by Ivy Layne
I wasn't quite sure how this is going to go, but for Cynthia, I was willing to give it a shot. She'd had a rough year, and her upcoming role would be demanding, physically and emotionally. She needed this break, this time at home. I was going to help her make it happen. I’d lightened my load with my other clients, clearing my schedule as much as possible so I could focus on Cynthia.
I was in charge of almost every aspect of the move to Rycroft Castle, except for the security. Cynthia wanted to handle that personally. I was hoping that meant she was bringing a team with her to Atlanta.
Celebrity security in Atlanta usually meant… Nope. Not thinking about him. Cynthia was bringing her team from L.A. I was sure of it. Problem solved.
Looking up from the list on my tablet, I watched two men in matching polo shirts carry Cynthia's Louis Vuitton trunks up the wide limestone stairs to the front entry. I knew better than to ask why she needed ten full trunks for a mere two months.
I'd be unpacking them soon enough, and I was sure I'd find umpteen pairs of shoes, piles of dresses, and anything else Cynthia thought she might need for two months of rest and seclusion.
I'd planned to have the movers out of the way and Cynthia's things unpacked before she arrived. The rumble of an engine up the drive told me that wasn't going to happen. If she was anything, it was unpredictable.
An oversized white SUV came to a stop in the circular drive, directly in front of where I stood at the base of the stairway. The passenger door swung open, and Cynthia emerged, tumbled platinum locks shining in the summer sun. Her apple-green eyes landed on me and a wide, genuine smile stretched across her face.
"Summer, darling, you're here!" Her spike heels tapped across the cobblestone driveway, Cynthia gliding toward me as if the surface were smooth as glass.
She wrapped me in her arms, wreathing me in a cloud of sweet perfume as she pressed her cheek to mine on one side, then the other, making a kissing sound with each gesture.
"I knew you'd have everything in hand. We're here a little early. I just couldn't wait to get started. This place is magnificent!"
"Wait until you see the inside," I said, returning her hug. "I haven't unpacked your trunks yet, but I've already gone shopping, supervised the cleaning service, and double-checked the sleeping arrangements. I'll give you a tour soon as we get settled. I haven't had confirmation from the security team. We need a walkthrough on the system."
Cynthia waved a hand in the air dismissing my concern. "The security team will be here later this afternoon. We can talk to them then. Plenty of time to get settled first. These two will do for now." She gestured behind her at two hulks in suits who had emerged from the SUV.
Ignoring them, she looked up at her new home. "This place is a dream. I didn't even know it was here. Show me around. I think this is going to be a wonderful few months."
She looped her arm through mine, and we climbed the stairs to the house together. Room by room, we strolled through Rycroft Castle, and Cynthia's smile of delight made all my work worthwhile.
The sumptuous luxury of Rycroft fit her to perfection. When I showed her the expansive master suite, she cooed with delight. Only in a house like this could I unpack every one of those ten trunks and still have room in the closet.
"Now, where will you be?" she asked. "I didn't bring everyone. Just Viggo and Angie. But there will be some people popping in and out while we're here. I have to do combat training for the movie, and my acting coach will be coming out a few times to work with me on the script. Other than that, I want things to be quiet. Peaceful. I need peaceful."
I reached out and squeezed Cynthia's hand in mine, understanding immediately. For the past year, Cynthia had been embroiled in an ugly divorce. Her husband, also an actor, had a series of bombs at the box office and had consoled himself with liquor and other women.
Cynthia didn't talk much about Clint Perry, but I'd seen with my own eyes how deeply in love they'd once been. In an effort to stop the divorce, he'd gone to rehab, quit drinking, and sworn off other women.
Cynthia had been hopeful until a month before when he'd shown up all over the tabloids with an ingénue young enough to be his daughter half-naked on his lap.
A few days later, Cynthia came up with a new plan for the summer. Get out of California and go home. Away from Hollywood. Away from the paparazzi. Away from Clint.
