Page 4

I took one final calming breath and hopped out.
I looked around for someone in a suit or just anything other than a hard hat and work boots, but all I could see were the workmen. One group in particular congregated near a truck, holding Styrofoam cups of tea and roll-up cigarettes.
One of them clocked me and nudged the guy next to him, nodding at me. I held the file close to my chest as I walked and plastered a smile on my face, determined not to let their staring intimidate me.
"Excuse me, hi." I smiled. They didn't respond but instead simply ogled me. One seemed particularly fascinated with my legs. "I'm looking for Riley Fitzpatrick. Do you know where I can find him?"
One of the men threw a surly thumb over his shoulder. I looked behind him for a person but all I could see was a gravel path that led around the right side of the House. I thanked the man and started the long walk around the property.'House'felt like such a ridiculous word for this place—'modest castle'was maybe more appropriate.
To the untrained eye, the gardens were a vast space of natural beauty. The untrained eye would see the smooth, sloping lawns surrounding Harrington House, or the great stretches of untamed woodland in the distance. It would appreciate the historic beauty of the stone, rectangular pond that had probably been there for a hundred years or more. But a schooled eye saw more; it would see the cracks in the pond's stone work. It would look at the woodland and imagine the trees that would need to be thinned, the invasive plants that would have taken over and poisoned the earth.
My imagination hopped in anticipation but I stamped it down. I was here to take notes for Mark and to liaise. Nothing more. I sighed, envious of Riley and Mark, that this was what they got to do every day.
I flicked through the file again as I walked, searching for the design specs. If Riley Fitzpatrick pulled off what he'd laid out on paper, this place was going to be spectacular when it was finished.
I turned another page, engrossed in the plans, and gasped in surprise as I slammed straight into a slab of muscle. The file flew out of my hands and I fell, tumbling gracelessly to the ground and hitting the gravel with a painful thud.
Great. This was just great.
I took a moment to check my hands. They were scraped from the gravel but weren't bleeding.
"Do you plan on staying down there all day?" a bored sounding man spoke above me. I scowled at the shoes in frontof me that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and struggled to my feet.
"I'm sorry that my checking for broken bones was an inconvenience," I huffed, avoiding looking at the rude man and dusting myself down. My dress appeared to be intact. My dignity, however, was another matter.
"Would you like to try that apology again?"
I glared up at the man, taking in his face for the first time and my pulse picked up a notch. His skin was smooth, as if it was made from marble. His cheekbones were high, his lips full and firm. The only thing marring his beauty was a thin scar running through his left eyebrow. His hair was dark and thick, smoothed back in that old Hollywood way. He was clean shaven and his dark grey three piece was tailored perfectly to his muscular body. He towered over me, his posture effortlessly powerful, but his eyes, oh God those eyes, steel-grey and sharp, as if they could see into my very soul.
"I'm sorry," I said through gritted teeth. My stubborn side cried out at me to take back the apology and flip him the bird, but instead I pasted a smile on my face. It had been my fault, I had to apologise. I expected him to graciously accept my apology but the man merely continued his scornful scrutiny of me, his attitude throwing cold water on my initial attraction to him.
"Is there a reason you weren't looking where you were going?"
I watched his lips move as he spoke, his mouth enunciating each word with a precision that reeked of boarding school.
"I was distracted. You could apologise too, you know. I didn't fall on my own."
"I don't apologise unless it's court ordered." His tone was infuriatingly arrogant. I bristled as he looked me over like I was some kind of strange specimen. “What was it that distracted you? The ill-fitting shoes on your feet or the dull literature you'vethrown all over the ground?" He eyed the file on the ground and then my sister’s too-big heels with distaste.What an arrogant, condescending…
"My shoes fit perfectly, thank you," I lied, "and the literature wasn't dull. It was quite engrossing actually."
"I see. So it's walking and reading at the same time that's the problem is it? Multitasking not your strong suit?" He seemed disinterested—the epitome of aloof. I arched a brow at his insult. I couldn't figure out whether this guy was having fun with me or not.
"For your information, I'm perfectly capable of multitasking, not that that is any of your business, Mr Business Suit, and if you?—"
"Miss?"
"Yes?" I snapped at the newcomer that had interrupted my rant. "It's you!" I gasped as the man whose car I'd rammed into earlier held my file out to me. I took it gratefully and dusted it off. "Thank you." I smiled, ignoring the rude man completely. "Again, I'm so sorry about earlier. How damaged is your car? You really ought to let me pay for it, you know."
"Mycar," the other man cut in. I narrowed my eyes at him, really wishing that he would just go away. "The car is mine. Elliot here," he gestured to the giant of a man, "is my driver, among other things. So," he said, looking me over again, "who are you and why do you keep getting in my way today?"
Getting in his way?He spoke as if I was doing it on purpose.
Elliot backed away a few steps to what I assumed was his standard pose: present, but uninvolved. I didn't blame him. The man in front of me was nothing if not intimidating.
He arched an impatient eyebrow. I doubted he was a man that ever had to wait for anything, let alone a response to a simple question. I straightened my spine and put out my handfor him to shake, though I half-hoped he wouldn't take it. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have him touch me.
"Lola O'Connell, I'm here for a meeting with Riley Fitzpatrick," I answered, with a confidence I didn't feel, "and you are?" He took my hand in a firm grip that electrified me so sharply I had to hold in a gasp.