"I just thought I'd take a quick look," I answered, defending myself. "Is there somewhere else you'd like to get started? A different room?"
Sanford shrugged. "I just want this dealt with and out of the way. Wherever we start is fine to me."
Great. Not the most enthusiastic client I'd ever worked with, but I was alright with that. Some clients chose to hang over my shoulder, asking all sorts of questions about every piece they owned, insisting that, because this massive wardrobe had come from Great-Aunt Myrtle, it had to be worth tens of thousands. They were usually wrong, and hated to learn that the big dresser was actually mass-produced crap and worthless.
I had brought over a clipboard with a pad of legal paper clipped to it, and I pulled a pen out of my pocket. "Well, let's start here," I said, taking a deep breath and trying to pull together my professional act. "Would you mind pulling some of these sheets away, just so I can get an inventory of what pieces are here?"
For a moment, I thought that Sanford might decline, forcing me to do everything (and probably getting all kinds of dust and dirt on my nice clothes). But he stepped forward, tugging the sheets and tarps away, dumping them in a pile in a corner. I winced at the cloud of dust that rose up from his actions, but began jotting down a short list of the items stacked beneath the coverings.
"Great," I said after a minute, after taking a quick second count of the items to make sure my numbers were correct. "Next room!"
Sanford and I moved around the first floor of the Winterhearst mansion, Sanford pulling the sheets away as I jotted down quick little descriptions and counts of the furniture and antiques we uncovered beneath. I tried to keep my voice steady and my handwriting from growing unreadable, but I could see those dancing dollar signs once again, this time jumping around with ecstasy. There was even more stuff here than I'd guessed, and I caught a few glimpses of pieces that, if they were genuine, would be quite valuable!
"Is there more stuff up on the second floor?" I asked, once we'd worked our way around the first floor and circled back to the front hall.
Sanford nodded. "Not as much as down here, but it's close," he told me. "But do you really need to go through all of it? There's a lot of dust and old crap, and I don't see how glancing at it helps."
"I need to know how many pieces I'm evaluating, if I want to give you a decent estimate of how long it will take me," I answered, trying not to frown at the way that he referred to all these antiques as 'crap'. "If I don't see it all, I might end up needing more time, and it might cost you a bit more-"
"What's your daily rate?" he interrupted.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know, you interrupt me a lot."
"Well, you talk a lot," Sanford answered, but he glanced away. "Look, I just want all of this out of the way."
"Why? What are you going to put in here, afterwards? Got your own furniture or something?" I didn't mean to pry, but I was genuinely curious about why this man had bought the big mansion, and then not bothered to set up any of the old furniture.
Sanford just shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe leave it empty. Haven't decided yet."
I looked at him in surprise, but he seemed serious. Apparently, I realized, Sanford Welles didn't seem to have nearly as much of a plan as I'd guessed!
For some reason, that helped make him seem a little more human, a little less intimidating. His glare was still dark and scary, but at least he didn't have some evil plan all figured out in his head.
"Well, here's a breakdown of my rates," I said after a moment, pulling a sheet from beneath the legal pad on my clipboard and passing it over to him. "I charge a daily rate, plus hourly for extra work or rush jobs. I'll also help handle the sales of unwanted pieces, if you wish, and there's a base cost plus commission on each piece that gets sold-"
"Fine." Sanford barely glanced at the sheet of paper before passing it back to me. "You're hired. For however long it takes to get through it all. Just send me a bill at the end and I'll pay it. Is there anything else you need?"
I started. Honestly, I hadn't expected it to be that easy! It took me a moment to think about what else I'd need.
"Uh, yes," I said after a moment to recover. "I'll need a key to the house, of course. And I'll probably need to set up a station in one of these rooms for doing all the inspections, so I'll be plugging in some lights and hanging up a sheet to take clear photographs. And do you have a wifi network?"
Sanford just nodded. "Winston can get you all of that," he said, and started to turn away. Apparently, this conversation no longer held his interest.
"Hey, wait!" I called. "Is that it? You don't have any other questions for me?"
"Should I?" He looked back over his shoulder at me, and that angry glare almost stopped me from saying anything more, but I managed to press on.
"You know, you could stand to lighten up a bit."
Who said that? I heard the words come out, but they must have emerged from someone else's mouth, because I'd never say anything so stupid. Right? That couldn't have been me. I'd never say something like that, especially not to my new employer.
But as Sanford slowly turned, somehow managing to grow even more intense, I realized that yes, I'd been the one who just committed verbal suicide right there. I felt a little squeak slip out from between my lips, but I couldn't take the words back.
"Lighten up?" Sanford repeated, his eyebrows raised. God, the man even had good, strong eyebrows. It ought to be a crime for someone as gloomy and scary as Sanford to look so attractive.
I nodded, desperately attempting to not reveal how I was quaking in my sensible black pumps. "You're just hiding in this old house, as far as I can tell, and you don't seem to care about or be interested in anything. Don't you have some sort of interests? Hobbies? A pet, maybe?"
The man of stone shrugged. "I only recently found myself with a lot of time. I'm still working out what to do with it."