Clint hadn't taken her departure well. He'd insisted everywhere—the tabloids, on social media, in endless voicemail messages—that the pictures weren't what they looked like.
He hadn't been drinking. He hadn't been fucking around.
But Cynthia was done. Clint swore he wasn't going to let her go. Cynthia had blocked his number and arranged for extra security.
Rycroft Castle had been designed with no expense spared, including the security system. That wasn't good enough for Cynthia Stevens. We would have security on-site, twenty-four seven, as long as we were there. She needed peace, and she had the money to pay for it.
I led Cynthia down the hall from the master suite. We descended a set of stairs, went down another hallway, and climbed a second set of stairs to arrive in another wing of the house, this one tucked away from the owner's wing and the main section of Rycroft Castle.
Originally designed for key members of the staff or guests who didn't rate top-notch rooms, this wing was little more than a long hallway with bedrooms on either side, six of them total. One for me, one for the head of security, two more for Viggo and Angie, the last two for any additional staff that might come and go.
Typical of Rycroft Castle, even the second-rate rooms were far from plain. Plush wool carpet, silk drapes, and marble in the bathroom. I was going to get spoiled.
Our small wing was almost self-sufficient, with a beautifully-appointed sitting room at the end of the hall, complete with a large-screen television, two couches, and a kitchen with stainless appliances, a double oven, and wet bar.
In Rycroft Castle, even the staff lived better than I did, and my condo wasn't shabby.
"Darling, tell me you've arranged for lunch," Cynthia said. She followed a very strict diet, as you'd guess, but she never missed a meal. Cynthia loved her food. It was one of the things I liked best about her.
It took a lot of time, effort, and self-discipline to pull off the façade of a renowned actress. Cynthia did what she needed to do. She had a healthy dose of vanity to give her motivation, but I'd seen her tuck into a cheeseburger with relish, even if she ate less than half of it.
I led her from the staff hallway back around to the main staircase and from there to the kitchens. The cook and two housekeepers had arrived the day before. They were staying in a suite of rooms over the five-car garage.
As we entered the kitchen, the cook, a portly woman in her sixties with steel gray hair, took one look at Cynthia and blushed a fiery red. Used to her celebrity making people nervous, Cynthia flashed a wide, welcoming smile and held out a hand, covering the cook's nerves by saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, you come highly recommended. I appreciate you taking on the challenge of my menu. I know it's frustrating to have so many requirements, and I appreciate your patience."
I knew for a fact the cook had scowled when she'd seen the list of Cynthia's do's and don'ts. Now, faced with Cynthia's smile, she babbled her delight at the chance to cook for Cynthia Stevens. She assured us that it would be an honor to make sure that every meal surpassed Cynthia's expectations.
I thanked her before she passed out from excitement and asked, "When should we expect lunch?"
"In about a half-hour, if that's all right, ma'am," she answered with barely a stutter.
I looked at Cynthia who said, "That will be just fine. We'll take it in the main dining room. Thank you so much."
With another dazzling smile, she turned and strode down the hall leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. I followed behind, tapping items off my to-do list and making notes.
Give Cynthia a tour. Done.
Introduce her to staff. Don
e.
Unpack trunks. TBD
Lunch. 30m.
Meeting with security. Undetermined.
"When are we meeting with security?"
Cynthia waved her hand in the air. “Sometime after lunch," she answered, "I need to check my phone. They texted. They said the property is secure. I'm just going to have a wander until lunch."
I knew when I was being dismissed. That worked for me, I had trunks to deal with. "I'll start with the unpacking and meet you in the dining room for lunch."
"Fine," Cynthia said, scrolling through the screen on her phone, already distracted. I headed for the stairs, hoping to make a dent in organizing Cynthia's closet before it was time to eat.
I only made it through three trunks, mostly shoes and day wear, before the cook called us to lunch. We were just finishing our meal when Cynthia's phone beeped with an alert. Looking down at the screen, a secretive smile spread across her face.
"The security team is here," she murmured. "This should be fun."
