Against the Ropes
Page 47
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Chapter 12
I didn’t bring you here for the view
“Wow. This is…modern.”
A freshly showered Max, his damp hair slightly tousled, beams when Colton closes the door behind me. His dark pants and blue button-down shirt are very businesslike. Is this what he wears to relax at home? Maybe I should have worn something dressier. My flirty black skirt and gold silk tank, Christmas gifts from my fashion-conscious mom, seemed plenty dressy at home. At least I’m wearing heels.
Colton takes my jacket and I walk into the open-plan living area. Holy cow. Why does he need all this space? The living room alone could hold fifteen or twenty people.
For the first few minutes, I can only stand and stare. The three separate seating areas are all decorated with casual, comfortable-looking sofas in muted shades of gray and beige, dark wood coffee tables, and industrial lamps. Wide brown leather chairs and soft Berber area rugs unite each separate space. A granite-topped bar with seating for six complete with wall-mounted television is surrounded by potted palms.
My heels click over giant, cream marble tiles, and I run my hand over the smooth, shiny surface of the giant mahogany dining table. The gray leather dining chairs have low backs and wide padded seats. As with the rest of the room the furniture is masculine but inviting. A modern man cave.
“The top level is essentially a complete home.” Colton smiles when I spin slowly around. “Although there are three levels, the master suite, kitchen, breakfast room, living room, dining room, and library are all on this one floor.”
“There’s more?” Just the space I can see is about ten times bigger than my entire house.
“Oh, yes.” Colton gestures down a wide hallway ending in double doors. “The master suite is about the same size as the main living space. Upstairs you’ll find the en suite guest bedrooms, and downstairs we have the media room, gym, home theater, staff quarters, and wine cellar.”
“Wow.” I can’t think of anything else to say.
Max settles me at the bar and excuses himself to make a call. Colton offers me a drink but I decline alcohol in favor of diet soda. I don’t want to embarrass myself in Max’s fancy home.
We chat about the house, Colton’s living quarters downstairs, and the five bridge views from the wraparound patio. I chase down the diet soda with an entire bowl of nuts.
Max has still not returned by the time I finish plundering the snack tray, and I talk Colton into letting me join him in the kitchen while he puts the finishing touches on the meal.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Colton says, as we leave the bar. “Tonight we’re having lobster cocktail, tomato salad, grilled free-range chicken with roast field mushrooms and asparagus, and chocolate mousse for dessert.”
My mouth waters. And to think I had planned a dinner of cereal and skim milk before Max texted me this morning. “You cook too?”
“A butler takes on whatever duties are required. Mr. Huntington travels a great deal and did not wish to employ a full-time cook. I enjoy being in the kitchen. It works out very well.”
I follow Colton through the house. Although the man cave is cozy and comfortable, I don’t see any personal objects. No photos. No magazines. No coffee cups, slippers, or blankets. Everything is pristine and perfect. Definitely not the kind of place to relax after work with a good book and a pint of Chunky Monkey.
The kitchen is the size of the entire living area of my new apartment. The walnut island could easily fit six stools, and ceiling-high white lacquer cabinets line the walls. Antique industrial lights and stainless steel accents give the kitchen an artsy feel.
Dream kitchen. And I don’t even like to cook.
I sit at the island while Colton stirs the contents of a large pot on the stove. Tantalizing aromas waft my way and my stomach gurgles.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, thank you, Miss Makayla. We don’t make our guests work when they come to visit.”
“It’s not work.” I join him at the stove. “I would feel more comfortable if I had something to do.”
“I don’t know if Mr. Huntington would approve.”
“Please, Colton. I’m used to a house filled with people, a floor piled with pizza boxes, and crumbs on every surface. Silence and sitting make me nervous.”
A reluctant grin spreads across his face. “The lettuce needs a wash. There’s a spare apron in the cupboard beside the fridge.”
My shoulders drop into a relaxed slump. “Lettuce washing sounds perfect.” I grab a blue and white checkered apron from the cupboard and head to the sink.
“Have you worked for Max very long?” I cannot find any way to turn on the tap. It looks like a giant swan neck with a cage attached to its beak. Maybe I should honk.
“About six years. I was in service to a family in Yorkshire and he enticed me away.” Colton waves his hand in front of the tap and water shoots out the swan’s nose. Classy.
“I have not regretted the move for a second,” he continues. “America is indeed a land of opportunity, and Mr. Huntington is a very generous employer.”
We chat about Colton’s work while I rinse the lettuce. Colton hands me a pink, plastic lettuce knife and a cutting board, and entertains me with stories of butler school while I chop. Butler school. How cool is that?
“Colton.” The sharp crack of Max’s voice slices through our camaraderie like a lettuce knife through lettuce.
