Chapter 4

Sunday - Ellie

"Okay, I knew he was rich, but he's rich, rich, right?" I asked Meg as we boarded a private jet at a small hangar near the Milwaukee airport. I was glad Meg was coming with me. Partly because I didn't want to be alone with Luke. Not because I was scared of him or anything like that, but just in case he started giving me hell again, she'd be the witness. Besides, she was on summer break and was teaching an online course that she could do from anywhere and this had been her idea. Oh, and her fiancé, Luke's best friend, Jeremy Remington, was in Nashville installing custom woodworking in Luke's mansion. Jeremy had been back and forth for months. So, any chance to see him, she was on board.

"Luke's pretty rich," Meg confirmed. "His house has an indoor and outdoor pool."

I already knew that because of course I'd been internet stalking the man pretty much since I hung up the phone with him yesterday morning. I was fascinated to know every detail about his life in Nashville, not that I'd tell him that. Or anyone. Ever.

"I do think he just rents this jet, though," Meg continued. "He doesn't own it."

"Oh, the poor guy," I replied, rolling my eyes.

We sat down in the luxurious leather seats, and a flight attendant materialized out of nowhere and handed us filled champagne flutes.

My eyes went wide, and I glanced over at Meg. "Fancy," I drawled.

"Mr. Knightley welcomes you both and looks forward to your visit in Nashville," the attendant said.

Mr. Knightley? Was everyone in Nashville going to call him Mr. Knightley? No way. I was gonna call him Rockabilly. Maybe Luke if he was lucky. But there'd be no "Mr. Knightley," not from me.

The flight was fast. Like fast-fast. Way faster than a commercial flight would have been, and Meg spent most of it telling me what little she knew about Luke's injuries. Of course I wanted to know if there would be groupies jumping up and down outside of his house, but I refrained from asking that snark-a-delic question.

"One hint of shit and I'm out," I repeated to Meg for probably the fifth time that day as the plane landed. "I don't care if I have to rent a car and drive back to Milwaukee alone," I warned.

"I told him," Meg replied, sipping her champagne, and looking completely unconcerned about her brother's penchant for giving me shit. "He knows how serious this is."

The small jet came to a stop on a runway at a little airstrip near the Nashville airport but not really part of the airport itself. I peered out my window to see a black Range Rover waiting for us on the tarmac. The plane's door was quickly opened, and we made our way down the small staircase.

The car's driver stood there with his hands folded in front of him wearing a black suit, hat, and gloves. Gloves! He nodded to both of us and said, "Mr. Knightley would like to welcome you both to Nashville. He looks forward to seeing you shortly. May I assist you into the vehicle?" He opened the backseat door to the SUV. Meg got in first and as I climbed inside, I noticed the driver quickly opened the tailgate to stash our suitcases that had somehow already been handed off from the plane. Then he was back in a flash to close the door for us. Wow. Rich people travel was way better than regular people travel. That was for sure.

"I'm not calling him Mr. Knightley," I growled quietly to Meg.

"He won't expect you to," Meg mouthed back.

Fine. Now that that was established, I took a few moments to look around the car. I rubbed my hands against the black leather seat on either side of my thighs and lifted my eyebrows in silent approval to Meg. I'd never been in such a nice car before. The seats felt like butter and even the seatbelts were both weightier and easier to pull than regular seatbelts. Fancy, indeed.

"Is this Luke's car?" I asked Meg as the glove-wearing driver pulled away.

"One of them," she answered with a smile.

Hmm. Rich, rich. Confirmed.

Weekend traffic was light, and we made it to Luke's house in about twenty minutes. As we pulled into the well-to-do neighborhood with fancy black and white metal street signs and mansions everywhere, I stared out the window and whistled. "Pretty nice."

"Yeah, this area is called Belle Meade. Apparently, it's a mix of old and new money."

Mansion after mansion passed by before the car finally pulled off the road and up a gorgeous little tree-lined, brick-paved road to the house I'd seen online. We pulled up to a four-car, white-brick garage with two adorable copper cupolas topped with matching weathervanes.

The driver came around and opened the door for me, while some other guy materialized from the side of the garage and opened Meg's door. A third man was already unloading our luggage from the back of the car. I had no idea where he'd come from. They all had on earpieces and were obviously communicating with each other. No doubt this was Luke's security team.

