worlds better. The day might actually improve from there.
Chapter Six
The house sat outside of Midsummer, one of the largest homes on a court of similar places. Doctors, lawyers, as well as those who came from money. Gina’s family home was in the older part of town and certainly nothing to frown at, but the newer mansions where Brennen lived were a different kind of stunning. The lawns were bright green and flowers cheery and colorful after the previous day’s rain, trimmed and manicured in a way Gina could never achieve with the little time she had to see to her home’s grounds.
There were no vehicles in the long curved driveway, but the doors to a separate garage to the side of the house were closed. Brennen swung the Mustang between the massive house and garage, along a narrow gravel round that wound around back toward a cottage.
“So this is my grandfather’s,” Brennen said, gesturing to the main house as they passed it to the right. “I manage his money, the staff, the nurse, and I’m his power of attorney. In exchange I stay in the guest house.”
“We’re not going to your parents’ place then? For the catering stuff?”
“I’ll email Mom about it. I got thinking that if you were attacked this morning, you probably hadn’t eaten yet—right?”
Gina nodded. God, she hadn’t even thought about it, but as if on cue, her stomach gave a sudden quiet rumble.
“I’ll make you breakfast. We can talk shop over pancakes, if you like.”
He parked in front of the small bungalow and escorted her inside. Though styled after manors of old, the area seemed far more modern—the architecture was solid in the guest house, new, decorated simple and masculine with navy walls and polished light hardwood floors. There wasn’t much to it, other than the sheer size; it opened to a massive living room space that branched off into a kitchen nook, a breakfast bar instead of a full dining area. Toward the back she guessed was the bedroom and bathroom. A perfect small bachelor pad.
If you’re ridiculously wealthy, that is.
Though he offered to have her sit in the living room, she followed him to the kitchen and drew herself up onto a barstool. The glass of water he offered helped ease some of her remaining headache—it occurred to her she hadn’t had anything to drink yet that day either.
“I will confess,” Brennen said as he rifled through the cupboards and fridge for ingredients, “I’m suffering a bit of performance anxiety. You make food for a living.”
“Things always taste better when someone else makes them.” She watched his large frame move in the small kitchen with a small smile. “And no one ever cooks for me.”
“Not ever?”
“Dad did, when he was around. And that was a decade ago.”
He had the pancake batter done, complete with a handful of blueberries in it, and butter sizzling on the pan. “I’m going to ask you again, and now you can’t run away: why do you stay there.”
She shifted and looked away. It seemed impossible to explain to anyone outside of the situation. “If I left, where would I go?”
Brennen cast a look over his shoulder at her. “Here, for starters.”
Right, exchange one cage for another . Not that he meant to cage her, no, but she was not going to be beholden to another person to survive. “I wasn’t allowed to go to college and even my high school grades suffered because I had to work all the time, so I have very little education, which means very few employment opportunities.”
“Yes, but ,” he flipped a pancake over, “you can bake.”
“And there is precisely one bakery in town. Food service would be a fine option but no one in town is going to hire me with Maureen’s word against mine.”
“So you look outside of town.”
“With what money?”
He frowned but kept his focus on the pancakes, flipping the finished ones onto a plate. “Didn’t your dad leave you any?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? But she
Chapter Six
The house sat outside of Midsummer, one of the largest homes on a court of similar places. Doctors, lawyers, as well as those who came from money. Gina’s family home was in the older part of town and certainly nothing to frown at, but the newer mansions where Brennen lived were a different kind of stunning. The lawns were bright green and flowers cheery and colorful after the previous day’s rain, trimmed and manicured in a way Gina could never achieve with the little time she had to see to her home’s grounds.
There were no vehicles in the long curved driveway, but the doors to a separate garage to the side of the house were closed. Brennen swung the Mustang between the massive house and garage, along a narrow gravel round that wound around back toward a cottage.
“So this is my grandfather’s,” Brennen said, gesturing to the main house as they passed it to the right. “I manage his money, the staff, the nurse, and I’m his power of attorney. In exchange I stay in the guest house.”
“We’re not going to your parents’ place then? For the catering stuff?”
“I’ll email Mom about it. I got thinking that if you were attacked this morning, you probably hadn’t eaten yet—right?”
Gina nodded. God, she hadn’t even thought about it, but as if on cue, her stomach gave a sudden quiet rumble.
“I’ll make you breakfast. We can talk shop over pancakes, if you like.”
He parked in front of the small bungalow and escorted her inside. Though styled after manors of old, the area seemed far more modern—the architecture was solid in the guest house, new, decorated simple and masculine with navy walls and polished light hardwood floors. There wasn’t much to it, other than the sheer size; it opened to a massive living room space that branched off into a kitchen nook, a breakfast bar instead of a full dining area. Toward the back she guessed was the bedroom and bathroom. A perfect small bachelor pad.
If you’re ridiculously wealthy, that is.
Though he offered to have her sit in the living room, she followed him to the kitchen and drew herself up onto a barstool. The glass of water he offered helped ease some of her remaining headache—it occurred to her she hadn’t had anything to drink yet that day either.
“I will confess,” Brennen said as he rifled through the cupboards and fridge for ingredients, “I’m suffering a bit of performance anxiety. You make food for a living.”
“Things always taste better when someone else makes them.” She watched his large frame move in the small kitchen with a small smile. “And no one ever cooks for me.”
“Not ever?”
“Dad did, when he was around. And that was a decade ago.”
He had the pancake batter done, complete with a handful of blueberries in it, and butter sizzling on the pan. “I’m going to ask you again, and now you can’t run away: why do you stay there.”
She shifted and looked away. It seemed impossible to explain to anyone outside of the situation. “If I left, where would I go?”
Brennen cast a look over his shoulder at her. “Here, for starters.”
Right, exchange one cage for another . Not that he meant to cage her, no, but she was not going to be beholden to another person to survive. “I wasn’t allowed to go to college and even my high school grades suffered because I had to work all the time, so I have very little education, which means very few employment opportunities.”
“Yes, but ,” he flipped a pancake over, “you can bake.”
“And there is precisely one bakery in town. Food service would be a fine option but no one in town is going to hire me with Maureen’s word against mine.”
“So you look outside of town.”
“With what money?”
He frowned but kept his focus on the pancakes, flipping the finished ones onto a plate. “Didn’t your dad leave you any?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? But she
Similar Books
