Chapter 3

three

B riar

“Well? Are you going to stay and do the job, or are you going to leave?”

Is he serious?

Leave? Me? Leave an internship before it’s begun?

Oh, hell no.

I can’t believe I was even considering cutting my losses.

This old crank can’t get rid of me that easily.

I was bullied by people a lot bigger and tougher than this guy. I worked the French fry machine for a fast food manager with grabby hands when I was 16 years old. I knocked his ass down, reported him to corporate, and replaced him.

Despite no one at home caring about me, I got myself where I am.

If there’s one thing I can do, it’s handle my own shit.

So what if I don’t understand how large historic estates operate? I came here under the impression that I was to learn that very thing.

I’ve had curveballs thrown at me before, and I always come out on top.

I blink at him. “I’m excited to get started, Mr. Frye.” I shoot him my brightest overachiever smile.

When he doesn’t respond, I take out my phone and start entering things into the calendar app. “Yoga at seven a.m. tomorrow. Doctor on Monday. Now, how does she like her coffee?”

“Hot,” Frye says. “And the kitchen takes care of that.”

Does the kitchen have a human with a name? If so, he doesn’t provide it.

Frye goes on to explain that Ms. Bryant takes her breakfast and lunch in her room, delivered to her by himself or staff. Dinner is taken in the main dining room. “So, what is it that I’ll be doing for Ms. Bryant, personally?”

He blinks. “Assisting her with whatever she needs. Ensuring that she is prepared and on time for her appointments.”

One would expect a hard-ass like Frye to be more specific in his instructions. I hope he’ll let me know when I can peek at the secret art collection or tour the hidden passageways. But I don’t dare question anything more, lest I talk myself out of a job.

Surely, I only need to set reminders for these appointments on Esme’s smartphone. Any functioning adult can handle that without an intern, especially an adult under 30 who grew up in the digital age, but I’ll do it.

If these types of duties are all that’s expected of me, I won’t complain. This will be the easiest job I’ve ever done. And it’ll give me enough free time to explore and snoop around the castle on my own. Let’s face it: I’ll never have the chance to do so little for so much money.

Bottom line: I’m here for it.

Seeing no other pesky questions from me, Frye goes on to list off the rest of Ms. Bryant’s many appointments. My fingers fly over my phone screen to input all of them.

Monday: doctor, then physical therapy.

Tuesday: psychotherapy, nutritionist.

Wednesday: chiropractor, homeopathic, psychic.

Thursday: rotating spa treatments, therapy animals.

A lump grows in my throat as I type all this into my phone. Something is terribly wrong with this lady.

“Anything else?”

When he doesn’t answer, I look up and meet the steely blue gaze.

“I think that’s about all one woman can take, don’t you?”

Frye’s face is inscrutable. It is the slight rattle in his throat at the end of that sentence that gives away something like compassion. Not quite emotion, but …something.

“I agree.” Now, I’m getting somewhere with my boss.

“You will also field all inquiries from the media. The answer you give them is simply, ‘No interviews or photos at this time.’”

“Got it.”

“Study that map I gave you. And it’s best to show up to her rooms an hour early to ensure Mistress Bryant is prepared for her appointments.”

An hour early? When all of these appointments are here at the estate?

I don’t get it, but for this much dough, I’ll keep my annoying questions to myself.

“You’ll find your room marked on the map. I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the house until it’s time to fetch Esme for dinner.”

He turns to leave, then stops short and turns back to address me one last time. “No smoking anywhere on the grounds. No excessive drinking. No leaving without permission. And no visitors. That includes entertaining romantic acquaintances on the premises.”

I snort. “Don’t have to worry about that. I’m in a massive dating dry spell, sir.”

He blinks at me. “I’ll take that to mean you understand the rules.”

I salute him. “Loud and clear.”

Frye purses his lips.

“Dinner is served at 7, and you are expected to be present and dressed for all meals.”

I can’t help myself. “I’ll try to remember to keep my clothes on.”

“Are you familiar with the phrase ‘dress for dinner’?”

“Yes, I am. I was making a little joke.”

Not even a hint of a smile at that.

This is going to be fun, I think sarcastically.

He leaves, and I hunt for Esme.

