Rochester Mansion- The Complete Series

by Jason Hutchinson

  Rochester Mansion

  The Complete Series

  Copyright 2019 Jason Hutchinson

  AVP Publishing

  Copyright 2019 by Jason Hutchinson, All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be distributed, transmitted, or reproduced in any form or means, including photocopy, facsimile, recording or other electronic and mechanical methods without the express written permission of the publisher. Brief quotations in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by the copyright laws governing this work. For permission requests, email: editor@avppublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction and any name, characters, incidents or settings are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or decease, or to business, companies, events, institutions, or places is completely coincidental. All characters are over the age of eighteen and are not related by blood or marriage.

  Table of Contents

  Book One – Renovating the Redhead

  Book Two – Remodeling the Models

  Book Three – DIY with the Divorcee

  Book Four – Supervising the Sorority

  Book Five – Excavating the Ex-Girlfriend

  Book Six – Bed and Breakfast for the BFFs

  Book Seven – Assessing the Architect

  Book Eight – Loose Ends

  About Jason Hutchinson

  Other Books by AVP Publishing

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  Renovating the Redhead

  “Fuck.”

  It wasn’t pain that alerted him to the injury, it was the sight of his own blood pooling around the jagged nail sticking out the top of the newel; formerly hidden by the finial.

  An additional curse slipped out before the offended finger ended up in his mouth; filling it with that odd coppery taste. First blood, he thought, staring around the giant entrance hall. Probably going to be a lot more before this is all said and done.

  Mike considered going back to work in the bathroom but thought better of it. Aimee would be over in a little bit and he didn’t want to be right in the middle of something he couldn’t stop. The thought of her made him smile. She was a hot little thing. Red-headed and voluptuous, a little bit on the nerdy side, and cute as a button. And off-limits, he reminded himself. She may have the requisite daddy-issues, Mike thought, but that doesn’t mean that the thought of hitting that is anything but wishful thinking.

  “Wishful thinking.” Mike said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty space.

  His vision blurred for a second and he jumped at the pounding on the door.

  “Jeez, that was quick.” Mike whispered. She had said an hour and it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  He started towards the front door slowly, but his knees had obviously had a chance to reset and felt great. Just as he was starting to reach for the door latch, he realized he should probably wrap up his finger.

  Gone.

  Mike checked his other hand, then back to the first one. No, it was right there, he thought.

  Five more hard raps thudded against the doorway.

  “Hold your horses.” Mike said, unlatching the door before pulling it open.

  “Hey, Mike.” Aimee said, breezing past him, though he caught bright green eyes staring up at him, her head turning to keep them on him as she went.

  “Welcome to my nightmare.” He said.

  “The nightmare looks good on you.” She said, smiling. “You getting some, or something?”

  Mike laughed, resisting the urge to let his eyes drop from hers and scan down her delightful, young body. He had a loose impression from his periphery that she was wearing a pair of tight, denim shorts and sneakers and his libido was trying to override his composure. As he struggled to control his eyes, his lips snuck out of line.

  “Just happy to see you.”

  He watched her eyes light up but he almost immediately started questioning the positive feeling it had evoked. It could definitely be taken literally, he thought, but it was equally likely to be taken as some sort of double-entendre.

  Her blush would have confirmed the latter even if she hadn’t quickly turned her eyes away.

  “You definitely owe me a tour,” She said. “this place is so cool.”

  Mike finally released his eyes as Aimee stepped towards the room’s most prominent feature; the grand staircase. It rose one flight before majestically splitting off to each side in a nearly spiral climb to the second floor. While she was taking it in, Mike was taking her in. It was an exercise in guilt and futility that he went through every time he saw her. It had genuinely caused an internal debate, structured loosely around why she should be different in his mind than any other hot nineteen-year-old he might happen to ogle during the course of the day. It’s not like she was his step-daughter or there was any relationship between them.

  ◆◆◆

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  Book One – Renovating the Redhead

  Chapter One

  Mike closed his eyes to protect them from the worst of the avalanche of broken plaster he’d unleashed sawing out the lathes that would give him access to the plumbing serving the main floor bathroom. He could feel the last of the larger chunks collecting in his hair, so just a little longer for the dust to dissipate.

  The sigh was somewhat satisfying. As Mike finally opened his eyes, he inspected the opening he had just made. As he thought, the entire set of pipes were going to have to be replaced to get things up to code; and getting things up to code was his only option. He was calling the house a money pit, though even that was just his nearly-depleted checking account talking. Mansion fit the bill more precisely, though that brought up a different sort of conversation.

