Page 22 of Keeping Kasey
“Bad experience?”
“No experience,” he says with a shrug. “Never had time for pets.”
I pat Kane’s head to assure him I’m not in danger. “Well, you’ll need to get used to having one around.”
James nods, never taking his eyes off Kane as he holds out one hand and steps forward.
I open my mouth to warn him that Kane’s been known to give minimal warning before snapping at someone, but my dog only leans forward to sniff the hand before he nudges it in request to be petted.
My eyebrows fly to my hairline. That’s new.
“Welcome to the manor.” Logan strolls down the steps toward us with a perfectly neutral expression.
Two men I don’t recognize follow Logan and begin unloading my things from the car.
“Anything in a black tote goes to the base,” I tell them, and they nod their understanding.
“How was the drive?” Logan asks.
He wears a pristine suit, looking like a character straight out of a James Bond movie. His shoulders are rolled back, and with both hands in his pockets, he’s the picture of ease.
It’s the eyes that give him away.
Those striking green eyes watch me like I’m an animal he expects to go rabid at any second. It’s a reminder that while we may have a deal, Logan does not trust me.
I suspect having me here is more about keeping me under close watch than being a generous host.
I lift an eyebrow. “Are we doing small talk?”
“You prefer I ignore you?”
“Very much.”
“Then, yes, we do small talk.”
I look at James, who is still petting a content Kane. “Show me to my room?”
“Come on,” Logan says, nodding to the house. “I’ll give you a tour.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, and I have half a mind to ignore him, but there’s no point when I’m sure he won’t give me a fun reaction anyway.
If I thought the outside of the house was beautiful, the inside is breathtaking. The décor is minimal and sleek, with a natural color scheme that fits the house’s architecture while giving it a modern edge. Everything matches. Everything belongs. The coordination is so precise it’s almost eerie, like this place is meant to impersonate a home, not be one.
We walk through the grand entryway, which has a winding staircase to the second floor that we walk right past to go under an archway.
We enter the kitchen, which has dark wood cabinets that perfectly complement the granite countertops and white appliances that look brand-new.
The living room is to the left, with huge couches that actually look comfortable—unlike the rest of the house, which lacks any semblance of coziness. A projector hangs on the ceiling, pointing at a white screen in place of a TV. Bookcases decorate the walls of the spacious room, and natural light pours in from the windows overlooking the backyard, filling the house with pleasant warmth.
We walk past the grand dining room and reach a hallway with four closed doors.
“This is the only part of the house that’s off-limits,” he explains, looking like he’s waiting for me to fight him on it.
“What is it?”
“Offices for my brothers and me,” he explains. “And if I find out you’ve been snooping around where you shouldn’t, our deal is off.”
I lift my hands in surrender as confirmation.
