Enticed Page 2

  One of the most notorious of those was a steel company acquisition that merged an Indiana company with one in Kansas. Labor disputes resulted in one of the factories closing entirely. Within five years, both had declared bankruptcy and laid off more than five thousand workers, sending the towns that thrived on these steel plants before right to the brink of disaster.

  His shameless corporate record was the main reason I considered canceling the whole shebang. If the catch was that he was a heartless asshole, then I might as well save myself the trip. I had met my quota of heartless assholes, thank you very much, and wasn’t in the market for any more.

  But the solid earth slipped beneath my feet as the sleek jet climbed higher and higher into the bright blue sky, so there was no turning back now. I convinced myself that it was a calculated risk. If he was an asshole, I’d be back in Texas within a week and life would go on as usual.

  It was just as likely that I would actually wake up from the dream I was so clearly having, because things like this just didn’t happen to me. My whole life had been a battle, and this was just a little too easy and too grand to be real. Perhaps I drifted off to sleep after reading a crazy romance novel that helped me vicariously live through the rich and the famous, the beautiful and the blessed, and stepped into a warped version of the scenario in my own dark subconscious. Any minute now, I expected my alarm to go off and yank me back into normality.

  I was still pinching myself an hour after we were in the air. I had everything I could possibly want, including Internet access. The gourmet meal was exceptional, and the flight attendant named Sophie catered to my every need as we soared high above the country.

  Dream or no, this certainly was traveling in style. As each minute passed, I started to suspect that Mr. Fullerton, though his request was unusual, unexpected and unsolicited, was completely on the up-and-up. And it kind of scared me more.

  There was only thing more terrifying than his offer being bogus and wasting a week of my life with a paid getaway to the City of Angels… and that was the possibility he was completely sincere. If I decided to take this job, I would be in Los Angeles by summer, nearly to the day of the last day of school where I currently taught.

  Then I would work through what would have been my summer vacation, in a teaching setting completely unfamiliar to me, with a child much younger than those I normally taught. If things worked out and Jonathan responded well to this new arrangement, I could reasonably teach him each and every year until he went away for college.

  It was a potential ten year commitment on the other side of the country where I knew not a soul. My friends and extended family were all in the Lone Star State. But aside from Nancy, Greg and the kids, I barely had contact with anyone else anyway.

  What exactly was I clinging to? Kids would come and go in my classes, gracing my life for a year before that painful moment when they moved on to that next level and I had to restart my head and my heart with a whole new class. I was good ol’ Aunt Rachel to Nancy’s kids, but they, too, would grow up and move on. Unlike Nancy, I didn’t have a husband to cushion that particular blow.

  I just had a tiny, lonely apartment that hadn’t changed much in the three years that I had lived there. There were even boxes I had yet to unpack.

  Even if Jonathan didn’t respond well to the new learning environment, the six-figure salary he had dangled in front of me would be enough to completely transform my life in Texas however I wanted even if I didn’t last beyond the first year.

  The potential of either scenario was equally terrifying and exhilarating.

  My hands literally shook as I disembarked at the Santa Monica airport, where a sleek, stretch limousine was waiting for me. A tall, wiry man with short, cropped gray hair stood in a formal butler’s uniform, complete with a black hat and white gloves. He advanced confidently with an outstretched hand. “Miss Dennehy?” he asked, with a distinguished British accent.

  I nodded and smiled. “That’s me.”

  “My name is Harrison. I am Mr. Fullerton’s personal valet. He’s asked me to retrieve you as he was called away unexpectedly for business.”

  “Then I’m in your hands, I guess!” I quipped as I reached for one of my suitcases sitting toward the trunk of the long car.

  Harrison touched my hand softly. “I will tend to this, miss. Please,” he said as he opened the back door and gestured inside.

  I nodded awkwardly, feeling embarrassed by all the attention. “Help yourself to a drink,” he offered before he shut the door. I opened the tiny fridge and spied single bottles of champagne. Behind those were some lemon-lime sodas, so I grabbed one of those instead.

