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“N-no?”
“I don’t believe you.” It’s clear that the woman’s hiding something, and when I remember the sounds I heard last night I feel the hairs on my nape start to rise.
Shit.
I don’t care if Consuelo admits it or not. I just know the place is haunted...and it won’t be for weeks until Mr. Rochester comes back.
Damn it.
Mr. Rochester calls me again when I get back from work that day, and this time I’m unable to resist the urge to hear his voice.
“Ms. Reed.” His oh-so-British accent makes me shiver. I’ve forgotten how sexy his voice sounds. “How have you been?”
Missing you. Badly. But out loud, I just say gruffly, “Okay.”
“Tell me about your day.”
“One of your business associates from Turkey called.” And so I go on and on, telling him everything about work.
“I’m glad to hear you’re handling everything well while I’m away.”
“Yes, well, that’s what you’re paying me for, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.” He pauses. “And now that you’ve gotten that out of your system—-”
Realizing he’s easily seen through my ruse, I mutter darkly, “Know it all.”
Mr. Rochester ignores this. “May we start talking civilly? I asked about your day, Jane.”
I say sweetly, “Bastard.”
But my boss only chuckles. “I am that. And if you were to be honest, you know you’d thank God I am—-”
“No, I won’t!”
“Otherwise you’d find me utterly boring,” Mr. Rochester completes silkily.
Oh.
He has a point.
“Now tell me about your day,” Mr. Rochester invites me once more.
“Why should I?” I can’t help sounding childish and sullen.
“Because I asked you to,” Mr. Rochester answers easily, “and you promised to be a good girl, didn’t you?”
I can’t help laughing a little. Oh, the gall! But even so, I end up acceding and I start telling him about my day, leaving nothing out except the hauntings. After, I hear myself say, “Tell me about your day, too.”
There’s a moment of pause before Mr. Rochester says slowly, “I’ve never bothered to talk to any woman I’m fucking.”
“If they didn’t bother to ask,” I say sweetly, “then maybe they didn’t really want to hear what you have to say.”
“Another woman would’ve said it was because they were stupid.”
“We all are,” I say with exaggerated sadness, “for wasting our time with you.”
Mr. Rochester laughs. “Touché.” And then he starts to speak again, and I find myself gripping my phone tightly when I realize he’s doing exactly what I asked, and he’s telling me about his day.
We talk until the wee hours, but when it’s time to end the call I can no longer help it. “Mr. Rochester—-”
“What is it?”
My lips move, but no words come out.
A moment later, Mr. Rochester sighs. And then he says very softly, “I miss you, too.”
Ah, shit. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Are you a mind reader now,” I mutter sulkily. “Is that it?”
“My soul knows yours like it’s its other half, that’s all.”
I close my eyes more tightly. “And now you’re a fucking poet?”
A lazy chuckle is my response, but when I don’t say anything else, Mr. Rochester sighs once more. “Something’s wrong.” The words aren’t a question. “Tell me what’s wrong, Jane, and I shall fix it for you.”
He speaks in such a matter-of-fact voice I can’t help smiling a little despite the trepidation that’s making my heart ache so badly.
“It’s just...” I look back at the past few days. In so short a time, he’s managed to make my world revolve around him so quickly and easily. And that’s not normal, is it?
“Things are going too fast,” I say finally.
“Maybe.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is quiet. “Or perhaps neither of us are simply the type to waste time on bullshit.”
I choke back a laugh.
“Sleep now, my dear. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”
Hearing him end our call is bittersweet, but somehow I feel better and I find myself drifting to sleep easily...until the sounds wake me up once more.
Shit.
This place really is haunted.
“YOU TOOK TOO LONG TO answer my call.”
And you’re taking too long to come back, I think dourly as I close the door to his office. But out loud, I only say, “I didn’t want to answer your call where everyone’s around. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still at the office—-”
“And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the CEO at that bloody office.”
“True,” I agree, “but it still doesn’t mean you have any right to command me unreasonably.”
It’s a nice line if I say so myself. Unfortunately, I completely ruined it with an involuntary yawn.
“You sound tired.”
“I’m not.” But it’s a lie. The two weeks are almost up, and I honestly can’t wait until our resident bad boy is back home. It’s not just that I miss him. I also just want to get a good night’s sleep for once, and I’m thinking that maybe the hauntings will stop when the lord and master of the manor returns.