Well, he wasn't yelling at me. That was a start, at least. He still looked cold and intimidating, but he hadn't blown up in hot anger at me. I considered this to be a minor success. For a moment, I thought of cutting my losses and running off, but my big fat mouth didn't seem to be done throwing out accusations at the man.
"Well, I could always use some help with the furniture."
What in the world was I doing? Had some part of my brain gone totally insane?
Sanford, meanwhile, just looked at me. What might he be thinking? I stared hotly back, but after a moment, I was horrified to feel a slight blush rising in my cheeks. Damn it, why did he have to be so attractive? Even now, in that white shirt, hanging open at the neck with one button undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and just the slightest little hint of dark hair on his chest, begging for my fingers to run over it...
God, I had to get out of here before I screwed up the biggest job of my career.
"Think about it," I stammered out, reaching behind me for the handle to the front door but not daring to take my eyes off of Sanford. "Just have Winston bring the info and the key over to me, and I can get started right away tomorrow."
My hand fumbled about, but it didn't encounter the door handle. What, had the entire hallway managed to rearrange itself behind me?
Finally, Sanford stepped forward, up towards me. He leaned in towards me, and for one brief instant, I thought that, crazily, he might be leaning in to kiss me.
His hand reached out, sliding past me, and I gasped a little as he brushed against my side. He was about to wrap that arm around my waist, draw me in against his hard body, kiss me passionately-
His hand closed on the front door handle behind me, and he pulled the door open.
Oh.
Right. He wasn't about to kiss me. He just wanted to open the door for me so that he could get this crazy woman with the big mouth out of his house.
I quickly said goodbye, although the words might not have been totally understandable, given how I was literally ducking out of the house as I spoke them. I needed to get out of there before
I ended up accidentally flashing the man through some crazy circumstances, or something else equally embarrassing.
Still, as I headed down the sidewalk and back to my house, I quickly cheered myself up. I was hired, and there was enough work in the mansion next door to my little cottage to keep me busy for days, maybe even weeks! Sanford might consider me a little crazy, but at least he had money and was willing to pay me!
For just a moment, as I took a deep breath of the fresh night air, I caught a slight, lingering hint of the man's scent in my nostrils. When he'd leaned in towards me, he had smelled deep, clean, strong. I could almost smell it again when I closed my eyes.
Not that I had any urge to smell the man, of course. I'd keep my mind focused on my work. No distractions.
Chapter Nine
*
INTERLUDE: SANFORD
Through the front window of this damnable, ancient, creaky old mansion that he'd bought, Sanford watched as Elaine walked away, back to her house. She didn't look back, and apparently assuming that no one was watching, paused halfway down the sidewalk to give herself a little cheer, pumping one fist in the air.
Despite himself, Sanford almost cracked a grin at the sight, before he clamped down on his emotions and got himself back under control. The woman was just one more nuisance, as if he could never escape. An attempt to solve one problem - all this old furniture sitting around - had just turned into yet another problem.
He hadn't wanted Winston to get the junk appraised! He could recall his exact words to the butler. "I want you to get rid of all this shit," Sanford had stated, gesturing around at all the furniture piled up under sheets and making the place look like a bad attempt at a fake haunted house.
Winston, of course, had simply nodded and murmured that he'd find someone to handle it. Sanford, assuming that the man had it under control, didn't say anything more.
Now, he realized that Winston had gotten the wrong idea, but it was too late to switch back to his original plan of just calling for a dumpster. After all, he'd just agreed to hire this Elaine woman, hadn't he? He couldn't very well fire her before she'd even done a single day of work.
Or maybe Elaine herself managed to get to his butler, twisting his memories and convincing him to hire her! She didn't exactly seem like the conniving and scheming type, but Sanford knew how women were. He'd been burned in the past by trusting members of the opposite sex too much.
He wasn't about to get caught in the same trap twice. That much was for sure.
Winston had probably just gotten confused, that was all. Sanford sighed as he considered the old man, his thoughts a mixture of sympathy and dry amusement. If he could talk to his childhood self, telling his past self that he'd one day have a man working for him as, let's face it, a butler, it would have sounded unbelievable. A poor little kid from the wrong side of the tracks, owning a mansion? Having a butler working full-time for him? Stuck in this old house with more money than he could possibly spend, no idea of what to do with it, and feeling absolutely miserable about it?
He'd originally hired Winston more out of sympathy than out of any real need for a manservant, although he'd carry that secret to his grave. Finding out that the younger Sanford hadn't been desperate for someone to organize his closet would break the old man's heart. Sanford originally just wanted the man to not lose his meager paycheck when his previous employer cut him loose.
Over time, however, Winston grew on Sanford. Now, even though the idea of having a full-time butler still didn't sit quite right with Sanford, he doubted that he'd be able to get through a day without Winston. The old man somehow managed to effortlessly run the house, providing Sanford with his meals, keeping the place relatively clean, and handling all the little bills and day-to-day matters that Sanford didn't want to handle.
In fact, this was the first time that Winston had really misunderstood his master. If Sanford didn't know better, he might have suspected the old man of playing at some sort of game by hiring Elaine.