"This way, Ms. Hoffman." The driver splayed his gloved hand wide toward a brick-lined path that led past the garage to the house. But first, there was a black iron gate. I'd noticed the same type of gates at the street. The street gates had been open to allow us in, but now I glanced out toward the road to see that they were definitely closed.

We stopped at the smaller gate leading to the house, and I looked up to see a set of high-tech cameras peering down at us. There was a small gatehouse on the other side and a man sat inside with a finger pressed to the earpiece in his ear. He nodded once and the gate slowly opened.

Wow. Rockabilly wasn't just rich, he was security-team-gatehouse-earpiece-fancy-cameras-that-tracked-you-as-you-walked rich.

The gatekeeper stepped forward. "This way, Ms. Hoffman, Ms. Knightley."

"How does everyone know our names?" I whispered to Meg.

She shrugged. "Luke told them?"

The driver bowed to us and disappeared, and we followed the new guard as the large black gate clanged shut behind us. He led us along a perfectly trimmed hedgerow into a small brick-paved courtyard with a fountain in the middle. The grey stone statue in the middle of the fountain was a…book?

"Are you sure this is Luke's house?" I asked, nodding toward the book. This hadn't been in the pictures I'd seen. Must be new.

"I'm sure," Meg laughed. "Luke loves to read."

I searched my memory. Meg had always told me that Luke liked to read, but I thought it was just something she said to make him seem more human. I assumed she meant he liked to read the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition or something. Whenever I saw him, he was either eating pizza and drinking beer, playing poker, or strumming on a guitar. In all cases, giving me shit like it was his full-time job. I tried to picture Luke Knightley reading an actual book, but I just couldn't conjure it. At any rate, if you'd've asked me what statue he had in his courtyard, I would've guessed a half-eaten pizza or a pile of dirty laundry, maybe. Not a book.

We wended around the book fountain and came to a white door with a half-window and crisscrossed white wood along the top. The security guard opened the door and we stepped into the largest mudroom I'd ever seen. At least I think it was a mudroom. It was as big as my bedroom in Milwaukee and filled with custom white wood cabinetry all over with tons of storage, including two big dog crates and blue-and-white-checkered dog beds side-by-side.

"Is this the woodworking Jeremy's been doing?" I asked in complete awe of the gorgeous cabinets. There was a window seat with a blue-and-white-checked cushion atop it. There were cabinets for shoes and black metal hooks on the wall with brown leather dog leashes hanging from them and a beautiful plush rug that covered the dark hardwood floor.

"Some of it," Meg replied. "There's a lot more."

Jeremy was an amazing woodworker. He'd been gone from Milwaukee most of the winter doing custom woodworking for this house, and now I could see why it had taken so long. I could only imagine how much Luke was paying his BFF to do this amount of work. It had to be a fortune, even with a friends-and-family discount.

"This way," the security guard said, interrupting my examination of the mudroom.

"How many security guards does Rockabilly have?" I whispered to Meg as we continued to follow the guy out of the fancy mudroom, through a corridor, and into the biggest frickin kitchen I'd ever seen.

"I don't know." Meg shrugged. She was fully used to me calling her brother Rockabilly.

Once I made it to the center of the huge kitchen, I stopped in my tracks and turned in a wide circle. This place was lit. It was straight out of a magazine. Well, literally. It was all white with a gorgeous sparkling quartz countertop. The refrigerator was built into the wall to look like another one of the cabinets, and there were not one but two islands painted a seafoam-blue color. Huge crystal vases filled with fresh white roses sat on the center of the two islands. There were two stoves, both Vikings, I noted with pure envy, and two ovens. The amazing woodworking continued in this room. In addition to the to-die-for cabinets, there were more built-in window seats and a full breakfast nook with cozy built-in seafoam cushioned seats. Not gonna lie. My jaw dropped.

"Can you believe Luke owns this kitchen?" Meg asked, grinning. "Remember when he only ate pizza and slept on my couch whenever his latest girlfriend kicked him out?"

"Yeah, what does he even do with this kitchen?" I asked, my mouth still agape. I absolutely could not picture Luke eating day-old pizza up in here. It did not compute.

"He has a chef," Meg replied, wrinkling up her nose kinda shyly. "Her name is Linda."

