this man to think it was okay to be rude to people he felt were beneath him.
Whether or not his family was part owner of this estate now didn't matter. I was not okay with rich assholes acting entitled, so this was going to be highly difficult if he was going to act like he owned the entire country and not just part of the winery.
“Darcy?” he questioned.
“Yes,” I answered, seeing his perplexed expression.
Goddammit, why did the man have to ruin his drop-dead gorgeousness by being such a prick? What a waste of a perfectly sexy man.
“Interesting. I was informed that I’d meet with William, Martina, and Darcel?”
“Shit,” I said, almost as if I were jolted by electricity after hearing my full name for the first time since I was born. “Yeah,no,” I scrambled to say. “That’snotmy name. I don’t give a shit what notes you were given before you came out here.”
“You prefer Darcy, then?”
This man was like a broody robot. His voice was all deep and masculine but totally stiff and cold.
“That’s why I introduced myself as Darcy and not the name my mother gave me when she was high on pain meds after delivering me in the hospital.”
My mom had me when she was nineteen. She met my biological father after a night of partying. All I knew about the guy is that they met when he was in town on a business trip—hiswifewas at home—and they had a fling that resulted in me. Mom never elaborated about the guy, and I didn’t care to know more because once she met Billy when I was seven years old, he stole my little heart, and I’d called him Dad ever since. I was his, and he was mine, and the three of us together were the perfect little family.
“May I ask what you’re staring at?” Sebastian asked, his gaze curious and making him even more handsome.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” I said, trying to cover for the fact that I’d stopped talking and had probably been gawking at the man.
Jesus, he even had a perfect nose. No one has a perfect nose.
“There’s nothing about me you need to concern yourself with, ma’am,” he said truthfully. “I will be requesting a more secluded room, so if we don’t see each other again…” he stopped, searching for words, I assumed.
“I’m pretty sure we’ll see each other again unless you don’t plan on eating dinner tonight?” I answered the stiff man.
He rolled his eyes, “I can take my meals alone in my room. I’m here on business, notto socialize.”
“All right, then,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. With the kind of money this guy had, you’d think he could buy himself some manners.
“Good day,” he said, and then took his rich ass through the outdoor corridor and down the steps to try and get a more private room, which was funny because there wasn’t one.
What he was about to realize was that my family were highly social people. If he wanted to get anywhere with this acquisition, he’d better work up an appetite to socialize with Billy Burke and this family.
God, what a chore this was shaping up to be. I couldn’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for his late wife (may she rest in peace, of course) to be married to that type of personality. I knew the wealthy marched to the beat of their own drummer and all, but this was over the top, making me rethink my idea of getting famous from writing about him.
It wasn’t worth talking to a robot and trying to get the man to crack open a little. No wonder everyone wanted the inside info on this dude. He was a vault when it came to personality and conversation.
Ultimately, my problem was that I was a glutton for punishment, and I loved challenges, stupid though they may be. That meant I would probably go through with it even though my better judgment told me it was a waste of time and energy.
Chapter Two
Sebastian
The flight out had been the best part of this—from the food to the rich leather of my family’s jet, to the attentiveness of the flight crew—but once I stepped off the plane and into the car retrieving me at the private airport, I was in foreign territory.
This estate was a complete shithole that needed an overhaul in so many ways it was exhausting to think about it. It was a Spanish-style home like most homes in California, but it wasn’t being properly maintained. The paint was peeling off the adobe walls, and the rooms had wall AC units on top of space heaters. The toilets seemed to be the original ones built with the home, ceramic and stained by hard water.
It was disgusting. What the hell did my father buy? How was I supposed to get this place out of the red when everything I was looking at was a product of sheer neglect?