  I jumped when the trunk of the limo slammed shut. Harrison walked around the large black car and eased into the driver’s seat. “Would you like some music, miss?” he asked through the rearview mirror.

  “That would be lovely,” I responded as I settled as best I could into the back seat. He eased the volume of the radio up until the vehicle was filled with its very own symphony. He raised the tinted glass between the front seat and the rest of the car, giving me privacy to relax on our way from the airport to the Fullerton estate in Beverly Hills.

  I had already seen photos of the house, which had been featured many times in architectural digests. The $28-million-dollar mansion was a sprawling Italian villa painstakingly restored much to its original condition when it was built in the 1920s. The estate sat on nearly one-and-a-quarter acres of land, and the house itself covered more than 13,000 square feet. This included eight bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a formal ballroom and full-sized media room, making it a tad bigger than my one-bedroom, 900-square-foot apartment in Grand Prairie.

  We exited the 405 Freeway on Santa Monica Boulevard, curving around Beverly Drive to Sunset. These were all places I had read about or watched in movies and TV, but had never considered, in my wildest of dreams, I might actually get to explore myself one day.

  Tall palm trees lined the streets, piercing the crystal clear sky the color of a robin’s egg. The skyline of downtown Los Angeles had long since disappeared in the distance as we turned down a narrow street, where all the multi-million-dollar mansions were concealed behind tall trees, endless shrubbery and formidable iron gates.

  One such gate opened and we entered the long driveway towards the house. My breath caught as I watched it come into view. The pictures in the magazines had not done this place justice. The two-story villa sprawled out over the knoll upon which it sat, distinguished and sophisticated, dressed in an Austin stone exterior. The architecture was classic and timeless, and quite literally took my breath away as we rolled to a stop on the Moroccan tile and textured concrete of the patio, which featured a beautiful marble fountain right out front. Tall Italian cypress trees stood guard on either side of the arched doorway with etched glass doors. I was speechless as I stepped out of the car.

  “This is amazing,” I finally breathed as Harrison rounded the car to join me.

  “Yes. Master Fullerton is quite proud of his family home. It was built in 1927 with materials imported directly from Italy, and a Fullerton has lived here ever since. Come,” he said as he extended his gloved hand in front of us, leading the way toward the arched doorway.

  I was even more blown away by the interior. The foyer opened up to a grand spiral staircase toward the upper level, and an ornate Swarovski chandelier sent sparkling light across the highly polished parquet wood floor.

  Harrison led me to the main living room, which looked as though it belonged in a museum rather than someone’s home, especially anyone with small children. Several other crystal chandeliers hung from burnished wood on the barrel ceiling. Antique Queen Ann furniture was upholstered in dark hunter green with tiny pink roses as accents. The wall of windows cast bright, natural light into the room, which, despite its name, didn’t look like anyone actually “lived” in it. I thought about all the books and magazines in my living room back home, scattered across my coffee table and end tables, which were in
a constant state of chaos with stacks of homework, lesson plans and text books at any given time.

  I was afraid to merely stand next to the furniture in this room.

  Posed family portraits hung on the wall. I recognized Malcolm Fullerton, of course. He had figured greatly in my homework for the new job, and as I stood under his imposing portrait, I almost cowered beneath his steely blue gaze. His wife was a raven-haired beauty whose eyes were equally as blue, with perfect cheekbones and a kind smile. She seemingly passed all but one of those things to her oldest son, who stood rigidly at her side in the portrait. He adopted the same stance and countenance as his father, though he couldn’t have been more than ten at the time it was painted.

  I glanced at the younger boy in the photo, who curled into his mother’s arms like a contented kitten. He wore her same smile, which made me smile despite myself. This was Alex Fullerton, Drew’s younger brother. It was clear that he hadn’t yet been groomed by his father as heir to their massive fortune, a mistake for which they would pay in later years when Alex jumped ship entirely.