  Ever since Eliza had left him, his motivation just hadn’t been there. He reasoned that his work ethic and drive to succeed had primarily been for her benefit. Without her, he was more willing to coast; leaving him in his current predicament. The family assets, what there were of them, had been split evenly, and she hadn’t pursued any sort of spousal support. That was some small consolation. He had bit off a little more than he could chew. Originally, he had stopped by the auction of the old home with no intentions of purchasing it. The looming Victorian estate was something out of a vampire movie, nestled on top of a hill overlooking the sprawling suburban community he and Eliza had shared. The two of them had always dreamed about getting to see the inside and the auction had been a perfect opportunity.

  Perfect was an understatement.

  The auctioneer had unlocked the front door for him as he had been the first to arrive. The experience of touring it was a little melancholy without her, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

  “It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” The auctioneer had said as Mike had finally re-emerged on the wrap-around front porch.

  “It is. Probably a bit out of my means, though.” Mike replied, looking at his watch. “What time was the auction at? I thought it said one, but…”

  “Oh, it’s at one, sharp.” The auctioneer said, glancing down at his phone. “Rules are rules. Absolute auction, starting bid five-hundred dollars, one o’clock.”

  “But there’s no one…”

  Five-hundred-dollars and some miscellaneous fees later, Mike was the owner of Rochester Mansion. It had been an impulse, but like everything that seems too good to be true, it had been too good to be tru
e.

  Breaking the lease on his apartment hadn’t been too hard, though he hoped to be able to renege on the promise he had made to his landlady. Dinner and drinks. He shuddered at the thought. She was pretty enough, he just wasn’t interested; he hadn’t even dated in the five years since the divorce. He was living rough, though. The run-down mansion had no utilities and if it hadn’t been spring, he likely would have just abandoned it entirely. It hadn’t been until a week after the purchase that he’d received the notice about the back taxes that were owed on the property. He had ninety days to pay them. He’d thought about selling for a hot minute before he realized that no one was dumb enough to buy it. He’d picked it up unopposed at auction for a few hundred dollars.

  There was a reason for that.

  Mike patted his pockets for his phone as he stood, hearing the muffled ringtone while stumbling a bit on legs that had been kneeling for a bit too long.

  Aimee.

  For the past year, she had been Eliza’s de facto emissary. The nineteen-year-old was his ex-wife’s new step-daughter. Her marriage to Larry had been sudden and surprising. At the wedding reception, he’d been introduced to Aimee and the two had almost become friends; a bit of shared bitterness between them over the whole situation. Eliza had seized on it right away, using the daughter she had never had to be her go-between. Anything that needed signed, delivered, whatever; it went to Aimee.

  “What’s up, Aimee?” Mike said, feeling a final bit of plaster drop on his head.

  “Liz wants me to drop off the tax stuff for you to sign.”

  Even in divorce, nothing was ever final. Eliza was going through some process or another with Larry that required her to amend a bunch of her tax returns; even the ones filed jointly when they were married. Being easy-going in the divorce had likely been why she hadn’t decided to pursue spousal support, and even though she was remarried, it had become habit. He did still harbor feelings for her.

  “Sounds like a blast. Yeah, you can bring them by.”

  “Cool.” She said. “Maybe we could have a drink?”

  Mike had offered her a beer during one of her visits and it had become somewhat of a tradition.

  “No can do.” He said. “I’m not at the apartment anymore.”

  “What?”

  Mike emerged into the main entryway, his eyes having a hard time not going to each project area he was going to have to tackle before he could flip the mansion.

  “I’m not at the apartment anymore. I’m at my new place.”

  There was a pause. “Oh, Liz didn’t tell me.”

  Liz.

  Mike knew for a fact that the nickname pissed Eliza off. Care for her or not, he smirked a little each time he heard Aimee use it.

  “I didn’t tell her.” Mike admitted, much to Aimee’s amusement.

  “Well, mum’s the word.”

  “I see what you did there.” Mike chuckled. “Do you know where Rochester Mansion is?”

  “Get the fuck out…” Aimee said. “A friend told me someone had bought it. Shit, did you win the lottery or something, Mike?”

  “Something…” Mike said, his voice drifting off as he noticed the lean of the bannister.

  Shit.