After lugging my bags up three flights of stairs due to a broken elevator and exploring all the corridors and accessible rooms for any sight of the reclusive heiress, I decide to get some fresh air. I have three whole months to snoop around the interior castle.

I head to the east end of the grounds, toward the stone footbridge. The fall colors will be gorgeous down there in the late afternoon.

It’s there that I finally encounter the elusive Esme Bryant. She sits with her legs hanging over the edge, watching golden leaves being carried away in the current.

She looks up when she hears my approach.

“Oh,” I gasp, barely able to contain the shock at the haunted expression on such a young face. She seems to be looking straight through me. “Good afternoon! I’m Briar. Can I help you with anything?”

Esme tilts her head, gazing at me in confusion, her legs gently swaying back and forth over the trickling water. “Help me?”

“Can I get you anything?”

Her eyes squint. “My intern?”

“Yes.”

“Is he paying you? Frye?”

“Well, technically you are, I think. But yes, I have a contract.” I tell her the amount.

“Good,” she says thoughtfully. I exhale in relief.

She seems lucid, if a little strange and skittish.

After a moment’s thoughtfulness, she stands up and brushes off the leaves that have stuck to her jeans. She wears a muted plaid blazer, and her long, sandy hair is done up on top of her head in a messy bun, secured with a pretty Neptune shell hairpin. She smiles at me and reaches out for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Esme.”

Her appearance, her style, and her smile remind me of someone’s cool older sister. Maybe the cool older sister I’d always wished for.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” I say.

“You might not say that if you survive this job.”

She crosses the footbridge and strides past me. “Anyway, let’s go, Briar.”

Her long stride is going to be tough to keep up with, me being five foot two and her at an astonishing supermodel height.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive! I need to get away from these four walls for a while. Don’t you?”

I scramble to keep up as she makes a beeline for my car.

“Do you want me to call the driver?”

She runs a hand over the roof of the little Toyota Prius, then says mischievously, “Now, why would I want to bring one of Frye’s snitches?”

“Uh…”

He did say not to leave without permission. But he didn’t say what I should do if Esme wants to leave. She’s the heiress. She can leave whenever she wants. Surely, this means if she wants to leave the castle, we leave the castle, and I’m supposed to assist her with that.

“I’ll just go get my keys and my purse.”

“Sorry,” she says.

“For what?”

She opens the car door, gets in, and starts the engine. As I stand there like a dope, she rolls down the window. “I’ve been very naughty and I found your keys. Now get in!”

Esme went into my room and found my purse and keys?

I don’t know whether to be upset or impressed.

I glance around and don’t see Frye anywhere. Maybe he’s already left for his weekend trip and hasn’t spotted us.

And besides, who signs my checks? Not Frye. Esme. I know this because the estate reimbursed me for the airplane ticket, and the stamp on the check was the heiress’s name.

Therefore, I do believe she supersedes Frye’s authority.

I hop into the car and buckle in.

“OK. I’ll go along with a quick drive, but I need to say something. I don’t care if you’re the sole heiress to the Bryant fortune, and I don’t care whether you’re worth millions or billions. Don’t go into my room. If that’s a problem, I’ll turn in my resignation right now.”

Esme’s studies me from the driver’s seat, her hand on the wheel. “Understood. It won’t happen again,” she says softly but seriously. “I got excited at having someone closer to my age around the property, and I’m sorry.”

I nod.

She starts the car, puts it in gear, and we’re off.

“Technically I’m not insured to cover you if we get into an accident. But I assume you’re a good driver?”

She whoops and rolls down the window as she steers around the switchbacks on our way down the hill, taking every hairpin turn like a maniac.

I’m gripping the holy-shit bar like my life is flashing before my eyes.

“I haven’t driven a car in ages. I forgot how much fun it is!”

When we reach the main highway, I promise whatever deity is in the heavens that I’ll go to mass or church or temple every week from now until I die, in gratitude for saving my life.

“Define the word ‘ages.’ Do you have a valid license?”

I glance over at Esme and she’s as cool as a cucumber, making small talk about my job and blatantly avoiding my question.

“I suppose Frye has already tried to scare you away.”

“I don’t scare easy,” I say.

She steers onto the highway and gives me a quick smile.