But unless Winston's game was to give Sanford a heart attack, he couldn't see the reason behind it. Elaine was loud, clumsy, a bit scatterbrained, and not to put too fine a point on it, significantly curvier than the type of woman Sanford preferred. When he stepped into a party, he looked for the size zero in a tight red dress, maybe an Asian beauty or a New York blonde with her hair elaborately styled and cascading down her shoulders. Hell, Valencia-
Nope. Not thinking about that.
Anyway, he certainly didn't look twice at next door neighbors with fat, wandering orange tabby cats.
Still, as he watched her walk away and head back over to her own, far smaller little cottage next door, Sanford remembered how they'd collided that morning, when he'd been out for his morning run. It had been entirely Elaine's fault, of course, but she'd landed on top of him, warm and round and squirming a little as she tried to get off of him, and he'd felt a surge of warmth and energy to unexpected places...
No! Sanford shook his head, banishing that memory. He wasn't going to slip up, get caught by another woman. Especially not someone like Elaine, totally the opposite of what he wanted. She was just going to be another employee, doing her job and going about her own business, not disturbing him.
At least, he hoped that this would be the case.
"Everything okay, sir?"
Sanford clamped his teeth together firmly to keep from exclaiming in surprise, and controlled his muscles to keep from jumping at the unexpected voice. Only after he had his voice and body language back under full control did he allow himself to turn around as Winston entered the room.
"Everything's fine, Winston," he replied. He didn't bother to correct his manservant's use of "sir." At first, Sanford had told Winston not to refer to him that way, not liking how it made him feel like some sort of slave owner, but Winston kept on using the word, and eventually Sanford gave up on trying to change his butler's ways.
"You had your meeting with Miss Dean, then?" Winston moved closer, although he always remained a pace or so behind Sanford. He liked to hover just behind Sanford's right arm, as if he was assisting Sanford in a medical operation.
For a second, Sanford felt a ridiculous little urge to shout out "Clamp! Tubing!" and see if Winston would slap the necessary component into his hand. He crushed the urge. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.
"Yes, I did," he said instead, still frowning out the window. Elaine had disappeared around the corner, back to her own house, of course. "She seems a bit... excitable, but you told me that her references were good?"
If he'd hoped to catch Winston's ulterior motive, he'd need to do better than that clumsy hook. "Quite good, sir," Winston replied. "And given the age of some of the items in the house, she should be able to turn quite a tidy profit as she disposes of the antiques."
Sanford didn't give a damn about the profit. He already had more money than he could hope to spend in his lifetime. And Winston knew this, since he mostly managed the finances. Heck, Winston wrote his own paychecks every two weeks and presented them to Sanford to sign! Sanford didn't know how much the butler charged, but suspected that he was scoring a great deal out of the old man's sympathy for him.
No, Winston was playing some game of his own. Sanford finally gave Winston a sidelong glance, but the man's wrinkled face gave away absolutely nothing. He'd probably been playing verbal poker with previous employers for years before Sanford was even born.
The only way that Sanford could see to find out what game Winston was playing was for him to keep on wading forward, searching for more clues, and hope that he figured out what the old man intended before the trap closed around him.
He considered just continuing to stand quietly, trying to lure Winston into filling the silence, but he knew that the butler wouldn't fall for that ploy, either. "Elaine mentioned that she was in the house earlier," he said instead, his voice distant. "I don't seem to recall seeing her in here."
"Indeed, sir, she only just passed through." Was there the briefest note o
f hesitation in Winston's voice as he answered?
"And why was she here in the first place?" Again, Sanford maintained his voice. Perfectly calm and level. Don't give away anything, not even to Winston.
This time, there was definitely a pause before Winston answered. "Her cat, sir, apparently managed to get into the backyard a second time."
"Really." Sanford turned away from the window. "Perhaps I should consider adopting a dog of some breed, in order to keep unwanted animals off of the property. Something large, known for having a strong bite."
Of course, he had no plans to adopt a dog. Sanford didn't consider himself much of an animal person, but he especially disliked dogs, with their loud barking, near-constant motion, and boundless energy. Cats, at least, could keep to themselves and not constantly pester him; they weren't always demanding his attention like a hyperactive child.
Again, Winston didn't rise to the gambit. "I'm certain that Miss Dean will work hard to keep her cat under control," was all that he said.
For a moment, Sanford almost turned to his manservant with more questions, but he decided that it wasn't worth the effort. Whatever Winston might be planning, it likely wasn't intended to be malicious. It would probably end up being just one more annoyance, one more thing to keep him from turning his brain off and just being on his own, not having to talk to or deal with anyone else.
Instead, Sanford strode out of the room. "I'm going upstairs," he called back to Winston. "Oh, and Elaine says that she needs keys to the house, and access to the wireless network. Can you take care of that for her?"
Even after years, Sanford still felt a little twinge of guilt whenever he gave Winston an order. After all, if it hadn't been for good fortune and chance, he would still be broke and living out on the streets. In that situation, Winston wouldn't even consider him worthy of spit, much less wait on his commands, hand and foot, with such obsequious respect. What right did he have to give orders to someone else, even if he paid the other's salary?
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