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While she was gone, Chloe surreptitiously studied the magnificent entry hall, imagining what magic she’d have been able to work here if given the proper time. There was space for at least a ten-foot tree, garlands from the railings of the staircase, a long, antique hall-stand that was crying out for nutcrackers, or perhaps a nativity scene. Her mind was popping with ideas, just as it always did when she first visited a new home.

But the sound of footsteps had all decorating thoughts disappearing, as her eyes found him of their own volition. Traitors. They rested on him as though they’d never seen a human male before, as though they desperately needed their fill.

“Miss Merry,” he said, nodding his greeting, a frown settled on his handsome face—somehow, it only made him look even more perfect. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”

She pulled a face. “I suspect I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, Mr Konstantino. Even for the fee we agreed on, this place is a behemoth. Easily as much work as a department store. We’d need a team of four, at least, for a week, minimum, to do it justice.”

“I do not need you to do it justice, this year at least. I just need you to make it feel…magical.”

There was only one reason she could think of for a man to want to make his house magical in the holidays. “How old are your children?” she asked, in the spirit of tearing off the Band-Aid. Besides—she should be relishing any chance to put some distance between him and this childish crush she’d developed, despite knowing better.

“Child. Daughter.” His voice thickened and his frown grew more pronounced. “Ellie’s thirteen.”

A little old to be worrying about the magic of Christmas, in Chloe’s opinion, but she didn’t say anything along those lines. “I presume you’d like her room decorated as well? A tree, festive bedlinen? If we had more time, I’d even suggest a sleigh bed for the holiday season—perhaps next year.”

“I want it to feel—to be—everything a girl her age could dream of for Christmas.”

“Of course,” Chloe agreed, hating that she still felt such a frisson of attraction as she looked across at him. Then again, a woman would need to have one foot in the grave not to recognize his appeal. “Do you have time to give me a tour of the other areas of the house you’d like decorated? I can’t promise I’ll get to all of them, but if we can start with the wish list, I’ll be able to firm up a quote and delivery schedule.”

“Fine.” He gestured down the corridor. “Let’s start with the main areas.”

An hour later, Chloe’s iPad was filled with notes and pictures, her brain was running at a million miles an hour, but her body remained frustratingly, unhelpfully aware of Dimitrios. She wanted to shake herself! Not once in her entire career had she been attracted to a client. Found them attractive? Sure, in an academic sense. But these sorts of men weren’t generally her type. It was a sort of reverse snobbery, she supposed. Having grown up in a very middle-class family, south of the Thames, she valued hard work and determination. The idea of spending the kind of money these people did on decorating their houses for a single day was, deep down, anathema to her—and one of the reasons she took comfort from donating most of what she earned to her charity.

His privilege and wealth alone should have been enough to render him uninteresting, let alone the fact he had a child and was presumably married, or similar. That was before she even considered the horror that had been her breakup, only six months earlier. She’d sworn on the day she and Jaxon had finally let their relationship go that she’d never be stupid enough to trust a man again. It wasn’t just that she’d had her heart broken, it was that she’d been humiliated and betrayed in the worst way possible—so publicly. And that betrayal had led her to doubt her own judgement, her ability to see people, to understand them. Not only did she refuse to trust men, she refused to trust her own judgement.

“It’s just her room I need to see,” Chloe murmured, clearing her throat to get rid of the shaky tone. “If you have time?”

His eyes probed hers, almost as though he was trying to understand the emotions rioting through her. She looked around expectantly, and then, Dimitrios was moving towards the stairs. At the bottom, he paused, gesturing for her to precede him.

“The house is too big for the two of us, though there is a permanent staff of five.”

“Do they have staff quarters?”

“The old staff quarters need renovating. I had no intention of moving here full time until…recently,” he said, after a noticeable pause. He glanced upstairs. “The east wing of the house is used by the team. Whereas Eleanor and I are up here.”

She began to walk up the stairs, hand glancing over the polished timber banister, imagining it wound with a mix of garlands and ribbon. A deep red would pick up the tones of the historic hall. Unless…

“Does she have a favourite colour?”

He looked at her, expression slightly stricken. “I’m not sure.”

Chloe filed that bit of information away. He was not so involved then, in his daughter’s life. Or perhaps she just didn’t have a favourite colour, or never spoke about it.

“At that age, it’s usually what they gravitate to wearing?”

“She wears a lot of black.”

Chloe considered that. Black was an unusual choice for a thirteen-year-old, too. At the top of the stairs, she waited. “Which way?”

He gestured down the wide corridor—definitely wide enough for some occasional tables and more decorations here. Garland strung from the ceilings, paintings removed and replaced with festive art. She made notes as they walked, until they reached a closed timber door and she glanced at him. Her heart thudded into her throat.

For some reason, it felt strange to go inside with him. Ridiculous. This was her job. She put her hand on the doorknob at the same time he did, their fingers brushing. It was the first time they’d touched and her nerves—so stretched thin at breathing the same air as him for the past hour—went into overdrive. She jerked her hand away quickly, expelled a sharp, thick breath.

He pushed open the door then stepped back. Was she imagining the way his own chest moved with the force of his breathing? The way he left extra space between them so there was no risk of another accidental touch? Probably. His face was impassive and unmoved. She stepped into the room, her eyes taking a second to engage with her brain and comprehend what she was seeing.

For this was not, in her experience, the room of an ordinary thirteen-year-old. It was so lacking in personality. So lacking in decorations. It looked like a guest bedroom that a young girl was using temporarily, trying desperately not to leave with any hint of having been there.

She didn’t mean to frown and yet she did, as she took it all in. The room was large enough to accommodate a decent tree, though, and there was plenty more Chloe could do to make it feel special. Anything would be an improvement on this.