by Krista Wolf
I saw her pretty mouth break into a half-smile, as her gaze swung toward Camden. He set down his coffee and nodded.
“It would be great to have you here,” he said. “Another pair of eyes on the place.”
“That’s it, huh?” she chuckled. “Another pair of… eyes?”
I shrugged. “Well that, plus we can use the company. Since we moved back into the west wing, things have been kind of quiet.”
“And lonely,” Camden added.
“And lame,” I tagged on with a wink.
“Yeah, well it would just be temporary,” Karissa went on. “You know, until I found a new place.”
“What’s wrong with your old place?” asked Roderick.
He was still off to the side, still leaning at an angle as he looked back at us over the rim of his coffee mug. His eyes weren’t soft, or welcoming, and they certainly weren’t filled with excitement. Suddenly I got the impression he might blow the whole thing for us.
“Are you retracting your offer?” Karissa asked boldly.
“I never made an offer to begin with,” said Roderick. “That was Beavis and Butthead, here.”
He blew across the surface of his coffee and took another sip. The expression on his face was so smug I wanted to smack him.
“Alright,” Karissa shrugged. “No biggie. If you have a problem with me staying here, I can always—”
“I never said that either.”
“Said what?”
“That I have a problem with it.”
Karissa’s mouth had gone tight during their exchange. Now however, she let it curl back into a sly smile. “Oh. I see.”
“See what?” asked Roderick.
“You’re the one who likes to play games.”
He raised both eyebrows this time. “Games?”
“Yeah,” she continued. “The sarcasm game. Or maybe fun with semantics.” Kicking up both of her long, beautiful legs, she crossed her boots on the opposite chair.
“How exactly am I playing games?”
“Well either you want me to stay here or you don’t,” Karissa went on. “The others have already decided, but not you. You like to walk the middle road. If things work out, you never really opposed them. But if shit happens to go sideways, you get to play the ‘I told you so’ game. Either way, you win.”
“Maybe I just like to win,” Roderick shrugged.
“I’ll bet,” she said, eyeing him over. “Still, when it boils down to it? The ‘I told you so’ game is your favorite game of all.”
My mouth was already open in disbelief. I didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or cheer her on. It occurred to me I should probably do both.
“Am I right?” Karissa asked. “You can say it. We’re all friends here, so it’s not like you’re gonna hurt my feelings or—”
“Lawyer.”
Roderick’s answer was more of a question, really. It came with the squint of his two brown eyes.
“That your guess for the week?” Karissa asked, amused.
“It is.”
“Well then nope,” she shook her head. “I’m not a lawyer. Never was.”
Whew, I thought happily.
“My mother always did say I should be one though,” she added. “’Testardo’, she called me. That’s thick-headed in Italian.”
“You sure it doesn’t mean pain in the ass?” smirked Roderick.
“It could,” Karissa allowed. “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
She got up abruptly and crossed the room, moving like she owned the place. She grabbed the coffee pot and swished it around a bit, then frowned and put it down.
“Make another pot,” I told her. “I’ll have some too.”
The little sideways smile she shot me would’ve been worth downing ten pots of coffee, and all the visits to the bathroom that would follow. Karissa raised her empty mug my way.
“A man after my own heart.”
The room we were in would be the main galley — a sprawling, cavernous kitchen located at the very heart of the one-and-a-half century old palatial mansion. There were three other kitchenettes on the premises, including one in each wing and another in the guest house. But this, when finished, would be the beating heart of Southhold Manor.
It still didn’t seem real that we were actually doing it.
Karissa took my mug back to the coffee maker. She glanced back at me, this time with a mischievous sparkle behind her gorgeous blue eyes.
“Sugar? Cream?”
“Plenty of both, please.”
God, she was so fucking beautiful! And yet as our employee, totally untouchable as well.
Sorta.
No, forget sorta. Definitely untouchable.
It was pure dumb luck the way we’d found her: sitting there drinking alone, at the ass end of some ramshackle bar. We’d never gone to the place before, or returned since. But all the way in the corner, sipping on a gin and tonic, we somehow unearthed the best house assistant, supervisor, and ultimately, GC we’d ever had.
And hell, the three of us ran a construction company.
“So something happened with your place, eh?” Roderick guessed.
Karissa nodded. “It got broken into.”
“Again?” I swore.
“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Right? They took my mattress for fuck’s sake! Who the hell does something like that?”
We only stared at her, standing at the opposite counter as a beam of sun filtered through one of the high windows. It lit up her back, turning her long blonde hair into shimmering stands of spun gold.
“The joke’s on them though,” Karissa chuckled, “because it was the worst mattress in the world, too. I think it was like ninety-five percent springs.”
She formed a makeshift funnel from a paper towel, then poured coffee grinds into it in lieu of a real filter. She did it like a professional. Like she’d been doing it all her life.
Waitress, I reminded myself to guess next time. Maybe in an Italian restaurant.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” Camden asked. “This place might seem big, but only the west wing is livable. And even that side’s only half-finished.”