"Of course he does," I said, shaking my head. Now that made sense. A chef needed to be in charge of a kitchen this beautiful. I bet Linda didn't let Luke keep nasty old pizza boxes stuffed in that pretty refrigerator. I wanted to open it and see what was inside so bad, but I refrained. Of course I'd do it later. But for the time being, I kept my hands at my sides.

I could have stayed and stared at the kitchen all day. Hell, I could have stayed and just stared at the roses all day, but Mr. Security was already to the other end of the kitchen which adjoined to a sort of huge, insanely comfortable-looking room filled with two giant couches and two deep chairs.

"Living room?" I asked.

"No, this is just the sitting room off the kitchen," Meg said.

My eyes widened. Luke's sitting room was bigger than half my condo.

"It's just for hanging out while dinner's being made," Meg clarified.

"Oh, yeah, sure." I nodded like it was so obvious, but I couldn't help but think the kitchen and sitting room alone were bigger than both respective trailers we'd grown up in as kids.

The security guard stopped and splayed a hand toward the chocolate-brown velvet couches that sat across from each other in the sitting room. "Mr. Knightley would like you to wait here for him. He'll be down shortly."

"Thank you," Meg replied.

"Yes, thanks," I echoed as I took a seat and sank into the most comfortable couch I'd ever come across. "How much do you think this thing cost? Just the couch?" I asked Meg in a whisper. I couldn't help myself. It might be tacky to ask how much someone's couch set them back, but I was curious, and I knew Meg would know. Besides, with our upbringing, we were always asking how much things cost. It was sort of bred into us. Meg understood.

"Thousands," Meg replied, also whispering. "I saw the bill from his decorator."

Of course he had a decorator, and of course Meg had ferreted out the bill because she was nosey like that, which is to say as nosey as I am. And precisely why I knew she'd know how much it cost.

"Like twenty thousand, right?" I prodded, trying to comprehend spending that kind of money on a couch. I liked nice things and made good money, but I'd spent less than five thou on my own nice couch. Or at least I'd thought it was nice…until I'd seen this thing.

"Uh, try, a hundred," Meg said, her eyes wide. "They were custom built for this space."

I lowered my head to whisper again. "A hundred? Thousand? Each!" I had the sudden urge to stand. What if I got some kind of dirt on this couch? I felt a little nauseated.

Meg bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, and these aren't even the really nice couches. Those are in the living room."

"The really nice couches?" I asked, eyes even wider. Damn. Rockabilly really had done well for himself. A lump formed in my throat as I glanced over at my beautiful best friend sitting on a hundred-thousand-dollar couch in her brother's mansion. As kids, we'd all felt somewhat less than coming from Twin Valley mobile home park. I couldn't help feeling pride for my friends for coming so far. Meg had a Ph.D. and Luke was a multimillionaire, famous country music singer. Amazing, really.

I didn't have long to be wistful, however, because moments later, Luke came sauntering through the huge, tiled archway that no doubt led to some other equally fancy room.

"Meg!" he shouted as his sister jumped up from the expensive couch and went running over to hug him. I noted that she didn't give him a full hug. It was a half-hug on his right side only. His left shoulder and arm were covered in a dark sling.

Luke was wearing a green and gray flannel button-up shirt, dark-washed jeans that fit him perfectly, and charcoal-colored socks. For someone who was mighty rich, he looked super relaxed. But then he'd always dressed that way. Only his shirts used to be wrinkled and sometimes torn or stained. This shirt looked perfectly pressed and brand new. Okay. So new clothes and new house and new car. It remained to be seen if he was still an egotistical jerk.

I eyed him up and down while waiting for him to finish hugging his sister. One thing was for certain. He was still hot. Which was another thing that drove me nuts about him. He was very good-looking, and he knew it. Unlike his BFF Jeremy, who was hot and seemed oblivious to the fact, Luke had always known he looked good. Even in middle school, when the rest of us were awkward and pimply—and Jeremy had been downright scrawny—Luke had been a good-looking kid. Girls had followed us home from school and tried to befriend Meg and me just to get closer to her brother. It had been sooo annoying. Especially when I'd tried to tell all of them that he was a jerk. They didn't care, and his popularity had only grown as he'd aged.