“Good. I know he seems a little cold, but I’ve known Frye my whole life. He’s very protective of me. But he’s getting older, and he says I’m hard on his nerves.”

I nod, prompting her to say more.

But all she says is, “How are your nerves, by the way? That old place can be scary at night for new people.”

“Pretty sure I’ll be OK,” I say.

She winks, and the look is somehow both sweet and foreboding, like a character in a horror movie.

Esme is far too excited for a simple drive through the woods, but maybe she really likes autumn foliage.

She fiddles with the radio furiously. “Don’t you have satellite?”

“No. Poor college student here.”

“Hmph. Well, I’ll have to take care of that. Wait! Oh my god, I love this song!”

Esme opens the sunroof and sticks her hands up into the cold October air, singing along to the radio.

“You’re a terrific singer,” I say, diving for the wheel.

“Thanks! I used to take voice lessons. I don’t really remember why I stopped. It was around the same time I stopped driving cars.”

She’s going to be more trouble than I first realized. Are we sure she’s not a teenager?

“Why have you not driven a car in years?” I ask, girding my loins for the answer.

“Well, the doctor put me on certain medications, and I’m not supposed to operate a car while I’m on them.”

Whoa. This sounds serious. “Is that why you see a doctor every week? And the nutritionist?”

She nods and, to her credit, keeps her eyes on the road. “And the reiki therapist and the tarot card reader.”

“Wow, OK.”

“I wanted to try something. I decided not to take them for a few days as an experiment. They’ve completely worn off, and guess what? I feel amazing!”

“That’s wonderful. So, where are we driving to?” I ask.

“I saw on the internet that this little town nearby is having its fall festival this weekend. I really want to see it.”

“A fall festival? Where?”

“It had a funny sort of name, like Destiny or something. No! Fate. It was Fate. Isn’t that funny? I’ve always wanted to go to a fall festival,” she says.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” I say. “We have to be back for dinner by 7 and I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Here’s the exit! Yeehaw!”

Relieved at the prospect of her not driving anymore, I take a moment to absorb what I’m seeing. As soon as we hit the downtown area, the charm is off the charts.

The fall festival is like something out of a movie. Autumn mums and straw bales decorate every corner. A building that clearly used to be the county seat has been transformed into something called “The Courthouse Shoppes” and is also advertising a ghost tour.

There’s cider and pumpkin beer, hot cocoa, live music, corn hole, crafts, a petting zoo, and a whole row of tents dedicated to fiber arts: knitting, crocheting, and weaving, complete with demonstrations of sheep and goat shearing.

The first stop is the beer booth, because who can say no to pumpkin ale?

Apparently, Esme can.

“No alcohol. No. I can’t drink that at all, according to my doctor.”

Is this because of the pills? Or is there something else?

Whatever it is, I decide that, despite her impulsiveness, she’s being responsible. So we take the safe route, and instead of beer, we slam some plain apple cider.

She wipes her chin, then shoves a cider donut into her face. I smile as I watch her lick the cinnamon sugar from her fingertips. Suddenly, her eyes widen. “Who is that?”

Esme’s looking at someone behind me.

I turn around and a tall, very cute firefighter cuddles a tiny, fluffy goat against his massive chest.

“A hot guy with farm animals, flirting with you?” I suggest, turning back to her.

Esme shakes her head. “No way. He’s staring at you, not me.”

That is simply not the case. Why would anyone be looking at me when I’m standing next to what amounts to a woman who looks like a 90s supermodel? Christy Turlington, to be exact. I’ve been trying to place the eyes, the nose…the girl is straight out of the George Michael videos. My mother couldn’t be bothered to make sure I got to school every day, but she did have good taste in music.

I look back again, and now I see it. It does seem like that guy is looking at me. In a bout of self-consciousness, I look over my outfit. Did I spill cider all over myself? Is my shoe untied? Do I look like I need rescuing from a burning building?

Giving him a confused look, I point at myself. The firefighter does the cool-guy chin nod in response.

Oh. He must need help with something. That’s the only thing I can think of.

“Come on, I think he needs assistance getting out of that animal pen.”

Behind me, Esme sighs. “I think he wants to drag you into the pen and do what farm animals do.”

“Esme!” I shriek. I’m blushing to beat the band, and I don’t know why. I’m no prude.