  “I’ll be there in like an hour if you’ll be around.” Aimee said. “I’ll forgive the lack of beer if you’ll give me a tour.”

  “Deal.” Mike said, approaching the base of the stairs. If she said anything else, he didn’t hear it in his distraction. Hand on the finial perched on top of the newel post, he shifted it back and forth, slipping the phone into his back pocket with his free hand.

  “What the hell?” He sighed. “Probably going to have to completely rebuild it and re-varnish.”

  He gripped the finial and gave it a twist. Disassembling the whole setup would make things easier, that is, if it all wasn’t glued together. It came off easier than he expected, coming free in his hand after just one complete turn.

  “Fuck.”

  It wasn’t pain that alerted him to the injury, it was the sight of his own blood pooling around the jagged nail sticking out the top of the newel; formerly hidden by the finial.

  An additional curse slipped out before the offended finger ended up in his mouth; filling it with that odd coppery taste. First blood, he thought, staring around the giant entrance hall. Probably going to be a lot more before this is all said and done.

  Mike considered going back to work in the bathroom but thought better of it. Aimee would be over in a little bit and he didn’t want to be right in the middle of something he couldn’t stop. The thought of her made him smile. She was a hot little thing. Red-headed and voluptuous, a little bit on the nerdy side, and cute as a button. And off-limits, he reminded himself. She may have the requisite daddy-issues, Mike thought, but that doesn’t mean that the thought of hitting that is anything but wishful thinking.

  “Wishful thinking.” Mike said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty space.

  His vision blurred for a second and he jumped at the pounding on the door.

  “Jeez, that was quick.” Mike whispered. She had said an hour and it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  He started towards the front door slowly, but his knees had obviously had a chance to reset and felt great. Just as he was starting to reach for the door latch, he realized he should probably wrap up his finger.

  Gone.

  Mike checked his other hand, then back to the first one. No, it was right there, he thought.

  Five more hard raps thudded against the doorway.

  “Hold your horses.” Mike said, unlatching the door before pulling it open.

  “Hey, Mike.” Aimee said, breezing past him, though he caught bright green eyes staring up at him, her head turning to keep them on him as she went.

  “Welcome to my nightmare.” He said.

  “The nightmare looks good on you.” She said, smiling. “You getting some, or something?”

  Mike laughed, resisting the urge to let his eyes drop from hers and scan down her delightful, young body. He had a loose impression from his periphery that she was wearing a pair of tight, denim shorts and sneakers and his libido was trying to override his composure. As he struggled to control his eyes, his lips snuck out of line.

  “Just happy to see you.”

  He watched her eyes light up but he almost immediately started questioning the positive feeling it had evoked. It could definitely be taken literally, he thought, but it was equally likely to be taken as some sort of double-entendre.

  Her blush would have confirmed the latter even if she hadn’t quickly turned her eyes away.

  “You definitely owe me a tour,” She said. “this place is so cool.”

  Mike finally released his eyes as Aimee stepped towards the room’s most prominent feature; the grand staircase. It rose one flight before majestically splitting off to each side in a nearly spiral climb to the second floor. While she was taking it in, Mike was taking her in. It was an exercise in guilt and futility that he went through every time he saw her. It had genuinely caused an internal debate, structured loosely around why she should be different in his mind than any other hot nineteen-year-old he might happen to ogle during the course of the day. It’s not like she was his step-daughter or there was any relationship between them.

  “Absolutely, I can…”

  Mike’s words echoed eerily in the open area, though the sentence was pinched off at his lips by an odd sensation. A wave of energy seemed to ripple out like dropping a stone in a placid pond. In his eyes, it came across almost like a blurriness that travelled outward. From the looks of it, it emanated from him.

  “…definitely do that.”

  The sentence resumed as if it had never stopped, leaving Mike wondering if the pause and the odd sensation had ever happened in the first place.

  Aimee turned to face him. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

  Mike froze, his mind picturing the opening moments of thousands of adult videos.<
br />
  “Let’s start upstairs.” He said, mentally clearing his head.

  The stairs creaked noisily as Aimee started to ascend. Mike stayed a few steps behind, watching the teen’s remarkable legs as she climbed, unable to decide whether to focus on her muscular calves or the voluptuous perfection of her ass. His impression of her was of a young woman that had to fight tooth and nail to keep from gaining too much weight.

  She was certainly winning. She was curvy and gorgeous, each pound of weight perfectly balanced like a sculpture.