Luke Knightley was the golden boy of our side of town. He'd been on the football team in high school and ended up getting a full ride to Stanford. Even when he'd returned from the Bay area and was a broke singer for three years, he still managed to have a new girlfriend every couple of months. And I'm talking hot girlfriends too. Like model types from Chicago who drove all the way up to Milwaukee every weekend just to fawn over him. Everything always seemed to come easily for him. Even the recording contract. How many singers spent their lives trying to make it while Luke had turned into Richey McRich in only a few years? But that was Luke Knightley for you. Everything he touched turned to gold.

When he finally directed his gaze to me, I was still struck with how good-looking the jerk was. He'd always been trim, but he'd lost the ten pounds pizza had put on him back in Milwaukee. Now he was beyond smoking. Tall, built, dark-hair, deep blue eyes, and a nose and jaw chiseled out of stone. Not to mention the same arrogant pair of lips that had issued countless jokes and subtle insults to me over the years. His looks were so unfair.

"Hi Ellie," he said, biting his lip and giving me a puppy-eye look that would have been downright dangerous to a woman who didn't know him so well.

He was being nice, and even I had to admit it would be difficult to resist a nice Luke Knightley. If it was genuine, of course. And it wasn't. It's all an act, I reminded myself. He's trying to schmooze you.

"Rockabilly," I said in a firm tone with a nod while crossing my arms over my chest. It was important I maintain my boundaries. Especially if he was trying to charm me.

He moved toward me and braced a knee on the arm of one of the hundred-thousand-dollar couches. "How was your flight?"

"It was nice. Quick," I replied with a tight smile, still determined to maintain the invisible barrier between us.

"And the ride to the house?" he continued.

"Your new car is pretty sweet," I allowed. "Super comfy." Okay, this was awkward. We'd never had trouble speaking before because we'd always traded insults. I almost wished he'd call me Nurse Ratched so it wouldn't be weird. I'd called him Rockabilly. I was doing my part. But I wasn't trying to impress him. He was trying to impress me.

"Well, you look terrific. It's great to see you." His smile was downright dazzling.

"Thanks, you too," I managed, but I narrowed my eyes on him. He'd never been this nice to me this long, and he'd only said a few things to me. I also kinda wanted to tell him to move his knee off the couch. If that was my couch, I wouldn't let anyone touch it.

"I hope you'll like the guest room I picked out for you," Luke continued.

"You should show her around, Luke," Meg suggested.

Oh, God. No. I didn't want to spend that much time alone with him.

"Sure," Luke replied.

Normally, I would have insisted that Meg come with us, but she was eager to go find her fiancé, and I couldn't blame her. I also couldn't ask her to give up her private time with Jeremy to walk around a house she'd already seen with me.

"Okay," I allowed, pretty sure my lack of excitement was evident on my face and in my voice.

"Look, I'm sure you'd like to unpack and relax a little first. I'll have Mrs. Hawthorne show you up to your room, and I'll come pick you up from there in, say, half an hour?"

I cocked my head. "Mrs. Hawthorne?"

His damn smile could probably melt the panties off women who didn't know him so well. "My housekeeper."

Of course he had a housekeeper who would show me to my room. Why wouldn't he? "Sounds good." I tried to sound nonchalant. That was one of the things Luke always gave me shit about. He said I was a tight-ass. But I could be breezy if I wanted to be. It was just difficult to be breezy around an ass like Luke.

"I'll see ya later, Ellie-phant," Meg said, tossing us a quick wave before taking off, clearly in search of Jeremy.

My gaze snapped back to Luke's, daring him to call me an elephant. Come on, say it. I can get a rental car and be gone within the hour.

The hint of a smile played across his unfairly sexy lips, but he wisely kept them shut while I side-eyed him. A moment later, Mrs. Hawthorne materialized out of nowhere. How did servants know when they were needed? I made a mental note to ask later. She was about five feet tall with gray-streaked dark hair and warm brown eyes and wore a plain black dress with a white apron over it like an honest-to-goddess servant. Where did rich people purchase such clothing?

"This way, Ms. Hoffman," she said. She knew my name too? Had they all been briefed this morning or something?

Luke gave me an innocent little wave as I moved past him and followed the housekeeper out of the room. As we climbed the stairs, it occurred to me that I'd never been shown to my room by a housekeeper before. More fancy.

I glanced down to see Luke at the bottom of the winding staircase. He glanced at his watch on his right wrist. "I'll see you at 2:30, Ellie."

I forced a half-smile to my lips. So, 2:30 it is. For a personal tour of Luke Knightley's mansion. FML.