An Irresistible Bachelor (7 page)

He was looking forward to the meeting and there was no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon as far as he was concerned. One of the things he liked about the venture capital business was that it was twenty-four/ seven. There was never any downtime, no wasted moments, always something that needed to be done. Sundays, holidays, birthdays, weddings. He worked through them all.

Hell, the day his father had been buried, he'd spent half the wake in his study setting up the funding for a tech firm down in Atlanta. But that hadn't just been about business, he supposed. He'd found it difficult to mourn someone whose sustained disapproval had marked his life so indelibly, and getting some work done had seemed like a more productive use of time than faking sorrow.

Bad family dynamics aside, with every sunrise, there were places he had to be, things he needed to accomplish, people who wanted to get to him and his money. It was a nonstop, frenetic ride with no clear end in sight. In all that swirling chaos, he found purpose. He knew being governor of Massachusetts would be just as complicated and demanding. And if he ever made it to the Oval Office, the stakes would be astronomical.

Jack slid a silk tie around his neck and faced the mirror. He couldn't wait for the future.

ON TUESDAY, Callie took a train up the coast of Connecticut to Boston's Back Bay Station and then transferred to a commuter rail line that took her out to the suburbs. As she stepped off in Wellesley with her old Samsonite suitcase and a toolbox full of supplies, she stared up a steep hill.

Now she knew why they called it Cliff Road.

By the time she walked up to a pair of stone pillars bearing the right number, her arms were going numb and she had pins and needles in her shoulders. She dropped her load and looked down the driveway. There wasn't much to see. The strip of asphalt disappeared into a thicket of underbrush and trees.

She picked up her things again and started down the last leg of her journey. She told herself, as she had innumerable times during the trip, that everything was going to be okay. She was going to do a good job and Jack Walker was going to be too busy running his business empire to bother with her.

And even if it was awful, nothing lasted forever.

When she rounded a corner, uneasiness came over her like a curse.

“Good fortune” my foot, she thought, looking at the mansion.

The house, which was painted a dark gray, was a towering mausoleum as it rose from its stone foundation. There were porches and cupolas and a tower at the top and the various eaves and corners threw off a host of shadows that made the place seem even gloomier. The grounds didn't help lighten the mood any. They were austere, with only clipped bushes and beds of pachysandra to soften the mansion's footprint. But at least there were several big trees on the property. The oaks and maples arched their limbs over a lawn that was big enough to play pro football on and the grass was just as well tended as any playing field's.

She started walking again. The drive was a good hundred yards long and it split to wrap around the house. The left half went to the garage, which was two stories high and had four bays. The other led under a porte cochere that shielded the main entrance of the mansion. She went to the right.

When she got to the heavy front door, she dropped her suitcase and toolbox. Reminding herself she was an invited guest, not an interloper, she let the brass door knocker fall.

A woman in her forties answered it. As she looked Callie up and down, her eyes weren't unkind, but they weren't exactly warm, either.

“Yes?” The air of purpose about her suggested she worked at the house, though she wasn't wearing a uniform.

“I'm Callie Burke.”

“The conservationist?” The woman's expression changed to one of surprise.

Callie nodded.

“Oh—ah, he told us you'd be coming.” The woman frowned, taking in the orange suitcase and the furry coat. “Mrs. Walker was looking forward to your arrival.”

Mrs. Walker?

“Actually, I was expecting to meet Mr. Walker.”

“He's not home yet. She is here, though.”

Surprise, surprise, Callie thought. She hadn't read that he'd been married, but then, she hadn't been picking up the paper as much as she used to. The idea that he had a wife made her feel more at ease in a way.

Unless he really had been about to kiss her in front of her building, in which case she felt worse.

An awkward silence followed, until Callie said, “Is there something wrong?”

“I'm so sorry. I should be more . . . Welcome to Buona Fortuna,” the woman said, extending her hand. Her eyes began to warm up. “I'm Elsie, Mrs. Walker's personal secretary. We were expecting someone a little . . .”

“Older?” As the woman nodded, Callie smiled and shook hands before stepping inside. “I can understand that.”

Once her eyes adjusted, she saw glowing mahogany walls carved with deep reliefs, a stone fireplace that ran from floor to ceiling, and a lot of heavy European furniture. It was like walking into a Renaissance exhibit at a museum.

And just about as cozy.

“Mrs. Walker will be down in a moment. Why don't you wait in the solarium and I'll have your bags taken upstairs?”

Callie nodded and shrugged out of her coat.

“You can give that to me. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head. “No, I'm fine.”

“The solarium is through there, past the library, and out the other side.”

When Callie finally found it, the bright, sunny room was a relief. The solarium, with its glass walls and pale slate flooring, looked as if it had been decorated by someone else entirely.

Someone who hadn't been born a Medici back in the fifteenth century.

There were chintz chairs and a comfortable sofa to sit on, and white wicker side tables supported lamps made out of Oriental vases. She took a deep breath. The warm, humid air smelled of the flowers that were growing around the room in perfectly maintained beds.

She was looking through the glass at the undulating lawn when she heard soft footsteps. She turned, very curious about who exactly Jack Walker had married, and found herself meeting the soulful eyes of an Irish wolfhound. The dog was about the size of a small pony and covered with a shaggy gray coat of fur. He wagged his tail in a tentative welcome.

“Well, hello,” she said softly, getting down on her haunches.

The dog approached, moving in a slow, loping walk. His head was taller than hers as she kneeled in front of him, but though his size was daunting, his eyes gave him away. They were limpid pools of friendliness.

She was stroking his head when a voice cut through the room.

“I see you've met Arthur.”

