“Gretch, you’ve really got to get out of the house more if you’re talking to that cat.”
She wiggled Igor back and forth, crossing her legs under her. “Tell Audrey that Mommy’s out of the house right now, Igor.”
“This is what I mean.” Audrey sighed. “That cat gets more attention than your last boyfriend.”
“This cat is better to cuddle with than my last boyfriend,” Gretchen said cheerfully. “And you’re going to be late to work.”
Audrey sighed again and adjusted her dark gray jacket, then picked an imaginary piece of lint off her matching skirt. “You’re going to be fine?”
“Igor and I will be just fine.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, jiggling it in her sister’s direction. “Call me if you need me. And keep your phone on you so I can check you via text.”
“I’m twenty-six, Audrey. I can handle myself.”
“You’re in your pajamas, talking to your cat. Forgive me if I feel a moment of doubt. It’s like you’re turning into the crazy cat lady before my eyes.”
“Am not. Igor and I are having a month-long slumber party,” Gretchen said, holding the cat in front of her and making a kissy face at him because she knew it’d drive sensible Audrey bananas. “Isn’t that right, Igor-Wigor?”
“God, you and that cat.” She waved a hand. “It’s no wonder you’re eternally single. I’m out of here.”
“Text ya later,” Gretchen said, and moved the cat’s paw up and down in a facsimile of a wave. She laughed to herself when Audrey shut the door to the bedroom behind her, her sigh of sisterly annoyance still echoing in the hallway. “I’m thinking she’s not fond of you as a roomie, Igor.”
The cat said nothing and simply blinked up at her.
Gretchen sighed and placed him on the bed. “Okay, so Audrey might be right about the whole me-still-in-pajamas-talking-to-a-cat-is-pathetic thing. And given that I’m still talking to you, she might also have a point about the eternally single thing.”
It wasn’t that Gretchen ran into a lot of spectacularly eligible men in her line of work. The only people she knew in publishing were female, as it was a female-dominated business, and when she wasn’t doing job-related networking, she was more or less at home, working on her latest manuscript.
And sometimes she didn’t change out of her pajamas for days, which was kind of gross and not something that a boyfriend would approve of. So it was a good thing that she was single. Single let her hit her deadlines.
Well, theoretically. Since she wasn’t good at hitting those either, she really had no excuse.
She waited a few minutes, listening to her stomach growl, and then glanced over at the clock. Audrey had to be well on her way to work by now. Good. Gretchen rolled off the bed, bounding up onto her feet and heading for the bedroom door. Having her sister around for the weekend was enjoyable for the first night, but after that it sort of made the weekend crawl by. She wanted to explore the house and poke around on her project at her leisure, but all Audrey wanted to do was work on PowerPoints and go through her work email, even on Saturday nights.
The girl needed a hobby. Of course, the odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Gretchen getting a boyfriend.
She slipped out the door of her room and down the hall. There was no sound of vacuums today. Today they were cleaning the boathouse and greenhouse or something. No flood of maids to drop in on and say hello, since she didn’t know where either the boathouse or greenhouse were. That meant that the only person around was Eldon, and he tended to avoid her.
This also meant that the north wing—Mr. Buchanan’s wing—would likely be deserted.
Gretchen headed there, unable to help herself.
It was a crazy idea, but the more she entertained the thought of apologizing to Mr. Buchanan, the more she wanted to do it. Her spying was going to hang in the air between them, and she didn’t want to spend the next thirty days hiding from him—or having him retreat at the sight of her.
They needed to deal with it like adults. Adults saw nudity all the time. Penises? No big deal. She wanted to apologize and make this next month as smooth as possible, since they’d be living together.
Unfortunately for her, his wing of the estate was entirely deserted. She spent a good half hour knocking on doors, only to come to that maddening conclusion. This place was a maze, and it would be near impossible to find the owner unless she knew where to look for him.
Disgruntled—and a bit hungry—Gretchen headed to the kitchens in the north wing, since it was the only one stocked. Even here, the place was immaculate. Not a crumb marred the gorgeous granite countertops, and the fridge and pantry were brimming with all kinds of delicious things that she was itching to bake with. It wasn’t her kitchen so she wouldn’t touch anything that she didn’t have permission to. Though it killed her not to rummage through the pantry and start baking, she made herself a simple sandwich out of some of the fresh bread left out on the counter (she’d come back later for Igor’s food), washed her knife and plate once she was done, and then wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel and walked the halls as she ate, musing to herself about her surroundings.
As she finished her sandwich, she strolled past a long corridor of windows and almost missed the sight of Mr. Buchanan in the gardens. His tall figure cut a dark form against the naked rosebushes. She moved to the window to watch him, and she noticed that he seemed to be inspecting the bushes. They looked pretty dead to her, but maybe they weren’t supposed to be? Intrigued, Gretchen hunted for a door that led outside.
Five minutes later, she was slogging through the light dusting of snow in a pair of boots that she’d found in the mudroom. Her flannel pajamas were warm enough for the indoors, but the bitter winter wind cut right through them. For a brief moment, she pondered heading back to her room to dress in something other than pajamas, but in that time, the mysterious Mr. Buchanan might disappear on her again.
And she desperately needed to talk to him.
Her footsteps crunched loudly as she walked, and she crossed her arms over her chest, heading toward him with determination. He didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, so she studied him from behind. She’d seen him previously, of course, but not clothed, and he looked different, somehow. Rich guys didn’t need to work hard to get chicks. She always suspected that more often they looked like pasty nerds rather than soldiers. But this man was definitely of the latter variety, however. His shoulders were thick and burly underneath the tan jacket he wore, and his entire frame seemed built for muscle. He wasn’t short either, which was nice. Not that she was interested in those sorts of things. She just wanted to apologize for ogling his junk.