Page 62 of Puck
“Of course it does. How many houses does the bastard have?” I wondered.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“I wasn’t asking you, kid. Just wondering out loud.”
I stared as the line of vehicles halted in the circle drive, the center of which was an elaborate marble fountain carved to look astonishingly like a Greek goddess version of Kyrie. Roth was out of his car and striding toward the door, greeting a tuxedo-clad older guy.
“Yo, Roth!” I called out, as we approached him.
He paused, glancing back at me. “Yes, Puck?”
“Is that a real-deal butler?”
Roth allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Although I think Nigel would prefer the term majordomo.”
“And his name is Nigel, too. That’s fucking awesome.” I eyed the house. “Does this place come with a bat cave, too?”
Roth let out a dignified little breath that I realized was his classy, elegant version of a laugh. “Something like that, yes. I call it the toy box, though. You’ll like it, I’m sure. I’ll show it to you in the morning.” He turned to Nigel. “For now, however, Nigel has arranged for the kitchen to be at the ready. Rooms have been prepared, so it’s up to each of you how you wish to arrange yourselves. The phones have buttons labeled for the kitchen, so all you have to do is call down and put in a request, and your orders will be brought to you. Much like room service, but better and faster. Have a pleasant evening, and let’s plan on reconvening over breakfast for the formal debriefing.”
We entered through the front door and into a marble and dark wood foyer that opened into the kind of room you’d envision this place having: sweeping staircases swirling in grand arcs from the third floor all the way down to the first floor, with hallways running off into three different wings on each level. Hanging in the center of the foyer was a massive chandelier that looked like it was made of thousands of tiny pieces of antique crystal. Nigel paused at the bottom of the staircases, where a squadron of staff members waited in precise formation, each man and woman wearing formal livery. I felt like I’d walked onto the set ofDownton Abby, and should be thrown out for ruining the take with my grubby ass.
“I don’t have a full menu prepared, I’m afraid,” Nigel said, sounding exactly like I’d hoped, with an arch, crisp, precise British accent. A walking cliché, which tickled me pink, to the point that I had to restrain myself from dissolving into helpless laughter, but may have just been exhaustion. “Although I’m confident we can accommodate most requests.”
“I’m pretty simple,” I said, my exhaustion eroding my already nonexistent filter. “All I need is a bottle of Scotch and some pizza.”
Nigel didn’t miss a beat. “For Scotch, sir, we have Yamazaki eighteen year, Macallan twenty-seven year, and Johnnie Walker Blue Label King George the Fifth Edition. And sundry lesser varieties as well, of course. As far as pizza goes, I did have the staff start the wood-fired pizza oven, and I believe Chef Thomas has favored a margherita of late, which I would recommend.”
I blinked. “Damn, Nigel, you don’t dick around, do you?”
“Certainly not, sir.”
I clapped him on the shoulder, receiving a slightly disapproving frown in response. “Margherita and Yamazaki sounds perfect. Thanks, buddy.” I glanced past him at the staff. “Now, which one of these fine people can show me to a bedroom?”
Nigel snapped his fingers, and a young man practically leapt out of formation, bowed at me, and gestured at the staircase. I followed him, stopping when I realized Colbie was still down at the bottom of the stairs, hesitating.
“Colbie, you coming?” I asked, holding out my hand to her.
She hid a smile and swept up the stairs after me.
I was struck again by how beautiful Colbie was—even after all we’d been through, her hair was still in perfect red-brown waves around her slim shoulders, and even though her skirt and blouse were a bit wrinkled, she moved with poise, grace, and elegance, still wearing her three-inch heels. Her face was drawn, with dark circles under her eyes, but she held herself upright and smiled at me as she wrapped her hand around my elbow with the kind of formality that would suggest we were departing for thetheah-tahor something. It was a tiny gesture, her hand around my elbow, but it made me feel . . . proud. I dunno how to else to put it. Like, I was proud she’d chosen to walk with me, to be seen with me. I imagined how amazing it would feel to be out with her, to have people watch us walking down the street together. Of course, they’d probably ask why the hell a gorgeous, classy, elegant lady like Colbie was slumming it with a meathead biker dick like me. And that would be an excellent question. One which I wouldn’t have an answer for, other than I didn’t know, but thank fuck she was.
Colbie and I followed the butler junior or whatever he was up to the third floor, down a long hallway, and into a distant wing of the house. He gestured at a door near the end of the hallway. “Sir, madam.”
I pushed open the door, but Colbie was hesitating again, so I stopped. “Hey man, you wanna give us a moment to talk? Thanks.” I put my back to the frame of the open door as the staff kid moved a good fifty paces away and stood at attention. “Okay, so listen, babe. You want a separate room, just say so. I suppose I did kinda make some assumptions, but I hope you’ll feel free to correct as needed.”
She showed her poker face again, the one that gave away absolutely nothing of what she felt or thought. “So if I said I wanted my own room, and then to go home—alone—in the morning, you wouldn’t be upset?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’ll never bullshit you, Colbie, so here’s the truth. You say that’s what you want, then fine. Will I be upset? Well, yeah, no shit. I like you. A lot. I was hoping to get more time with you, and I don’t just mean gettin’ busy, either. I like talking to you, being around you. I’d love a chance to watch Loony Tunes in our underwear eating my special homemade pancakes. But if I’ve read you and this situation wrong, and you’re not feeling it, and you just wanna go home, then I’ll head into this room and close the door and that’ll be that.”
I took my hands out of my pockets and stood upright to face her, only a few inches separating us. “But Colbie, honey, there’s a fine line between playing hard to get and actually running away. You want me to chase you, I’ll chase you. You want me to make you give over control, I can do that. But if you don’t actually want this, then you gotta be honest and say so. Don’t play fucking head games. I’m not saying you are, but you’ve got your poker face on, and you’re hesitating and acting like you’re not sure if I’d want you in this room with me.”
She closed her eyes slowly, left them closed for a long moment, her chest rising and falling as she took several deep breaths. “Puck, I—I don’t know.” She breathed in sharply. “I’m just so tired, and I don’t know . . . I don’t know”
I stepped closer, but didn’t touch her. “What don’t you know, sweetheart?”
“This. You. Me. Us. What if what we did on the plane was just . . . adrenaline and hormones and stuff? I’m not saying I regret it, because I don’t, but . . .this”— she gestured at the open door and the lavish room beyond—“is different. A lot different, and I’m having . . . doubts. I don’tknowwhat I want, and I don’tknowwhat I feel, and I don’tknowwhat this is,” Colbie said, her voice low and tense and miserable. “I’ve been kidnapped, and I’ve been bored and scared, and I’ve watched people get shot and stabbed, and I’ve met you and Layla and all the other women, and I’m so fucking tired I can’t think straight, and I’m still scared those guys are gonna show up, and I’ve been keeping my emotions all bottled up because if I let it all out it won’t go back in, and I know I act tough, and I am, I swear, but this has all been scary and I’m—I’m just—”
I could see her eyes watering, and it was obvious she was fighting it, hard. I gathered her close, wrapped my arms around her. “Colbie, baby, you’re not deciding your entire future in this single moment. This isn’t a make or break, now or never, do or die moment. You wanna come in, come in, you wanna be alone, be alone. If you wanna come in but just hang out, eat, get some rest, whatever, keep it platonic so to speak, that’s fine too. There’s no pressure.”