Finally, the long-awaited meeting with security. Cynthia had uncharacteristically insisted on handling the arrangements herself. She'd resisted any attempt of mine to help coordinate the logistics. She hadn't explained why, and I hadn't pressed. What Cynthia wanted, Cynthia got. I was paid well to make sure it happened.
I should have pushed for an explanation. I should have demanded answers.
I should have done anything but let Cynthia take the driver’s seat.
If I had, I wouldn't have felt like I was going to lose my lunch so soon after finishing it.
"Summer, be a doll and get the door, would you?"
I opened my mouth to tell her no one was there when, as if cued by a director, the sound of church bells echoed through the main level. Trust Rycroft Castle to have a doorbell that belonged in a cathedral.
Dutifully, I pushed back my chair and rose. "Of course. Would you like me to order coffee in the parlor?"
"That would be fine, thank you, Summer. I'll meet you there."
I texted a quick message to the cook on my way to the front door. Turning the heavy iron handle, I swung the door open and turned to stone.
Evers Sinclair stood in front of me, a knowing grin on his face.
Chapter Five
Summer
My heart sank. I should have seen it coming. Why had I convinced myself there was any chance Cynthia had brought her team from L.A.?
She'd grown up in Atlanta. She'd probably grown up with the Sinclairs. And even if she hadn't, Sinclair Security was the best. Evers' brother Axel managed her security on the West Coast, though he didn't handle her personally. It looked like Evers would be different.
His ice-blue eyes were impenetrable and fixed on mine. A wave of dark hair fell over his forehead. My hand itched to push it back, to run my thumb over the grooves beside his mouth.
He'd looked tired the day I'd thrown him out. Now, the bright July sun highlighting every detail of his face, I wondered when he'd last slept. Beneath his tan he was pale. Drawn.
I quashed the worry blooming in my heart. So what if he was worn out? Not my problem. It had never been my problem.
My eyes landed briefly on his full lower lip, then flicked away. Evers Sinclair had been a thorn in my side since the day we'd met.
I fought the urge to grit my teeth and mustered every ounce of professionalism I had. In an even, calm voice I said, "I assume you're representing our security team?"
Evers' lips curved in that charming smile that dropped panties from coast-to-coast. Not mine. Not anymore.
"Winters. I forgot you worked for Cynthia."
"Liar," I said flatly.
I hated when he called me Winters. I'd worked for Cynthia when he'd been investigating me. I didn't believe for a second he'd forgotten.
From behind him, I heard, "Ev, the girl's got your number. Are you going to get out of the way or should we do this meeting on the steps?"
I stepped back to let them in the house. Evers moved past me, and the man behind took his place, holding out his hand with a grin. I took it and shook, meeting a pair of amused sea-green eyes. A little shorter than Evers but still way taller than me, Evers' partner was broad shouldered, with sandy, close-cropped hair, and a stubbled jaw.
Based on the bump on the bridge of his nose and the scar running over it, his nose had been badly broken at some point. The old injury only added to his roguish appeal. All in all, he was more than handsome. Compelling. Downright hot.
Too bad he didn't do anything for me. Since the disaster with the jerk standing beside me, I hadn't had any interest in men, even one as good-looking as this one.
"I've heard all about you, Summer Winters," he said with a wink.
I realized immediately that he knew what had happened with Evers, probably knew my file inside and out. Before I could be annoyed, he held out his arm, placed my hand on it and started to lead me into the house.
Ignoring Evers, he smiled down at me and said with a hint of a drawl, "I'm Griffen Sawyer. I'm working with Evers on this assignment. This place is amazing, isn't it? We put in the original system, and I saw it while it was under construction, but I haven't been back since. Seems like a shame it stands empty most of the time. We meeting in the front parlor?"
He didn't wait for me to answer, leading me down the hall to the formal living room. Evers stalked behind us, scowling at Griffen.
"You don't have to lead her to the parlor," he grumbled under his breath. "She knows where it is."
Griffen glanced over his shoulder. "I'm a gentleman. Unlike some people."