Karissa laughed. “Have you ever seen my place?”
“No, but all three of us are sharing one bathroom,” I said. “Living room, too.”
“Got room for one more?”
“Of course.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
Roderick folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair a bit. As the kitchen filled with the steamy scent of freshly-dripped coffee, he seemed amused.
“Living with three grunting, burping, snoring guys might cramp your privacy, no?”
“Are you rescinding your offer?” she asked for the second time.
“Not at all,” Roderick said smoothly. “I’m only pointing out we made that offer before we moved back in here, when you would’ve had the place to yourself. But now we’re here too.”
“And we walk around in our underwear a lot,” smirked Camden. “Just so you know.”
Karissa chuckled. “Cool.”
“It might even be a house requirement, actually,” I said, before Roderick kicked my chair. “Er… I mean—”
“Look, I need a place to stay,” she said, leaning her elbows back on the counter. “If this works, let me know. If not…”
“Oh it works,” I said quickly. “Everything else is us joking around. Like Camden said, it would be great to have you.”
Camden nodded. Roderick too.
“Good,” Karissa smiled warmly. “Consider me a roomie, then.”
The coffee maker misfired, sending a brown rivulet down the side of the glass. The droplet hit the warming plate and turned to steam, sending a hissing sound through the kitchen.
“You need any help moving your stuff over?” asked Roderick.
Karissa broke into a cathartic laugh, one that was long and loud.
“Considering I can fit everything I’m taking with me under
one arm?” she grinned. “Thanks for the offer, but that would be a ‘no’.”
Four
KARISSA
I took the third room on the left, counting back from the end of the hall. It was a huge room. They all were. But this one had a tremendous four-poster bed, as well as its very own fireplace. It was somehow large and cozy, and welcoming too.
A hundred years ago, someone had painted the walls and ceiling a lovely powder blue. Between all the fading and peeling, it resembled a serene sky filled with fluffy white clouds. I lay across my new mattress and bedding, that the guys had insisted on purchasing for me, and stared up into some fresco I couldn’t quite make out. I saw angels, or cherubs maybe. A pair of trumpets, aimed at the sky. The tip of a spear…
This is incredible.
The manor was impressive enough while I was working on it, but I’d always been busy. Now that I was living here, I had time to really soak it in. I walked the halls slowly, touching everything, realizing just how much work and effort went in to every tiny detail. Everything was carpeted, or paneled, or gold-gilded to perfection. Anything made of wood wasn’t merely molded or manufactured, it had been ornately carved by dozens of pairs of talented hands.
I’d checked all the rooms of course, before making my decision. All of them except one.
Because the room directly across from mine had been locked.
“You can have any room you like,” said Roderick, noticing I was struggling with the knob, “but that one stays locked.” He paused for a moment, perhaps realizing he was coming off kind of dickish. “You wouldn’t want that room anyway,” he added. “Trust me.”
Trust. It was something I wasn’t ready to give, even to my three jovial bosses. Well, two anyway. Roderick wasn’t exactly jovial, but I meant to figure him out when I got the chance.
Either way, I trusted this place a lot more than the last. I was safe and secure here. Surrounded not only by a century and a half of rich, silent history, but by three strapping construction workers walking around in shorts and T-shirts. I’d been here three nights already, and still hadn’t seen any one of the guys in their underwear. But not for lack of trying.
Easy, killer.
It was funny, how their presence in the house was made known even when they weren’t here. The guys owned a contracting company with a remote office in Fall River and two satellite sites. Most times they left before I even woke up, and came back long after the last of the crews here had left. It was the main reason they needed someone here with eyes. Someone to keep things rolling on the one construction project they weren’t directly involved in: their own.
But in the house, they’d taken their own three rooms back from history. They’d painted the walls in modern colors, and put up all new LED lighting fixtures that looked outright silly against the Victorian-era decor. They’d turned a spacious parlor into a comfortable living room. And one of them had hung a monster, high-definition television on the wall… right over the mantle of a fireplace engraved with a keystone dated 1867.
It was both funny and tragic.
Still, nothing compared to their more flagrant affront at the end of the west wing. There, they’d turned a sprawling, beautiful library — complete with thousands of books built into richly carved shelves — into their own combined version of a home gym.
There were whole racks of iron plates. Standing arrays of dumbbells, in every size, weight and shape. One of the walls had been refinished and completely mirrored, with three adjustable benches spaced equidistantly in front of it. Behind that were two treadmills and two stationary bikes. An elliptical glider for low-impact workouts, and a standing Smith machine that could be used for a variety of exercises — anything from bench pressing to squats.
I knew all this because I’d once been a gym rat. In another place, in another life, I’d spent six mornings a week in a place like this, honing and toning my body. The sweat had felt good, even if the cardio hadn’t. Yet it kept me in shape. The adrenaline became an addiction, and it kept me coming back.
