Page 3 of The House Guest
“What are you going to do with the house?”
“I’m not sure what business that is of yours.”
“Well, this was my aunt’s house.”
“Actually, no.” He glared. “It was myfather’shouse, and your aunt—God rest her soul—was a gold digger.”
Heat filled my cheeks. “That’s not true. They were in love.”
At least Iwantedto believe that.
Dorian laughed angrily. “My father never loved anyone but my mother. When she died, he buried his sorrows in beautiful women. Christina just played her cards better than most of the others.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like you know my aunt very well, since you think she’s a gold digger—she wasn’t. So, we’re going to have to agree to disagree.” I crossed my arms. “Anyway, the reason I’m concerned about what you plan to do with this place is because I’ve grown to care about the people who work here—Patsy and Benjamin. I’m hoping you won’t fire them. They need jobs. If there’s a way you can keep them around—”
“What’s your name?”
“Primrose Gallagher.”
He nodded once. “Primrose, I literally just landed from Boston. I’m walking into the biggest shitshow you can imagine between having to take over the mess that was my father’s company and the responsibility of this property. I was living a peaceful life before everything went to hell overnight. But I finally forced myself to come here and face it. After a long flight during which I could think about nothing but the mess waiting for me when I landed, I walk into this house expecting it to be empty—only to find it’s been turned into a goddamn monkey museum.” He gritted his teeth. “So, no. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing in the next two minutes, let alone who’s gonna get to keep working at a house that’s basically haunted at this point. So while I appreciate your opinion, not sure I should be taking any advice from a stranger in pigtails wearing aKill Billcrop top.”
I looked down at myself then lifted my chin. “That was a good movie.”
“It was,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “But that’s beside the point.”
“Well, at least you have taste.” I flashed a smug smile.
“Andyourtaste is…” He looked around. “Monkeys in suits?” He turned toward another one of the paintings. “And what the hell is this one? Is he wearing a bathrobe?”
“Playboy Monkey. Inspired by Hugh Hefner.”
He broke out into laughter again.
“It’s an assignment for a class. I’m an artist. I’m enrolled at Orion Art Institute.”
When he finally stopped laughing, he turned to me. “Good foryou.”
“You don’t mean that. You think you’re better than me just because you have money. Money means shit to me.”
“Clearly—if you aspire to be an artist. Although, you seem to be enjoying living in this lavish mansion. It’s not paying for itself, you know.”
I blew a frustrated breath up into my hair. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to just abandon the place or the people who work here. Someone needed to look after things until you showed up.”
“This is your idea of taking care of things? Infiltrating the main living area with primate paintings?” Another one of them caught his eye. “Fucking…George Washington Monkey?”
“Presidential Monkey,” I muttered. “Not based on anyone in particular.”
He walked over to another one. “Is this one supposed to be a singer?”
“Hair-y Styles.”
Dorian rubbed his eyes and chuckled. “Look, I’m way too tired to continue this conversation tonight, and I can’t be entirely sure I’m not hallucinating the entire thing. I’m gonna head to my room. Just make sure this living area is cleared out tomorrow. I’ll have a truck arrive in the evening to help you move your things.”
There goes catching up on sleep tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I murmured, “I think.”
His footsteps echoed against the floor as he walked away and started upstairs.
