“What the hell are you doing in here?” the eyes growled, the pitch so menacingly low it was almost inaudible. Cara thought she was going to faint with fear. There was no body attached to the piercing, fearsome irises. They seemed to be floating, suspended in nothingness. The eyes shifted out of the darkness and she exhaled in immense relief as she realized that they did, indeed, belong to a face. A very handsome face, in fact. As she caught her breath, Cara took in the dark haired stranger with interest. He wore shiny chestnut curls in a short, professional style but one rogue tress teased the top of a smooth, tan forehead and on closer inspection, his eyes were not so much grey as they were a silvery blue. Somehow, they still seemed to catch the miniscule elements of light in the joyless room. As her eyes moved down his elegant facial features, past the thick but manicured eyebrows, past the fine lines of his cheekbones, her own jewel like pupils rested on the scowl upon his lips and she snapped out the semi-trance which seemed to have temporarily befallen her. Nervously, Cara swallowed and found her voice.
“I’m Cara Castillo. I’m the new house – “
“I didn’t ask for an introduction. I asked you what the hell you’re doing in here!” the man snapped, striding forward, roughly seizing her by the arm. He towered over her by at least eight inches and his muscular arm rippled under his blue t-shirt as he hustled her out of the room.
“Get your hands off of me!” Cara snapped, yanking her arm free as he unceremoniously deposited her into the dining room, slamming the heavy portal to the hidden library behind him. “How dare you touch me!”
But even as Cara said the words, she was shocked to realize that she was more aroused than she was angry. Her heart was pounding from excitement, not rage.
“Little girl, you stay the hell out of my library. If I ever catch you even looking at this door again, you can pack your bags and get the hell out of my house.” With that, the attractive jerk turned and stormed into the kitchen
“Where is Tabitha?” she heard him yell at the kitchen staff. “Tell her to come to my office right now!” Cara looked down at her hands and realized she was shaking. Amazing. That was the kind, generous Connor Lamoreaux. I am so screwed.
Chapter Three
Tabitha found Cara in her room less than fifteen minutes after her awful first encounter with Connor Lamoreaux. The younger woman was pulling the clothes she had so painstakingly put away not hours before from the beautiful wardrobe and carelessly jamming them back into her suitcases.
“Cara? Cara are you here?” Tabitha called from the sitting room. Cara did not respond. “Cara?”
The giant blonde opened the French doors and poked her head through the doorway. She looked surprised when she realized what Cara was doing.
“Are you packing? Where are you going? Are you leaving?” she asked dubiously. “You haven’t even started yet!” Cara sighed and threw a sweater onto the bed before turning to face Tabitha indignantly.
“Are you here to gloat? Because I really am not in the mood to hear it. I made a mistake coming here. I’m leaving. No need to rub it in.” Tabitha stepped into the bedroom, her forehead crunched into a frown.
“Why would you say that?” Cara clamped her mouth shut and continued haphazardly throwing garments into her luggage. Tabitha reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that? And why are you leaving? Why do you think you made a mistake coming here?”
“You’re here to fire me, aren’t you?” Cara shot back. A look of understanding passed over the older housekeeper’s brown eyes and she laughed genuinely.
“Is that what you think? Because you wandered into the library that you’re being let go?”
“Well, isn’t that what Mr. Lamoreaux wants?”
“Cara, if Mr. Lamoreaux fired every person who wandered into his study, we’d never have staff in this house. It’s practically a rite of passage. Just don’t let it happen again. Really, it’s my fault but I thought you would have read the list of house rules before you went wandering through.” Cara turned to face Tabitha for the first time. She didn’t want to admit to the older woman that she had tuned out the rules after number ten.
“Then what are you doing here?” Tabitha looked slightly hurt at her tone and Cara was instantly contrite. “I – I mean, I just thought…”
“No, I understand. I just came to check up on you. I know Mr. Lamoreaux can come across as hard sometimes but try to remember that he really is a good man and he’s a wonderful employer.” Cara was beginning to tire of the housekeeper’s rhetoric already and she had barely spent ten minutes speaking with the woman. Sighing again, Cara flopped onto the bed, suddenly uncertain of what direction to take. Where else was there to go? She really hadn’t given the job a chance and it had been her own fault, wandering into an area of the house which was off limits. She thought of her mother. She looked up at Tabitha and smiled weakly.