If the guys worked out in the morning, I didn’t know. But they certainly worked out at night, each of them taking turns at cooking meals while the others did their thing. Bryce and Camden had invited me to work out with them, but I was still getting settled. It wouldn’t be long however, before I took them up on it. Especially since I’d gotten a glimpse at how beautifully pumped they were afterwards, their muscles all swollen and glistening on their way to the shower.
God, I needed to get laid.
“The ghosts of this place are going to haunt you,” I’d told Bryce earlier, leaning against the doorway as he finished his last set.
“Oh yeah?” The big blond teddy bear had dropped his towel over one massive shoulder and smiled. “And why’s that?”
“Because you shoved all the books aside to make way for your weights,” I smirked back at him. “You blocked the fireplace and took out the chairs. You covered the oak floors with rubber mats.”
“So?”
“So a ghost comes in here to read up on a little Stephen King?” I chided. “He’s assed out. He’s stuck watching you animals primp and preen and flex, in front of that mirror.”
I pointed, and Bryce laughed. He blew hard at a lock of errant hair, sending it flopping back over his forehead.
“Ghosts enjoy Stephen King, huh?”
I nodded like I was an expert in the field. “They fucking love the guy.”
“Pretty sure they didn’t have Stephen King back in the nineteenth century.”
I wrinkled my nose. “They’re ghosts, Bryce. They transcend time. They move through walls and shit.”
“You sure seem to know a lot about them,” he admitted.
I got lost for a moment, looking him over. Letting my eyes wander that shredded sea of perfect abdominals, that not even his workout shirt could contain. Bryce was always doing sit-ups, constantly doing crunches. Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to drop into a ball and tear off a hundred of them, just to keep them polished.
And wow, was it ever working for him.
“Maybe you’ll take me on a midnight tour of this place,” I found myself saying. “Point out some of the history. Scare up a few spirits.”
His already-friendly smile twisted into something a little bit more. “You mean like ghost-hunting?”
Holy shit, had I really said it? It was too late now.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
His light brown eyes found mine, and my heart started pounding. Did I just ask the boss on a ghost-date? Or was it nothing more than—
“Sure. I’d love to.”
He took two steps forward, and I realized I was partially blocking the doorway. Rather than move, I stayed exactly where I was.
“Tonight?” I squeaked.
Bryce took another step, twisting himself sideways through the archway. Our bodies ended up a foot apart, and I could feel the heat coming off him. His scent was all work and exercise. Musky and strong, yet somehow sweet.
“Any night you want,” he half-smiled.
His eyes dropped for a split-second, sizing me up. They crawled down and up my body in all the time it took to blink, before once again locking on mine.
“You know where I sleep,” he breathed huskily. “Right?”
I tried to speak, but I could barely swallow. Eventually the word dropped out. “Sure.”
I was so close I swore I could feel his heart beating in his powerful chest. Low. Slow. Steady.
“Wait until midnight one night…” Bryce winked, before turning away. “Then come get me.”
Five
KARISSA
Three hours later I was tired but awake. Physically exhausted, but still mentally charged up from my encounter with Bryce, which I kept running again and again through my head.
Is this really such a good idea?
The voice of reason in the back of my mind was nagging and annoying, but it was also right. I was about
to go off with one of my three hot employers, to parts of the manor that would be silent and secluded. Alone. At midnight.
Holy shit.
Of course, I could just as soon crash until morning. Sleep on the whole idea, and not have to worry about what might or might not happen. Seeing things in the light of day might bring some much-needed clarification to this important decision. It might talk me off the ledge. Keep me from making a potential mistake.
Or you could stop being a coward and just see what happens.
And that was it, really. The devil on my other shoulder giving me full permission. Telling me to run off and fulfill my own base urges, and as always, worry about the repercussions later on.
What do you want though?
The answer to that question took all of two seconds. I wanted him. Or to be brutally honest, even Camden, or Roderick too. All three of my employers were well beyond gorgeous, and any sane, red-blooded girl with an above-average libido would be thrilled to bed any one of them. Yet for some strange reason there wasn’t a girlfriend in sight.
This intrigued me, when I’d first been hired. I’d even explored the possibility that one of the guys might be dating another. But no, the more interaction I had with them, the more I realized they were most certainly straight. I’d caught all three of them giving me the once over, usually when they thought I wasn’t looking. I’d even heard Bryce and Camden in a heated discussion about whether my naked ass would be tight enough to bounce a quarter, dropped at arm’s length.
It was an experiment I wouldn’t mind taking them up on.
But no, the guys had always been professional. Always courteous. They’d showered me with nothing but praise over the job I was doing, and had given me free license to take the renovation and run with it. Their credit card never once reached its limit, and they never provided me with a budget. Still, I was frugal in how I spent their money. I did my best to squeeze every ounce of labor from our current resources, which meant keeping on top of numerous crews, all of which were looking for shortcuts.
Which is why it’s probably best not to bite the hand that feeds you.
