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‘Mum, I’ve already wiped it down, and we’ve got cleaners for that.’
‘They don’t do a good enough job, babe. I only keep them on to please your dad.’
James tied a knot in the plastic bin liner and removed the bag. There was no point in arguing. Beverley Hunter-Savage could never rest until every surface in her house sparkled and shone. Her clothes may have been designer, but nine times out of ten they were hidden under an apron.
‘Go take a shower, babe, then find your dad. He wants to see you.’
‘Okay.’ James bit back a sigh and left the room, carrying the results of his exercise session.
Striding through the ground floor corridor towards the kitchen, James’s skin itched with irritation. His father should never have bought this Georgian pile. It was far smaller than Foxbrooke Manor, but still impressive enough to have come with a seven-figure price tag.
Overpriced pile of shit. Damp was already showing through the freshly applied paint, and without modern insulation, James knew the fuel bill to heat it over winter would be astronomical.
Earlier in the year, his father had decided the Hunter-Savage family’s progression up the ladder of the British social classes should skip a few rungs. Step one involved consolidating their holdings and buying Shoscombe Manor, a Palladian mansion set in four hundred and eight acres of rolling Somerset countryside. Step two involved ingratiating themselves with the local nobs. However, once James discovered which members of the aristocracy lived on the other side of the river to the mansion house, he’d put a stop to that plan.
Henry fucking Foxbrooke.
James was fifteen when Henry, two school years younger than him, had started at Eton. Lord Henry Foxbrooke was a viscount, his father a duke, his biological mother a glamorous Black American movie star, and his other mother a wild and beautiful Irish woman. Henry’s family were infamous and exciting, and James expected the heir to the Foxbrooke estate to be cut from the same cloth.
He wasn’t.
Shouldering open the stiff kitchen door, James stamped on the bottom bar of an industrial-sized bin to lift the lid, then dropped the bag he was carrying inside.
He’s a pathetic little dweeb.
What Henry Foxbrooke had been handed on a plate, James had been forced to fight for every day of his life. But despite being born into money and the top tier of society, Henry was meeker than a mouse and appeared embarrassed by his title. That had annoyed James beyond belief. However, analysing exactly why Henry riled him so much would mean a journey of introspection James wasn’t prepared to take. So instead he needled Henry, hoping to provoke a reaction.
It had taken him seventeen years to get one.
Stalking to a cupboard, James took out a tub containing a post-exercise recovery powder he’d created himself, then glanced around the kitchen for his blender.
Fuck’s sake!
It was sitting, unwashed by the sink.
Again.
Running the hot water, he scrubbed at the flecks of dried green with a brush. What was this shit? Kale? Spirulina? Pond water? And why the fuck couldn’t she just clean it up after she used it?
As if summoned by the power of his thoughts, the kitchen door opened and a woman entered. Blonde, beautiful, and adventurous in bed, Elyse Kirwin should have been a perfect match for James Hunter-Savage. One night three years ago, she’d approached him in a City bar, and they’d had a two-week fling before James had ended it.
Elyse hadn’t accepted his decision.
Her eyes scanned his body, her gaze a calculated mix of amusement and desire. ‘Hard?’ she asked with a smirk.
He turned back to the sink. ‘My workout, or cleaning your smoothie off my blender?’
She giggled. ‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Coming to his side, she leaned against the counter, watching him. ‘There’s a restaurant in the village called The Colour Palate that’s meant to be good. Wanna go tonight?’
He shook his head. When they’d briefly dated, it hadn’t taken long for James to twig that Elyse wasn’t someone he wanted to spend any time with outside of the bedroom. He’d been upfront and honest with her, but she’d insisted they kept meeting to ‘talk things through’.
He’d indulged her a couple of times, but stopped returning her calls when she wouldn’t accept whatever they’d had was over. After six months of her pestering, she went quiet. Three months later, his dad introduced him to his new PA—Elyse.
‘Oh, come on,’ she continued. ‘It’ll be fun. For old time’s sake.’
Shaking his head again, he twisted the cleaned blender back onto the base unit and measured out scoops of powder. Avoiding Elyse when he worked at Conqueror was easy enough, but now? She even lived in the same house as he did. His parents thought the sun shone out of her arse, and hoped their son would get together with her.
Been there, done that, not going back.