“Thank you for coming to see how I was doing. I was a little shocked at his reaction,” Cara admitted and Tabitha nodded sympathetically. She patted Cara again in a comforting fashion and turned to leave.
“Just give it a shot. You may be pleasantly surprised by what you find here.”
The days were excruciatingly long, filled with dusting and polishing, waxing and scrubbing. Just as Maurice had predicted, Cara developed painful blisters on the soles, heels and toes of her feet and her body constantly ached in places she hadn’t previously known existed. Yet Cara kept about her job, putting in the same tenacious effort she had in every other aspect of her life. Most of the time, Connor Lamoreaux was out of the country so Cara felt herself begin to ease into the rigid routine which Tabitha had established. There was little personal time at the end of the day, for once the work was done, Cara more often than not, fell into an exhausted sleep in front of the television in the sitting room. Every single night she dreamt of Damien and their baby. Every single morning, she woke up sobbing, tears soaking her pillow and well before her alarm.
The first day Cara had scheduled off, she slept in until seven thirty a.m. and woke in a panic, initially believing she was late for work. After washing the dried tears from her cheeks, she panicked again because she missed breakfast. She cringed at the thought of begging Maurice for food again. Hurriedly dressing, she ran down the butler stairs, into the kitchen and literally collided with Van.
“Van,” she whispered, pulling him back into the stairwell. “Can you sneak me a bagel and coffee?”
The busboy looked petrified at the thought.
“Oh…I don’t know, Cara…” he murmured, glancing behind his shoulder as if Maurice might be standing behind him, listening.
“Please! I’m starving and I missed breakfast this morning!” The naturally pale child went even more waxen but he nodded quickly and scampered off. He liked Cara. She was the only member of the staff who treated him like a person and he was fairly sure that aside from Maurice, she was the only one who actually knew his name. The rest of the staff called him “asshole” or “kid.”
Reluctantly, Van snuck into the pantry, ensuring he was undetected and snatched up a sesame seed bagel. As he turned to leave, he came face to face with his boss. He felt his bowels turned to water as the porcine faced head chef glowered down at him, reeking of cigarette smoke.
“Et tu, Van?” Maurice boomed, grabbing the roll from Van’s bony hand. He shook his head in protest but Maurice was already grabbing him by the ear and marching him out into the hub of the kitchen to make him that morning’s example.
“Looks like we have another scavenger in our midst!” Maurice yelled, smacking Van on the back of his head with brute force. The child cried out and sniffed back the tears which instantly sprung to his eyes upon impact.
“Although I have to say, I am shocked that you piece of shit rubbed off on the kid. I had high hopes for you, Van. Stealing food? Really? I don’t feed you enough?” Maurice shook his head and then delivered another swift smack, this time to the boy’s terrified face.
“Stop it, Maurice!” Cara yelled, running out from the stairwell where she had been watching the display in horror.
“You’re an awful person! He’s just a kid! Don’t you touch him!” She protectively put her arms around the quivering Van and the entire kitchen erupted into laughter, including Maurice.
“Aw, look! Your mommy’s here!” Andrew quipped. Furious, Cara strode across the room in three strides and slapped Andrew’s smug face, causing his brilliant smile to fade on contact. Maurice’s jaw dropped to the floor and suddenly he whooped so hard he began to cough uncontrollably in his hysterics.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he cackled. “Do it again, Clara! Do it again!”
“You’re a jerk, Maurice! Don’t ever touch Van again! He was getting me some breakfast, not stealing food!”
“Well why didn’t you say so, Van? Get back to work, you little shithead. And you… “he turned back to Cara as Van took off for the dish pit before he changed his mind. “…what do you want for breakfast?”
Maurice fixed her a plate of eggs, toast, sausage, bacon and French toast with strawberries and fresh maple syrup, even though Cara had told him she was fine with toast and coffee. In spite of her often times dislike of Maurice’s crass character, Cara had to admit that he was a sensational cook and she relished his meals like each one was her last. That day’s morning meal was no different. After inhaling the final bite, Cara walked her plate to the dish pit with great difficulty. She was so full she could barely breathe. Van was overwhelmed with plates as usual and while she watched him, Cara could not understand how the mountain of cookware never seemed to lessen even though Van was constantly running around like a rabid squirrel.
