“I’ll bet.”
The drive wasn’t long. Before I was ready, the car turned into a driveway marked by large, open gates and a stone planter overflowing with colorful flowers. A small, hand-painted wooden sign on the gate read “McArthur.”
“Binnie’s maiden name,” Ellison explained. “Her parents built the house.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think, Grey. Most of these people are very nice.”
“So nice they abhor outsiders?”
Ellison sighed. “They don’t abhor outsiders. They’re simply… cautious.”
“Forgive me if being a close friend of your father’s gives me the wrong impression of Ian Duckworth,” I muttered.
“I told you, Ian and Binnie are closer to my mother. They put up with my father for her sake. I still haven’t heard that he’s coming. Maybe he’s been too busy scrambling to get York back to hear about my new boyfriend. That would have made this a real shitshow.”
He was right, and I would have been grateful for that small pleasure if it hadn’t meant having to staff several people in the York office whose sole job it was to make sure Warren didn’t turn up and cause trouble while I was gone. His company login credentials and key cards had been deactivated, but I still assumed he would make a nuisance of himself there and try to convince his former employees to give him access.
The driveway meandered through a large expanse of pristinely clipped grass lawn toward an incredibly large building that would be more appropriately referred to as a chateau than a beach house. It was beautiful, especially with the golden light of the late sun slanting across from behind us, illuminating the stone house and the ocean beyond it. Maybe Ellison was right. Maybe I needed to relax. This place wasn’t a resort on a private island with pretty men in small swimsuits, but it was definitely slower-paced and idyllic.
“How will you know if I’ve sufficiently relaxed to meet your negotiation requirements?” I asked.
Ellison reached out a hand and ran a fingertip between my eyebrows. “This line might go away.” He moved his finger to the outer edges of my eyelid. “And one might appear here.” He moved it down to the side of my lips. “Or here.”
I didn’t move a muscle. The gentle caress of the pad of his finger reminded me that for an entire week this man would have the freedom to touch me like this in front of others. It was a kind of intimacy I hadn’t shared with someone in a long time. I’d dated a few men in my midtwenties, but when my business had finally taken off, I’d run out of time for dating. My love life had turned solidly into a sex life, at least when I had the time for it.
I moved out of his reach by pretending to look out the window. “It’s more rural than I imagined.”
He made that little sound of soft laughter I was coming to recognize so well. “Yes. People who are used to the city are usually surprised by how different it is in the rest of the country.”
“I golfed at St. Andrews once,” I told him. “Out in the middle of nowhere. It was awful. Worst day I’ve ever spent trying to get that damned ball in a hole. I wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been for the opportunity to meet Richard Branson.”
The car pulled closer to the large home. I tried to quell my nerves. Was Duckworth going to be angry at me for going to such extremes to meet with him? If he agreed to sell the building to me, there had to come a time in the future he would realize what had happened.
“I thought you hated golf,” Ellison said.
The sight of the house getting bigger as we drove closer distracted me from the conversation. “I do.”
“Then why do you play? Why belong to multiple golf clubs?”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Business deals are won or lost on the golf course. Surely your father taught you that.”
He was quiet for a beat. “That explains a lot,” Ellison eventually said. The car finally pulled up to the front of the home, in a circular drive of pea gravel. A large fountain filled the center of the circle, and bright sprays of water shot out of copper bugles held by nymph sculptures. A besuited man stood on the stone steps, ready to greet us.
An honest-to-god butler.
“Stop scowling,” Ellison murmured. “That’s Henry. He likes Zabar’s cinnamon babka and chocolate chip cookies. Once you give him those, he’ll love you forever.”
“I don’t—” I started to say I didn’t have either of those items, but then I remembered Ellison had asked the driver to stop at the Broadway deli on the way to Hudson Yards. He’d come out with a bag of treats I’d assumed was for Ian and Binnie. “Sneaky little shit,” I murmured at his back as he climbed out to greet his old friend.
“Henry! So good to see you. How’s Catherine?”
The butler’s eyes lit up, but he tried his best to keep a professional expression on his face. I could tell he had a soft spot for Ellison, though, as he took particular care to direct another man to grab our bags.
“I’ve put you and Mr. Blackwood in the Magnolia Room because we had word a few hours ago that your father is coming.”
I glanced at Ellison. The surprise and disappointment on his face were genuine, and the butler noticed it right away.
“Which means you’ll be on opposite ends of the house,” Henry said with a small cough.
Ellison lowered his voice. “How did you know who I was bringing?”
Henry’s eyes blinked over to me for a moment before focusing on Ellison again. “Your godmother said to tell you—and I quote—she knows everything all the time and for you to stop thinking you’re so smart.” He glanced at me again and lowered his voice. “But if you want to know the truth, someone from town told her they’d seen you two together at Neiman’s.”
Ellison sighed and rolled his eyes. “Devious. Did you see her reaction when she found out?”
Henry stood up straighter. “If I did, it wouldn’t have been any business of mine, sir.”
Ellison quickly introduced me to the butler before unzipping his backpack and pulling out the Zabar’s bag. “For you.”
Henry took them with a formal nod. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, Mrs. Duckworth loves you very much. She only wants what’s best for you.”
Ellison’s face lit with an affectionate smile, the kind that made my stomach tighten and something inside of me want. What would it be like to have that expression turned my way?
Another car’s tires crunched on the driveway. Henry turned to see who it was. “I’ll have someone show you to your room,” he said when he turned back to us.
“No need,” Ellison said. “I remember where it is. Thanks.”
He leaned in and kissed Henry on the cheek. The older man blushed and waved him off with a huff. I followed Ellison into the house and tried not to look like a gawking tourist. The fittings were old but pristine. The wooden panels and staircase were waxed to a healthy lustre, and the antique rug under the heavy marble-topped table in the center of the entry hall gave the space warmth and elegance. There were framed seascape paintings on a few walls and brass light fixtures here and there that looked like they’d come from the captain’s cabin in an old wooden sailing ship.