The heiress grips my shoulder as we walk over in the man’s direction. “Shh.”

Right. I’m being loud, and I’ll be giving away her identity if I keep that up. People do not need to know Esme Bryant is here. That will cause a scene, and I’m sure one that Frye will not approve of.

“Did you need something?” I ask the firefighter with the honey-colored hair. I try not to let my eyes drift down to his tanned arms, where his shirt sleeves stretch over his biceps so tightly that they’re about to rip the seams like the Incredible Hulk.

“Honey, could you take the baby for a minute? The nanny is eating my pants.”

“Uh…what?”

The man doesn’t answer but hands over the baby goat. I’ve never actually handled a farm animal before. I’ve never even ridden a horse, so I’m not handling this well. “Oh…wait…I don’t…oh, OK. Hi, little guy.”

“That’s Wesley,” says the hunky firefighter.

Wesley immediately settles into my arms like he belongs there. Esme chuckles next to me and coos as we pet the baby goat’s head and soft coat.

Meanwhile, the firefighter guy picks up another goat and puts it into a separate pen with the rest of the larger goats. “I’m putting you in time out, Bella.”

When he comes back to take the baby goat off my hands, I see what he’s talking about. The mother goat has chewed a hole right through the material covering his thigh.

“Oh no!” I say. “Your uniform is ruined.”

He waves it off. “Wouldn’t be the first time an ornery female has tried to chew my clothes off.”

Does he hear the words in his head before he says them out loud?

“You lost me,” I say.

“Oh, I meant the goats. They’ll eat anything, including flame-retardant Kevlar and Ripstop weave.”

“I don’t know what any of that is, but I got the gist,” I laugh. “Do you want to take your baby now?”

He beams at me with white teeth, the front one slightly crooked. Oh, he’s adorable and so sweet. But not enough for me to get lost in that smile. I have to keep my eyes on Esme. She’s a loose cannon, and I’m getting the sense that it wasn’t her who requested an intern, but Frye. She needs a babysitter.

I briefly assess the handsome mouth in that clean-shaven face. Someone taught this man to floss along the way, but there was no money for orthodontia.

Weird how I notice these things.

“Nah, I think someone needs to take a family photo.”

He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close.

“Excuse me?”

“Smile for the camera!”

I’m too busy reeling at the sensation of this stranger’s solid arm holding me against his tree-trunk body. I’m too busy noticing how my nipples harden as my side is pressed against his.

Someone snaps a photo.

“I’m sorry, what is happening?” I ask, looking around for Esme.

I see her plaid blazer near the craft tent and breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s for charity. If you want to print and package the photo as a memento of the fair, we ask for donations to the animal rescue fund,” he says.

I laugh and pet Wesley, who’s rooting around like a human baby. “I don’t even know your name and you’re asking me for money?”

The firefighter blanches, then holds out his arms to take the wriggling Wesley away from me. “I’m Rowan. Sorry.”

“Like the tree,” I say.

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

He shrugs. “It’s just what I’m called. No one ever explained it.”

A zap of empathy runs through me. Is he like me?

“I’m Briar,” I say.

“Like the anime character?”

I shrug. “I don’t know who that is but actually it’s a Sleeping Beauty thing.”

He nods. “Your mom into Disney princesses?”

And here is where I start to share a little too much about my past, and I know this because a shadow crosses over his face when I say, “My mom was into a lot of things, but Disney was not one of them.”

He leans in closer. “Then I should probably tell you that your friend reminds me of my niece’s favorite Disney princess right now. You might want to watch her.”

I turn around, and I see her. Esme is standing in the craft tent, holding a shopping bag while someone is ringing up a mountain of yarn.

“Rapunzel?” I ask.

“That’s the one,” he answers.

Esme sees me looking and waves jubilantly. “Look at all these colors! I have to have them all!”

“Is she a knitter?” Rowan asks behind me.

“I think she’s just excited to leave the house.”

“She looks kinda familiar. Where are y’all from?”

“She’s from here,” I say. “I’m … not. Sorry, I need to check on something. I’ll be right back.”

In truth, I have no intention of doubling back to flirt some more with the cute firefighter.

Rowan seems nice and all, but I’m on duty. And Esme is a whole hell of a lot of work.