Page 42 of The First Taste
Keir throws the little sports car into park. I lurch forward, putting my hands out to stop myself from hitting the dashboard.
“What the hell?” I ask.
I glance at him and he’s gone white, his expression angrier than I’ve ever seen it before.
“That damage pre-dates the decision that I should live in the castle.” He opens his door and starts climbing out of the car. “It’s fine. We have walled the damage portion off. No one goes over there. And we are too far off the grid for anybody to care that much.”
“Everyone?” I echo.
Keir is already striding toward the main entrance of the castle. It’s a large, arched doorway roughly hewn from the granite, coupled with a massive teak door that must be a thousand pounds or more.
I scramble to catch up with Keir as he pulls the door open. It swings open to reveal a small staff, dressed in starched black and white uniforms. They stand clumped together in a throng; beside them is what looks like a very expensive and very large abstract painting, a gold and blue swirl of dots. The foyer is decked out in teak, pale blue, and gold, whether to match the painting or vice versa I can’t say.
Keir clears his throat, casting a scowl over his shoulder at me. He motions me forward, impatient.
“Ella Washington? Meet my staff.”
Introductions are almost too fast for me to keep up. There is Mrs. Wolf, the petite red-headed chef. Her son, Toby, is next to her, a well-dressed and studious type that apparently works as a bookkeeper and handyman. Next is Henri duBois, a very stern-looking butler wearing edges that have been pressed to an unbelievable crispness.
“Lord Grayrose,” he says, sweeping a bow. “Welcome home.”
“Things are well, I assume.” Keir begins to stride down the hall, leaving everyone else to hurry after him.
“Yes, sir,” Henri says. He hastens to follow Keir through the grand foyer and into a long, straight hallway dotted with doors here and there.
I can’t help but look around with a slightly bemused expression on my face. This place is incredible, with high ceilings, sleek teak walls, and heavy, sumptuous chairs and mirrors every few feet.
“Where is everyone?”
He keeps marching onward. I realize that the rest of the staff has vanished, leaving just the three of us. We reach a stone staircase and the men trot ahead, heading upstairs. I look toward where I imagine the fire damage is as we enter the second floor, where the stairs empty out into another hallway just like the one we just left.
My brow furrows as I try to puzzle out the mystery of the scorched part of the castle. The damage doesn’t seem particularly new… But why has it not been fixed?
“Henri, are our bedrooms ready?”
Henri gives a small bow. “Of course, monsieur. I have prepared your usual chamber on the top floor. The young lady will sleep in the final room on the right, just here.”
He points to the end of the hall, the very last door on the right. I drift towards it, deeply interested in seeing what one of the bedrooms looks like. Henri looks at his watch, clearly aggrieved.
“Ah. If you will excuse me for a moment, my lord. I should attend to matters downstairs.” He pauses. “Will you and the lady be dining together tonight?”
“Yes.” Keir dismisses the man with a flick of a hand. “We’ll be just fine until then.”
Henri trots downstairs, looking preoccupied.
I turn to Keir, full of questions. “So… how rich are you, exactly?”
He snorts. “Every woman I meet is the same. All of you have dollar signs in your eyes and start spending my money in your heads, thinking of how big of a diamond you can wear after we fuck more than once. It’s tiresome.”
My jaw drops. My eyes harden and I lift my chin. “I certainly do not want to be lumped in with anyone else. I don’t want you.”
“First off, you’ve already proven to me that you do.” Keir's eyes shine with blatant distrust and he gives me a knowing smirk. “Everyone wants me, sweetheart.”
A woman clears her throat. Keir and I both spin around, as if we have just been caught doing something naughty.An attractive brunette dressed in a simple white tee shirt and a pleated, tea-length olive skirt stands behind us, her expression unamused.
“Keir.” Her voice is light and lovely, her accent Scottish. “You said you would be here in the morning. I have to be back at uni soon.”
Keir shrugs. “Our connecting flight was delayed.”