  The feud between the two brothers was legendary. Drew stepped into his rightful place as president of Fullerton International Enterprises at the tender age of 21, shortly after his father had suffered his first debilitating stroke. Alex, however, escaped to backpack across Europe to “find himself,” leaving Drew to run the family business a decade before I received my fortuitous email.

  Though I prided myself as a non-judgmental person, I felt my lip curl. For the rest of us, who had to work hard just to break even, I couldn’t imagine that kind of devil-may-care attitude. Even if he didn’t have to work for a living, there was so much good he could do with his limitless resources and his family’s influence. But he had famously walked away from all of it.

  According to whom you asked in the business world, that Fullerton influence benefited more from power than mercy. Clearly that sweet little boy curled next to his mother’s loving bosom had found a way to live beyond it. Alex Fullerton had fallen off the grid, probably squashed by Drew’s larger than life persona. From what little information there was on him since their bitter split, I got the sense both of them preferred it that way.

  Alex had only recently become a factor when Drew divorced his high-society wife. If tabloids were to be believed, the black sheep of the family surprisingly reemerged as her biggest supporter. This, no doubt, put the embattled brothers even more at odds. As I stared at the boys they were, I couldn’t help but wonder where, and why, it had all gone wrong.

  “Miss?” Harrison asked from the arched entryway. I had forgotten he was still standing nearby. I had gotten a little lost in the family portrait, which embarrassed me as I approached him with a slight smile.

  “Sorry. It’s a lot to take in.”

  He didn’t smile, but I got the feeling he wanted to. I followed him through the house to the large kitchen that would have easily housed my entire apartment. The counters were made of polished granite, the floor was Italian marble. There was a stone fireplace against one wall, complete with a brick oven. An older woman with pale etched skin and a halo of silver hair wiped her hands on her apron as she approached. “Miss Dennehy,” she greeted with an outstretched hand. “I’m Cleo, the Fullerton’s cook. We are so pleased you could visit us this week.”

  “Thank you,” I offered as I took her hand.

  “May I get you something to drink?”

  “Iced tea would be wonderful, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  She smiled. “It’s my job, Miss. Nothing is too much trouble.” She offered a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies, which had filled the large space with a welcoming, homey smell. She pulled a full pitcher from the enormous side-by-side refrigerator, as well as a crystal glass from the cabinet.

  Harrison turned to Cleo. “I’m off to retrieve Jonathan,” he said before turning to me. “If you’d like to retire to your quarters to freshen up, I’d advise you do it now. Once Jonathan arrives, you won’t have a free minute to yourself.”

  My eyebrow arched. “That bad?”

  He tipped his head and said nothing as he gestured toward the entryway. I followed him upstairs to the second floor. We walked down a long hallway toward the last door, which opened up to a full bedroom suite. It, like the living room, had burnished wood on the barreled ceiling, and a smaller, but equally impressive crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the room. Priceless crystal figurines dotted the glass bookshelves built into the tiled walls, which featured old, leather-bound classic novels. Just like on the plane, fresh roses filled the room. They were a pale peach color and fit the décor perfectly. The four poster queen bed was covered in peach silk and white eyelet and lace, with wispy sheer fabric draped from the canopy.

  Harrison opened the walk-in closet, which was big enough to qualify as another room entirely. There my belongings had been unpacked and hung for me, which made me wonder exactly how long I had been staring at the Fullerton family portrait. I felt as though I should tip him for his speedy efficiency. This was certainly finer than any hotel in which I had ever stayed. “Thank you, Harrison,” I said, feeling completely inadequate that I couldn’t compensate him for his services.

  He nodded his acknowledgment. “We should return in an hour. I know Master Jonathan will want to meet you straight away.”

  “I want to meet him,” I said. “I’ll be ready.”

  A smile tugged the corner of his lip. “Yes, miss,” was all he said, but I could definitely hear the humor laced in his tone.

  This didn’t bode well.

