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“Is that so?” I ask.
“Come on, love.” She eyes the guards surrounding me with a wary gaze. I’m unable to read her expression, unsure if she’s afraid I’ll run or more afraid she’ll let me. Reaching out, she offers to take my arm, knowing better than to offer to take the bowl from me. “Let me help you down.”
“Thank you.” Careful not to drop the bowl, I let her grip my elbow and help me from the van.
A thousand questions rest on the tip of my tongue. But one presses its way to the top of the list, my full bladder pressing against my insides. As if I’m not already a red-headed troll compared to this beauty queen, I nervously blurt out, “I’m so sorry to ask, but I really need a wee.”
She gives a low laugh. “I’ll take you now. Are you ready to tour your new home, Fiona? First stop, the loo!”
Knowing my most pressing need will be met, I prattle on as we make our way up the wide front steps. “I’m happy to work. I have plenty of experience cooking, cleaning, whatever you need. And I love to garden?—”
“No.” She gives a firm shake of her head. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean? I’m here to work off my father’s debts. Aren’t I?”
We reach the top of the steps, standing before the slightly ominous black door, a guard at each side. “Just a moment.” She holds her finger in the air, gesturing for the guard to wait before he opens it for us to enter.
Facing me, she says, “I’ll let my brother explain the terms of your visit, but one thing I know: you won’t lift a finger. Anything you want, you ask. It’ll be given to you.”
Her words hang in the air, leaving me speechless.
I have so many questions.
If not to work off debts, why am I here?
As Freya leads me into the grand entrance hall of the house, gliding along with her beautiful clothes and shiny hair, I can't help but feel like a mouse being led into a lion's den. The luxury of my surroundings only highlights my plainness and vulnerability.
What in the sweet land of Scotland could Callum Burnes possibly want with me?
Chapter Five
Callum
She stands in the center of the room, staring at me, clutching a bowl, her face a tumultuous mix of equal parts intrigue and fear. She’s got a homemade-looking quilted bag over her shoulder.
That pretty blush rises in her cheeks. The one that comes each time she looks at me. The one that swirls heat and need below the waist.
“Why don’t you put the bowl down, love? And we can discuss your father’s debts.”
“No, thank you. If ye don’t mind, I’ll keep it with me.”
“I mind.”
Her pretty lips part to argue, but one look at my face makes her think better of it. She hurries to the table, lovingly placing the bowl down, then skitters back to the room's entryway.
As far from me as possible.
“Where should I begin? Would you like this room dusted?” She eyes the place. “Though, from the looks of things, it’s been recently polished.”
“Didn’t Freya tell you? Yer not to work.”
“Aye, she mentioned something like that, but…”
“Did ye not believe her?”
She bites her lip.
I say, “Everything will be provided for you, including cleaning. And ye can shop as much as ye want. I’ve got a black Amex card with your name on it. Do yer best to wear it out.”
