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Tim is standing slightly in front of the others, closer to where Jane was lying. I wonder if they were his footsteps I heard moving toward us. That it might have been him fills me with warmth.
Chapter Eight
Timothy
There’s absolute silence as the sound of the ambulance fades away. Uncle Bill is rubbing his eyes, and Sarah and Tiffany are subdued and quiet, for what feels like the first time this entire vacation, huddled over at the base of the staircase. Max and Ryan are shooting furious glares across at their girlfriends. I don’t blame them. Uncle Bill is fuckingpissedthat they brought guests who injured a member of his staff. He’ll be lucky if he’s not facing a massive lawsuit over this.
Nobody speaks as Uncle Bill’s hand drops away from his face and his angry eyes dart around the room. Ryan and Max tense, waiting for him to explode at them, but he doesn’t.
“Angie,” he says, his voice tight, and she glances up from where she’s standing near the front door. “I want this all sorted quickly and quietly.”
She nods as their eyes meet, and he jerks his head toward Sarah and Tiffany. Again, Angie nods as though he spoke aloud to her. Whoever she is, and whatever she is to Uncle Bill, they’re obviously on the same wavelength. That cuts to the core. The five of us are supposed to be the only ones on Uncle Bill’s wavelength. Not even his brothers are as in sync with him as we are. That Angie is… hurts more than it should.
Without a word, and without sparing another glance at the rest of us, Uncle Bill turns on his heel and strides out of the entrance hall, back toward his study as we all stare after him in shock.
“Time to go, ladies,” Angie’s voice is steely cold as she rounds on Sarah and Tiffany. “Pack your bags. I’ll organize a car to take you to London.”
Sarah makes a face at her, sneering and turning toward Ryan. “You have no right to speak to us like that. Tell her Ryan.”
The room descends into an awkward silence as Ryan doesn’t respond, glaring at his, probably soon-to-be ex, girlfriend.
Angie isn’t accepting being ignored this time, tapping the toe of her booted foot against the flagged stone floor, her eyes glued to Sarah’s face.
“Well, I just spoke to you like that, and I see a distinct lack of snapping into action and packing your shit.”
Tiffany tries her luck with this new and authoritative Angie.
“You can’t order us from Mr. Westerhaven’s house. You don’t have the authority. Does she Max?”
But she’s barking up the wrong tree there. Like Ryan, Max apparently has no interest in taking his girlfriend’s side, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shrugs.
Tiffany shouldn’t have called attention to herself. Angie rounds on her with flashing brown eyes. “As far as you’re concerned, when my mouth opens, Mr. Westerhaven’s words come out. Pack. Your. Bags.”
Holy fucking shit. Steely, in control Angie may just be the sexiest damn thing that I have ever seen in mylife. As inappropriate as it is at this exact moment, I’m harder than diamond right now.
When neither of the girls move, and no one else speaks, Angie sighs, typing something into her phone, and within a minute, the housekeeper arrives. Angie smiles at the woman innocently, like she isn’t currently taking control of the entire household. “Gladys. Please pack Sarah and Tiffany’s bags and have them brought down here.”
If anyone was in any doubt about Angie’s importance here, it is erased as Gladys jumps to obey Angie’s command.
“At once, Miss Shepherd.” The housekeeper nods and moves past Sarah and Tiffany to climb the stairs as they stare in shock. Angie isn’t paying any attention to either of them anymore, already dialing a number on her phone, calling a car company to pick them up. Hanging up, she calls a hotel in London, booking them into a room there. It’s Robyn’s ungracious exit all over again.
They protest when they realize that they’ll besharinga single hotel room, but Angie ignores them, making yet another phone call.
“Mr. Bartell,” she says when whoever is on the other end answers.
At that name, four pairs of eyes snap to her with unease. I probably should be uneasy too, but I’m too busy trying to get my cock to behave. She has a direct line to Uncle Bill’s personal attorney. Whoever the fuck Angie Shepherd is, she’s important in Uncle Bill’s life.
That thought finally has my erection subsiding, but it doesn’t last, because Angie uses her cool, professional tone again, which has him perking right back up. I’m busy picturing her in professional office attire, maybe some sexy black glasses too, while she orders staff around. I bite back a smirk. It wouldn’t be appropriate right now.
“Warren,” she speaks when he picks the phone up an alarmingly short time later. “There’s been an incident here in Kent. A drunken guest accidentally injured a staff member.”
Max and Ryan shuffle their feet at her words, but she’s not looking at any of us, tipping her head to the side while the attorney is clearly speaking.
“That would be good as soon as possible.” Angie hangs up, turning back to Sarah and Tiffany. “The attorney will want to speak with you when you get to London. I would suggest you cooperate.”
Sarah and Tiffany finally clue into the fact that they’re leaving, and dash upstairs, no doubt to supervise the packing of their bags. There’s once again silence in the entrance hall while we all stare at Angie, and she turns to glare at Ryan and Max, rolling her eyes in their direction.
“Next time, I suggest you pick someone withhalfa brain. Sometimes smart women give blow jobs just as good as airheads.”