Callie looked over into an impeccably aged face. Her first impression was that the woman had once been incredibly beautiful. The next was that the proprietary glare coming out of her brown eyes was about as welcoming as a Taser gun.

My God, she thought, this wasn't his wife.

The great Jack Walker lived with his
mother.

She wanted to laugh, but knew the outburst wouldn't have gone over well. Mrs. Walker looked as if she didn't find much humor in anything.

“So you are the conservationist my son has chosen,” the woman said, stepping into the room. Her stark white hair was pulled back from her face and the severe style showed off her set of spectacular cheekbones. She was wearing a tweed pantsuit that had the clean lines of haute couture and there was a lot of heavy gold jewelry around her neck.

She was right out of central casting. The quintessential grande dame.

Callie got to her feet. “Yes, I'm Callie Burke.”

“You're a little young for this, don't you think?” The comment was followed by a chilly little smile.

“I can do the work, Mrs. Walker. And your son is confident of this or he wouldn't have hired me.”

The smile disappeared. “You do realize that Copley was the painter?”

As if Callie might have mistaken the thing for a Le-Roy Neiman.

“Of course.”

“Well, it's Jack's money wasted if you fail. Not to mention the loss to the art world, which would be significant. But I'm sure you'll perform to the best of your abilities.”

Callie lifted her brows.

Well, at least you didn't have to dig for her put-downs. Anything more obvious and Jack's mother would be burying a knife in her chest.

Though she was tempted to shoot something back, she forced herself to keep quiet and was surprised as the dog leaned against her legs. She put her hand down and stroked his ear, appreciating his support.

Mrs. Walker frowned.

“Arthur seems to like you.” Her tight lips suggested that the virtue he'd found was a mystery. “I'll let Elsie show you to a room. Jack just called me. He told me to apologize on his behalf because he will be late tonight. I'm going out, so you will be alone.”

Now, that was terrific news.

Jack's mother walked away, but paused in the doorway to give Callie the once-over again. “Wherever did Jack find you?”

At the local pound for starving artisans, she wanted to toss back. One more week of no work and they were going to gas me. He saved my life!

Instead, she just let the woman go. She wanted to tell the venerable Mrs. Walker exactly what she could do with her attitude, but that was just going to make the next six weeks even harder to get through. Besides, she'd endured worse than what Jack's mother could dish out. Growing up she'd worn thick glasses, braces, and bad clothes, and her father had never shown up on parents' days. Bullies were the same whether they were in the school yard or a solarium.

Anyway, it looked like she didn't have to do much to get back at Mrs. Walker. Callie's mere presence in the house seemed to be revenge enough.

Elsie came back in, looking tense. “You can follow me.”

Arthur came with them. When they got to the front hall, instead of going up the massive staircase, they continued through an ornate, golden dining room and into a restaurant-quality kitchen.

Elsie led the way over to a cramped set of stairs. After going up two flights, they emerged into a bare hall lined with six doors. Unlike the rest of the house, which was festooned with antiques, here there were no paintings or rugs. It looked downright institutional.

Elsie opened a door, revealing a single bed, a dresser, and a table. The walls were white, the floor made of more bare wood, and there was a radiator under the window that was making a hissing noise. Callie saw her things in the corner.

Servants' quarters.

She looked at Elsie. The woman was obviously embarrassed as she pointed down the hall.

“The bathroom's three doors down to the right. You'll have to share it with Thomas, but don't worry. He's a neat freak, even if he looks like a Hells Angel.”

Callie cocked an eyebrow.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” she murmured, as she went in and sat on the bed. It made a rusty squeak and Elsie winced.

Callie smiled up at the woman. Whatever her feelings about the accommodations, she wasn't going to be rude to the messenger. “This will work out just fine. I'm so tired, I could sleep on the floor.”

The bed let out another protest and she eyed the pine planks, thinking that might well be where she ended up.

Elsie started to back out of the room.

“It's the rest of the staff's day off. I'm leaving now, but I'll be back tomorrow,” she said, as if she felt like Callie needed a friend in the household. “If there's anything you want, just ask me. I'll make sure you're taken care of. Oh, and there's plenty of food downstairs. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Elsie stared at her for a moment and then left, looking as if someone had asked her to leave a stray puppy by the side of the road.

Callie stood up and glanced out the door, wondering whom she was sharing a bathroom with. Trading off shower time in the morning wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind. But then again, had anything concerning Jack Walker gone according to her plans so far? Not hardly. She should be getting used to surprises.

Besides, she was just an employee, not a guest. And one good thing was that the chances of Mrs. Walker showing up in this part of the house were slim to none.

So maybe it was for the best.

Arthur, who was roaming around the room, investigating corners and sniffing under the bed, looked up as if to inquire whether they were heading down to the kitchen.

“Sorry, Artie. I need to get settled first.”

The dog heaved a sigh and fell into a heap at the foot of the bed. With his head down on his massive paws, his eyes followed her as she unpacked.

Parceling out her meager wardrobe into the dresser drawers, Callie wondered how long it would take for Jack's mother to get out of the house.

Rule number one with bullies: A good avoidance strategy can nip a lot of conflict in the bud. She was just going to give Mrs. Walker a wide berth.

Callie pictured the woman's haughty, disapproving face and grinned.

Kind of like you would with any other type of WASP.

JACK PULLED his Aston Martin into the garage and got out. He'd expected to get home much earlier, but the negotiations he'd begun with the blood brothers weren't going as well as he'd hoped. There were some issues with their debt financing structure that were going to make securing a large, unfettered interest in the company close to impossible. The McKays had borrowed money from a legion of family members during their research and development phase and had given away a substantial amount of their shares in return.