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When Elena steps over to a desk phone to place a call, Luna steps in front of me, giving her back to Elena, and though her eyes are wide and angry, her voice is barely above a whisper. “What the hella-rama-ding-dong?”
“I couldn’t refuse. She’s willing to talk business in the morning. And more art,” I remind her, hoping she doesn’t walk out the front door and ditch me.
“Elena?”
I jerk in surprise and realize a tall, thin man in pajamas and a robe has appeared silently in the doorway.
Well, shit. I guess for all Mrs. Cartwright’s sweet talk of her deceased husband, she has a new special friend.
“Oh, I am so sorry for bothering you, Stanley. Why didn’t you say you were already lying down? I could’ve gotten them set up for the night myself,” she fusses. Okay, so I was wrong. He’s not her boyfriend but rather another member of the house staff.
“I wasn’t asleep yet.” He smiles, but his bloodshot eyes give away that he was definitely long gone to Snoozeville. “I’m happy to show them to the guest rooms.”
Elena clucks. “This is Stanley. Stanley, this is Carter and Luna, and that little cherub over there is their niece, Grace. Bernard has their dog, Peanut Butter, out in the barn too.”
I’m not used to shaking hands with men in their pajamas, but in this case, I’ll definitely make an exception. I hold my hand out, and he looks at it in surprise but takes it slowly. His grip is stronger than I expected. “Nice to meet you, Carter.”
“I don’t know how he keeps this place running, but he’s been doing it for decades at this point. I couldn’t do much of anything without Stanley,” Elena gushes.
Elena bids us good night, promising that Grace will get chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, and with Stanley’s help, we manage to get Grace and Peanut Butter into a guest room. Grace is remarkably easy to coerce into bed despite it usually being a three-ring circus to get her to lie down at night. But one mention of pancakes in the morning and a reassurance that we’re right down the hall make her snuggle in with the dog, both of whom close their eyes quickly, though I don’t think Stanley is particularly excited about having a dog and a child in one of the luxury linen-covered beds.
Stanley then shows us to our room, pointing out the king-size bed, dresser full of clothing, and doorway to the bathroom. “If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial six-two-six. It’s my direct line and I always answer. If that’s all?”
“Thank you so much,” Luna says kindly. “We’ll let you get back to bed.”
Stanley still looks at me for confirmation, and when I nod, he closes the door behind him. Alone, I sigh in relief. The sound seems to set Luna off because she starts pacing around the room, muttering under her breath. “This is such a mess, all because Zack said he’d buy me books. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could’ve stayed home, in sweats, and worked on Alphena, but noooo, I got greedy. And now look where I am. Alone with Carter freaking Harrington, as his wife. Like that’s remotely believable.”
At first, I’m amused by her useless rambling and pacing and the way she’s nearly vibrating with emotional energy. But then I hear what she’s saying. I take her arms, stopping her steps, and say firmly, “Luna. Stop. Look at me.”
A soft gasp escapes her lips as fiery eyes flash behind her glasses. She holds my gaze for a moment, and then, as her cheeks go rosy, she looks at my shoes.
“This is crazy, I know,” I admit. “But I couldn’t say no.”
To me, that’s obvious. The deal isn’t closed and I very much need it. It’s taken on a life of its own in my mind, a symbol of my success, a competition between me and Cameron that he doesn’t know is happening. But I do, and I’m going to win. And I’m already in this far. What’s a few more hours and breakfast?
“This is more than we agreed to,” she argues with the floor.
I swallow, not sure how to explain why I’m willing to go to such lengths to her. I don’t discuss our family dynamics, not with anyone. Well, Zack sometimes, but we talk more about last night’s game or upcoming deals than our deep, dark emotions. It’s just not what guys do.
“It is. I swear I’ll make it up to you somehow. But for now, let’s stick with the plan. Bed, breakfast, portfolio talk, art tour.” I tick off the agenda items on my fingers, and she lifts her eyes to watch.
I feel the submission in her body even though she doesn’t say a word, so I turn her to the dresser. “Let’s find some pajamas.”