“Van, you shouldn’t put up with that kind of abuse,” she whispered to him, gently, placing the dish on a dish rack near his skinny body. “I know you’d like to be a chef but there are other cooks under whom to learn.” The boy almost dropped the pot he was handwashing and stared at her like she had suddenly sprouted another head.
“Other cooks?” he echoed as if she had just let out a string of profanity. “Cara, there is only one Maurice DeLuca. Don’t you know who he is?” The name did ring a bell but Cara couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Maurice DeLuca cookware? Maurice DeLuca blenders? Maurice DeLuca kitchen knives? He had the biggest cooking show on the Food Network for five straight years before he quit it to come work for Mr. Lamoreaux. He is more famous than Mr. Lamoreaux!” Suddenly, it was clear why the boy idolized the vicious head chef so much. Cara did recall the show Van was referencing. It had been called “Handle the Heat” and Maurice would spend entire episodes cursing at unwitting staff and patrons alike while smashing dishes for emphasis. There was very little cooking involved, if any at all. People had gone crazy for his antics and his ratings had been phenomenal. Cara had been fairly young when the show had aired but she did remember that his yelling always seemed to grind on her nerves whenever it happened to be on television. The more things change, the more they stay the same, she thought, watching as the head chef berated another sous chef for not having his hat on properly. Cara shook her head and smiled at the awe struck teenager and made an instantaneous decision to get out of the house for the day and escape the insanity of her new surroundings.
While the hamlet of Sag Harbor was only a few miles away, Cara was aware that she hadn’t seen much of the grounds encircling the Lamoreaux estate. She also didn’t feel comfortable straying too far from home so soon. She had caught glimpses of the various structures outside the mansion but she had yet to see them up close. She had even heard the staff speaking of a stable which she had yet to lay eyes upon. Her intense love for horses was the crowning decision and Cara decided that she would make the trip to town next time she was off while spending this particular Sunday seeing the grounds. As she wandered out the front door onto the circle drive, she cringed involuntarily at the mythical pan in the fountain. She wasn’t sure why the creature seemed to upset her good nature but she didn’t like its onyx eyes and shiny leer. She averted her eyes and walked to the left, where the five car garage took up the entire side of the laneway. She had been out there once, on her second day of work, to wash the windows. Inside there were five vehicles. They had consisted of two Aston Martins, one in red, one in black, a Mercedes 500 S- Class, a BMW M5 and a 1928 Harley Davidson Two Cam. Cara had grimaced when she had seen the mass of metal inside the stone building. What a waste of money, she thought angrily as she observed the two chauffeurs playing cards in behind the vintage motorcycle on a folding table. What does one man need this many cars for? And two drivers? Seriously? Mr. Generosity, yeah right. If he even sold one of these cars and gave the money to charity, he could send a graduating class of inner city kids to college for four years! It had taken every fiber of her being not to throw the bucket of soapy water and squeegee through the windshield of one of the expensive cars.
