I smiled and waved.
Project at double the rate. It might not be enough to pay the bills, but it was a step in the right direction. And if my heart was beating a little faster than necessary. That was purely financial motivation and had nothing to do with the thought of Raphael Renault.
The Renault estate sat on the edge of town where the road narrowed, and the trees grew deliberately. The kind of property that didn’t just have land, itheldits stone walls and iron gates. It was architecture that said generational wealth without needing to shout.
The gates opened automatically when I pulled up.
Which, I will admit, felt aggressively dramatic. Yesterday, I hadn’t really processed it. I’d been too busy pretending I wasn’t impressed. Today, without the pressure of first introductions, I let myself actually look.
The house wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t marble columns and gold fixtures. It was old stone, heavy wood, and symmetry. It wasn’t over the top and flashy, more old-world money. The kind of place that probably had opinions about silverware.
My van rattled slightly as I parked in the same spot as before.
I cut the engine and sat for a moment.
The estate loomed ahead, solid and still.
This wasn’t like the other houses I cleaned. Most of those were aspirational, with granite countertops, staged throw pillows, and curated art meant to suggest personality.
This place didn’t suggest anything. It didn’t need to. It just existed.
I glanced down at the steering wheel.
“You’re here for double time,” I reminded myself, not to admire the architecture. Definitely not to psychoanalyze the brooding owner or wonder why he’d followed you like a suspicious cat yesterday.
I stepped out of the van.
I closed the door carefully with two firm pushes again. Habit.
I couldn’t help but glance up at the window of his study. And then he’d appeared. He literally appeared in the windows, standing tall and still, watching over the driveway. He’d tracked me like I was a problem he intended to solve.
I smiled and waved. I couldn’t be sure, but I was fairly certain he scowled at me before turning back into the room.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and walked toward the side entrance. This was fine. Everything was fine. I was just casually walking into a castle owned by a man who, in equal parts, terrified and fascinated me.
The stone under my shoes was cool and perfectly even. There wasn’t even a hint of a crack or weeds daring to exist between slabs.
Yesterday, when Geoffrey had led me through the halls, I’d noticed how sound behaved in this house. It didn’t echo. It was absorbed. It was as if the walls themselves were trained to keep secrets.
The air even felt cooler near the stone, like the house carried its own weather.
I knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Geoffrey stood there, immaculate as ever.
“Ms. Blythe,” he said.
“Mr. Impeccable Timing,” I replied. His expression shifted a fraction. Approval? Amusement? Hard to tell.
“Thank you for returning,” he said.
“Double time is very persuasive.”
“Quite.” He stepped aside to let me in.
“You mentioned a project?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said smoothly. “If you’ll follow me.”
