Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Moreover, I was the welcome wagon, and today we were expecting our latest member. North Hunter, a renowned Scottish actor. I’d seen him in a couple of meh rom-coms he’d made. What? So I was kind of a film snob. I could say without bias my dad was one of the greatest directors of all time. Blame him for my film snobbery.
However, I had caught an episode of North Hunter’s TV show, King’s Valley, that had catapulted him to fame these past few years. He played a serial killer and won a Golden Globe for his performance last year. I’d been surprised by his acting chops when I saw King’s Valley. I hadn’t expected him to go from cocky, charming Scot to intensely charismatic and complex sociopath.
After I saw the show, I reached out to his management to see if he’d be interested in a membership. Part of my job was to bring fresh blood to the estate, and I wanted that fresh blood to be the cream of the crop. North had just bagged the lead role in what was sure to be the next big spy action movie franchise. Rumor had it filming started at the end of the year. It thrilled me when North paid for a membership without even coming to tour the estate. He’d apparently heard enough about Ardnoch through the grapevine and understood that membership here was gilding for credentials. Yes, that sounded elitist and pretentious, but it was the truth. There was a long waiting list for membership to Ardnoch. To bypass that waiting list meant you’d made it.
It was a five-minute drive through woodland to the castle, and I was one of the first to park my vehicle in the staff lot. I liked to be early to work. Hurrying into the castle’s cool interior, I nodded hello to the staff who had just arrived or were coming off the night shift, and greeted Wakefield, our head butler. He wore his formal black-and-white butler uniform of tailcoat and white gloves. In the year I’d been working at Ardnoch, I’d never beaten that man to work.
“Good morning, Wakefield.”
He gave me a small bow. “Ms. Howard. Mr. Hunter has arrived.”
I stumbled to a stop on the edges of the opulent reception hall, my heels squeaking on the parquet flooring. The room was empty. No sign of North Hunter. A grand staircase descended into the center, fitted with a red-and-gray tartan wool runner. It led to a landing where three floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows spilled sunlight. Then it branched off at either side, twin staircases leading to the floor above, which I could partially see from the galleried balconies at either end of the reception hall. It was too hot for a fire in the huge hearth on the wall adjacent to the entrance and opposite the staircase. Tiffany lamps scattered throughout on end tables gave the space a warm glow, as it wasn’t the most light-filled space.
Opposite the quiet hearth sat two matching suede-and-fabric buttoned sofas with a coffee table in between. This was usually where new members awaited my arrival.
“Already?” I asked, turning back to Wakefield. “Where is he?”
“I took the liberty of showing Mr. Hunter to the dining room. Chef has provided breakfast for him.”
“Good. Good. He’s very early.” We hadn’t expected North until this afternoon. I had a meeting this morning first thing with Jock McRory, our head of security. “Wakefield, can you tell Mr. McRory I have to postpone our meeting until nine thirty and have Mr. Hunter brought to my office as soon as he’s finished breakfast?”
“Of course, Ms. Howard.”
“Where is his luggage?” I asked.
“Mrs. Hutchinson recalled you wished to have Mr. Hunter stay in the Bruce Suite, so I had his luggage delivered to his room.”
My lips twitched at the thought of our head housekeeper. “I swear that woman has supernatural abilities.” Agnes Hutchinson seemed to know everything that went on at the castle and had my schedule memorized.
“Indeed.” Wakefield’s eyes glimmered with amusement.
“Thank you, Wakefield. I’ll be in my office.”
“Shall I have coffee brought to you?”
“Yes, please.”
Wakefield was the best.
My office was Lachlan’s “stage office,” as he’d called it. His real office was in the staff quarters and was a dismal, dreary little room next to Jock’s office. This stage office was where he took meetings with members. He’d insisted I take it as my own, and I did not argue. The room was like a smaller version of the estate library. Wall-to-wall dark oak bookshelves, an impressive open fireplace, and two comfortable armchairs situated in front of a captain’s pedestal desk. A floor-to-ceiling window adjacent to the desk let in light so it didn’t feel too dark. Tiffany lamps aided in chasing off the gloom too. Luxurious velvet curtains at the window pooled on the wooden floors, most of which were covered in expensive carpets.