Colton’s head jerks up and he pales.
I didn’t bring you here for the view
“Wow. This is…modern.”
A freshly showered Max, his damp hair slightly tousled, beams when Colton closes the door behind me. His dark pants and blue button-down shirt are very businesslike. Is this what he wears to relax at home? Maybe I should have worn something dressier. My flirty black skirt and gold silk tank, Christmas gifts from my fashion-conscious mom, seemed plenty dressy at home. At least I’m wearing heels.
Colton takes my jacket and I walk into the open-plan living area. Holy cow. Why does he need all this space? The living room alone could hold fifteen or twenty people.
For the first few minutes, I can only stand and stare. The three separate seating areas are all decorated with casual, comfortable-looking sofas in muted shades of gray and beige, dark wood coffee tables, and industrial lamps. Wide brown leather chairs and soft Berber area rugs unite each separate space. A granite-topped bar with seating for six complete with wall-mounted television is surrounded by potted palms.
My heels click over giant, cream marble tiles, and I run my hand over the smooth, shiny surface of the giant mahogany dining table. The gray leather dining chairs have low backs and wide padded seats. As with the rest of the room the furniture is masculine but inviting. A modern man cave.
“The top level is essentially a complete home.” Colton smiles when I spin slowly around. “Although there are three levels, the master suite, kitchen, breakfast room, living room, dining room, and library are all on this one floor.”
“There’s more?” Just the space I can see is about ten times bigger than my entire house.
“Oh, yes.” Colton gestures down a wide hallway ending in double doors. “The master suite is about the same size as the main living space. Upstairs you’ll find the en suite guest bedrooms, and downstairs we have the media room, gym, home theater, staff quarters, and wine cellar.”
“Wow.” I can’t think of anything else to say.
Max settles me at the bar and excuses himself to make a call. Colton offers me a drink but I decline alcohol in favor of diet soda. I don’t want to embarrass myself in Max’s fancy home.
We chat about the house, Colton’s living quarters downstairs, and the five bridge views from the wraparound patio. I chase down the diet soda with an entire bowl of nuts.
Max has still not returned by the time I finish plundering the snack tray, and I talk Colton into letting me join him in the kitchen while he puts the finishing touches on the meal.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Colton says, as we leave the bar. “Tonight we’re having lobster cocktail, tomato salad, grilled free-range chicken with roast field mushrooms and asparagus, and chocolate mousse for dessert.”
My mouth waters. And to think I had planned a dinner of cereal and skim milk before Max texted me this morning. “You cook too?”
“A butler takes on whatever duties are required. Mr. Huntington travels a great deal and did not wish to employ a full-time cook. I enjoy being in the kitchen. It works out very well.”
I follow Colton through the house. Although the man cave is cozy and comfortable, I don’t see any personal objects. No photos. No magazines. No coffee cups, slippers, or blankets. Everything is pristine and perfect. Definitely not the kind of place to relax after work with a good book and a pint of Chunky Monkey.
The kitchen is the size of the entire living area of my new apartment. The walnut island could easily fit six stools, and ceiling-high white lacquer cabinets line the walls. Antique industrial lights and stainless steel accents give the kitchen an artsy feel.
Dream kitchen. And I don’t even like to cook.
I sit at the island while Colton stirs the contents of a large pot on the stove. Tantalizing aromas waft my way and my stomach gurgles.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, thank you, Miss Makayla. We don’t make our guests work when they come to visit.”
“It’s not work.” I join him at the stove. “I would feel more comfortable if I had something to do.”
“I don’t know if Mr. Huntington would approve.”
“Please, Colton. I’m used to a house filled with people, a floor piled with pizza boxes, and crumbs on every surface. Silence and sitting make me nervous.”
A reluctant grin spreads across his face. “The lettuce needs a wash. There’s a spare apron in the cupboard beside the fridge.”
My shoulders drop into a relaxed slump. “Lettuce washing sounds perfect.” I grab a blue and white checkered apron from the cupboard and head to the sink.
“Have you worked for Max very long?” I cannot find any way to turn on the tap. It looks like a giant swan neck with a cage attached to its beak. Maybe I should honk.
“About six years. I was in service to a family in Yorkshire and he enticed me away.” Colton waves his hand in front of the tap and water shoots out the swan’s nose. Classy.
“I have not regretted the move for a second,” he continues. “America is indeed a land of opportunity, and Mr. Huntington is a very generous employer.”
We chat about Colton’s work while I rinse the lettuce. Colton hands me a pink, plastic lettuce knife and a cutting board, and entertains me with stories of butler school while I chop. Butler school. How cool is that?
“Colton.” The sharp crack of Max’s voice slices through our camaraderie like a lettuce knife through lettuce.
Colton’s head jerks up and he pales.