  The guest room had a private bath, which was filled with the same Italian marble as the rest of the house. The sunken tub doubled also as a spa bath, and several peach-colored (and scented) candles surrounded the edge. A basket full of cosmetics had been provided for my convenience, and I easily recognized the brands within it. These were brands I had never personally purchased myself, thanks to my strict budget. I had to contain a squeal as I opened one bottle and inhaled deep the light fragrance of verbena.

  I started running water for an immediate bubble bath, kicking away my sensible shoes and shrugging out of the pantsuit I wore to travel. I lit the candles and slid into the bubbly, fragrant water with a contented sigh.

  Outside the slightly opened window I could hear birds singing on the tops of the tall trees I could see from where I lounged in the tub. The bath itself was delicious and indulgent. Had I remembered to bring a book with me, I’d have stayed in until my skin wrinkled right off my bones.

  I had to remind myself that I was here to work. As glorious and luxurious as the surroundings were, I was still just the hired help.

  Actually, I wasn’t even hired yet. Drew Fullerton could meet me and decide I was all wrong for the job and for his son, which… honestly… was what I was expecting. I hadn’t gone to an Ivy League school, and even then I hadn’t earned more than a Bachelor’s degree. Plus I was completely inexperienced with the kind of homeschooling he desired for his son. All I really added up to be was some small-town schoolmarm with sensible shoes and an available schedule.

  I really didn’t see how someone who could live in a place like this, surrounded by the finest things money could buy, would find that at all adequate.

  But he was the one who had approached me, so I had to assume he knew all this going into it. All I could do was the best I knew to do. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of the tub and dried off so I could be prepared to meet Jonathan.

  I stood in my towel, inspecting what few articles of clothing I had brought from Texas, debating on what I should wear, when the phone rang. I glanced around, thinking that someone else would answer, but I was all alone. I walked over to the desk on the far wall overlooking the backyard. Next to the phone was a plate of cookies and my iced tea. I had to smile. If those cookies tasted as good as they smelled I sensed the start of a beautiful friendship.

  As I went to snag a cookie from the plate, I noticed from the phone that it was a multi-line syste
m, which meant whoever was calling had been trying to reach my room specifically. On the sixth ring, I finally answered. “This is Rachel Dennehy.”

  “Miss Dennehy,” a warm male voice murmured. “This is Drew Fullerton.”

  Maybe it was the rich timbre of his voice, or maybe it was because he was one of the most powerful people on the planet, but hearing this man for the first time sent a jolt from my head all the way to my toes. Suddenly I became very aware that I was standing in the middle of his home, naked except for an over-sized cotton towel. I was unprepared for the unexpected intimacy. I clutched it tighter to my chest before I could answer.

  “Mr. Fullerton,” I greeted, hoping he couldn’t hear my teeth chatter.

  “I trust that you are settling in,” he drawled easily. “I hope the accommodations are acceptable.”

  I nearly snorted as I suppressed a giggle. Suitable, indeed. I felt like a queen. “Your home is lovely,” I managed. “I have to remind myself I’m here to work.”

  My tummy tightened when I heard him chuckle. “If you love what you do, each day should be an adventure, rather than a chore.”

  I nodded as I glanced around the plush room. “That is how I look at teaching in general. I’ve just never done it surrounded by Italian marble and crystal chandeliers before.”

  “Then you’ve been doing it wrong,” he suggested. Though I couldn’t see him, I heard the smirk in his voice. “I was just calling to let you know that I’ve been called out of town on business. I won’t return until Monday.”

  My heart fell, though I didn’t know why.

  “But I want you to feel completely welcome in our home. The staff has been instructed to meet your every need, and I know Jonathan will keep you busy in my absence.” Again, I heard the warning in his sardonic tone.

  “You’re the second person to warn me what I’m in for,” I said with a slight grin of my own. “Should I be scared?”

  Drew laughed, which again felt like a rush of warm water over my chilled, near-naked body. “You teach teenagers within the public school system, I think you’re better prepared than most. But word to the wise, a bored Jonathan is a more challenging Jonathan.”