Evers responded with a low growl.
I ignored him. The side of Griffen's mouth quirked up, and he looked down at me, his eyes meeting mine before one closed in a slow wink. Startled, I barely caught myself before I grinned back.
It looked like Griffen was ready to mess with his friend. I didn’t know why Evers would care if Griffen flirted with me, but I was happy to poke at him any way I could.
Throwing him out of my condo hadn't been nearly enough punishment for his betrayal. I wasn't above aggravating him if I had the chance.
Cynthia swanned into the room, her arms held wide in welcome, pink lips curved in a dazzling smile.
"Evers. Evers Sinclair. Darling. It's been so long." She threw herself into his arms, linking her hands behind his neck and pulling him down for a smacking kiss right on the mouth.
I looked away, my chest burning as their lips met. Evers' hand rested on her back, her fingers stroked his neck. My lunch rolled in my stomach.
He wasn't mine. He'd never been mine. And Cynthia was my boss.
Griffen cleared his throat. Cynthia stepped back, noticing him for the first time. "Well, aren't you straight out of central casting. Rugged and handsome. I don't believe we've met," Cynthia said, giving Griffen a long, slow, appreciative smile.
She held out her hand. Griffen took it in both of his, bending low over hers in a courtly gesture that should have looked silly and didn't.
"Griffen Sawyer, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, no, don't call me ma'am. Cynthia's fine. We’re all going to get to know each other very well. We don't need to stand on ceremony."
With horror, I thought about the room I'd reserved upstairs for the head of security. Please let that be Griffen, I thought, silently cursing Cynthia for keeping me out of the security arrangements.
There was clearly something between her and Evers. She was friendly and touchy, but she didn't kiss men she'd just met. She'd kept the security to herself so she could arrange for some company along with safety.
At the thought, bile rose in the back of my throat. I hoped they were going to meet in her room. I couldn't take hearing them across the hall.
Ugh, it was very possible I was going to vomit. I swallowed hard. Of course, they'd meet in her room. She was the princess. She wouldn't go to him.
Gesturing to the two white sofas flanking the cold fireplace, Cynthia said, "Business before pleasure. L
et's sit and go over the arrangements."
We sat, Cynthia beside Evers and me beside Griffen. Evers eyed the space between Griffen and myself even as Cynthia slid closer to him, leaning in and setting her hand on his knee, her long pink nails curving around his thigh. She said something under her breath, and Evers turned to answer in a murmur.
To me, Griffen said, "How long have you worked for Cynthia?"
"For a few years," I said, sure Griffen already knew every detail of my employment history with Cynthia Stevens.
I wasn't sure why he'd asked until he eased closer to me and stretched his arm behind my back along the top of the sofa, his fingers landing on my shoulder. Evers' ice-blue eyes flicked up, catching Griffen's movement, and narrowed, a muscle clenching in the side of his jaw. I felt more than saw the smirk on Griffen's face.
"She going to give us trouble?"
"Hmm?" I asked, losing track of the conversation.
"Cynthia," Griffen said in a low voice as we watched Evers talk to the client in an intimate tone we couldn't quite decipher from a few feet away.
"Oh, no. No, I don't think she will. She's usually very sensible, and the situation with Clint has her on edge."
"Good. That's good. Nothing worse than a client who gets in the way."
His fingers brushed my shoulder again. Evers had his eyes on Cynthia, but that muscle in his jaw flickered. In any other situation, I would have discretely moved away from Griffen’s touch. He seemed nice enough, but that was too much contact for a guy I'd just met. I stayed where I was. I knew he was only touching me to needle Evers, though I didn't get why.
"Is she good to work for? Cynthia?" Griffen asked, his voice low enough that the pair on the other couch couldn't hear.
"Usually," I said just as quietly.
I thought about my answer. She was great to work for. Generous and kind and no more demanding than anyone else in her position would be. So why was I ready to stand up and walk out of the room? Why did it matter?
I was the one who'd ended things with Evers.
I didn't want him back.