That day, she decided not to venture back into the carport again, lest the urge overwhelm her again. Instead, she slipped between the garage and house and followed the west wing to the rear of the property. After an almost five-minute walk, she ended up in the orchid behind the house. She looked up and could see her bedroom window from where she stood. The scent of apples was pleasing to her nose, almost nostalgic and she inhaled happily as she continued through. It was autumn, her favorite season. The leaves had just begun their color transformation and a few had already fallen to the grass, creating a gentle crunching under her running shoes. She wove in and out of the trees and tracing her fingers along the bark like she was a small child, relishing the feel of the wood on their tips. This was the first time she had felt somewhat content since leaving the Carlyle house. She intended to enjoy the fleeting sense of freedom she was feeling. She came across a few migrant workers collecting apples for harvest and while she nodded at them, she did not stop to talk. She wanted to enjoy the serenity of the day. The idea was to make as minimal contact with others as possible. The plan was working wonderfully and she had almost lost track of time in the thick of the trees when the rows abruptly ended and Cara was staring at an English maze. She glanced behind her shoulder and the house was far in the distance, deciding whether or not she should turn back. She had no idea which way the stables might be but it was entirely possible they were inside the display of shrubs. Shrugging to herself, Cara ventured into the opening. She made several wrong turns but eventually, she wandered into the center of the incredible plant plot and was staring at an almost ancient looking building. It was all glass and dome shaped and for a moment, Cara thought it was a greenhouse. It somehow reminded her of Connor Lamoreaux’s off limits library. As she drew closer, however, she realized that it was a ballroom. A glass ballroom. As her initial awe wore off, she searched for and found a door, pushing her way inside. To her absolute disbelief, the floor was also glass and she when she looked down, she saw that it was built atop a lake. Gasping, Cara looked around, shocked at the intricacy and beauty of the enigmatic structure. Moving through the erection, she realized it was much larger than she had initially thought and beyond the magnificent glass and steel assembly were three solid rooms. One room was a state-of-the-art kitchen, a smaller scale of the one in the main house but just as well stocked with modern gadgets and its own dish pit. The second room was a large, theater style coat room. The third room was a supply closet, packed with chairs and tables. It was clear that this place was utilized despite its antique looking exterior as not a speck of dust nor spider web could be detected. Ivy climbed the walls on the outside, covering the brick walls while the plant’s tentacles teased the edges of the dome’s glass. It gave Cara the illusion of an abandoned underwater world and she couldn’t figure out if she was enthralled or horrified. Perhaps there was a bit of both emotions coursing through her as she tried to understand how such a place existed. Looking at the ballroom toyed with her sense of reality somehow and suddenly she felt the urge to get far away from it, as if it might crumble un
der her touch. She hurried out of the glass room, into the maze but somehow found herself on the opposite end of how she had entered. She was staring at a small parking lot adjacent to a lone road. The dirt path led back toward the direction of the house so instead of going back in around the ballroom, Cara began to walk down the single lane road. The air had cooled significantly since she had started on her exploration and she wished she had thought to bring a sweater with her. Even as the idea entered her mind, the now overcast sky began to spit out a gentle spray of water. Cara picked up her pace to a slow jog. By the time the mansion was in clear view again, the rain had come on full force and Cara was sprinting. Her running shoes were a muddy mess from the wet road and she was soaked to the core. She was surprised to find that she was still in the walls of the estate as and she hurried up the circle drive to the entranceway. To her chagrin, the front door was locked. She tried ringing the bell but after several moments, it became apparent that no one was coming to let her inside. Shivering, she bolted back down the side of the house through the east wing and headed for the guest house by the pool. She hoped she could wait the storm out there at least. There might even be a phone so she could call Tabitha or Maurice and have them let her into the mansion. She found her way to the bungalow and was relieved to find that the guest house was unlocked, Cara spilled inside and found a towel, wrapping her raven waves in the soft terrycloth. She stripped out of her drenched clothes and threw them into the dryer and wrapped herself in an oversized, red velvet robe which was hanging from the back of the bedroom door. Now dry, Cara glanced around and frowned at the posh guest quarters. I bet no one ever stays here. Tabitha told me the first day that guests stay in the west wing. This is an entire freaking house! Why are there so many amenities? This guy is spoiled and wasteful. If I ever win the lottery, I will never spend my money on useless things. I will use it to help the less fortunate. Cara sighed, exhausted by her own anger. She knew that she wasn’t winning the lottery anytime soon. She forced herself to calm her sense of righteousness and relax. What Connor Lamoreaux does with his money is none of your business, she reminded herself. Save your energy. You’re going to need it to make it through the next two years working here. In the meantime, however, she decided to be grateful that Mr. Lamoreaux did feel the need to have someone stock up his rarely used guest house. She rummaged through the kitchen and found a box of chocolate chip cookies and a bag of ketchup chips. She made herself a hot chocolate from the electric kettle and flipped on the television. The fifty-four-inch screen lit up and Cara found a movie to wait out the storm. Oddly, there was no phone in the apartment from what Cara could see. The lack of outside communication made her unexpectedly happy. She felt hidden from the world there. No one knew she was there and no one was looking for her. She could hide out in complete, undisturbed luxury, guilt free for a few hours. Smiling to herself, she tossed a fuzzy throw blanket over her legs and curled up on the futon, warming her frozen toes under her buttocks. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Romance: The Campus Player: A College Romance Page 23