IF HE HAD to deal with inheriting a mansion heâd hated on sight, heâd rather do it alone.
If he had to go through all the boxes in one room of that mansion, searching for clues to a mother about whomâto put it mildlyâhe felt ambivalent, heâd much rather do it alone. But it would take forever, and Luke Griffin didnât have forever. He had a financial empire to maintain.
He needed help.
Not his usual way of operating. Heâd been doing things on his own since he was too little to remember.
He thumbed through the Yellow Pages again until he found the company that had looked like a helpful lead. Organize Your Home. With a name like that, surely someone should be able to help him go through the boxes? The other choice was to haul them to the dump.
They were his only chance to find out anything about his past. Luke punched the numbers and waited for the ring.
âHello?â
A womanâs voice. A rich contralto voice, with an undertone of huskiness that managed to turn two ordinary syllables into something very close to an invitation. He said briskly, âIs this Organize Your Home?â
âYou have the right number,â the woman said. âBut the business is no longer in operationâ¦sorry.â
She didnât sound sorry. She sounded jubilant, like sunlight through the amber depths of brandy. âMy nameâs Luke Griffin,â he said. âIâm staying temporarily at Griffinâs Keep, and I have at least three daysâ work for you.â
âIâm sorry, Mr. Griffinâas I said, Iâve disbanded the company. Last week.â
He said implacably, âWhat do you usually charge per hour?â
âThatâs notââ
âJust answer the question. And perhaps you could tell me your name?â
Her voice warmed with temper. âKelsey North. Forty dollars an hour. Itâs not on.â
âIâll pay two hundred and fifty an hour. Multiply that by three daysâIâm sure you can do the math.â
There was a taut silence. Then she said crisply, âWhat sort of work?â
âMy grandmotherâSylvia Griffinâleft me some papers that are of personal interest. Unfortunately theyâre scattered throughout her financial records. Boxes and boxes of them, and each one has to be gone through page by page. Iâm a busy man and I have to get back to Manhattan. I canât take the time to do this on my own.â
âI see,â Kelsey North said. âGive me your number. Iâll call you back later this evening.â
He rhymed off the numbers on the phone. âI look forward to hearing from you,â he said smoothly. âGoodbye, Ms North.â
The woman at the other end banged the receiver down with a force that was not remotely professional. If she was one of his employees, sheâd be taking a course on customer relations, Luke thought, idly wondering why sheâd closed her business. Although with a voice like that she was wasted organizing other peopleâs closets.
If, when she called back, she said no, he was in deep trouble.
Heâd up the rate to five hundred an hour. Thatâd get her, he thought cynically, and went to see if he could rustle up a cup of coffee in the archaic kitchen of Griffinâs Keep.
KELSEY GLARED AT the receiver as if Luke Griffin was standing on top of it. The nerve of the man. The arrogance. As if she was supposed to levitate six feet in the air the moment he said jump.
Organize Your Home no longer existed. Finished. Kaput. She was free, free, free!
She did an impromptu twirl around the living room, then sat down again at the table where sheâd been working on her list when the phone had rung. It was a list, in bright red marker, of all the things she wanted to do now that her life was her own.
Go to art school. Travel. Paint a masterpiece. Paint her toenails purple. Have torrid sex.
Her brow knitted. She crossed out torrid. Any kind of sex would do, wouldnât it? Still frowning, she erased Have sex and substituted Have an affair. It sounded more romantic. Classier. Especially if she had it with someone tall, dark and handsome, whoâd treat her like a piece of breakable china and give her roses and breakfast in bed.
None of her dates in the last few years had been tall, dark and handsome; there wasnât much choice in Hadley, the village where she lived. Kelsey heaved a sigh, then added Holiday to her list.
But until she sold the house, how could she afford a holiday? Nearly all her savings had gone to the art school in Manhattan as the deposit with her application.
Two hundred and fifty dollars an hour for three days. Six thousand dollars.
Yes, she could do the math.
He was bribing her, she thought with a spurt of rage. The famousâor rather, infamousâLuke Griffin thought she could be bought.
Well, she could. Couldnât she?
Why did everything always have to come down to money?
If she had six thousand dollars she could pay for her first two semesters and have a bit left for a trip. Somewhere south, where it was warm.