At the door to the master, Grant stopped Colt, his hand on the closed door. He’d left it a mess already. “I’ve checked this one out, and everything seems fine. How about downstairs?”
They inspected a game room, a huge sitting room with a fireplace, and a couple more bedrooms before entering the wing Grant was most excited about. Colt opened the door to a gymnasium-sized room, and Grant could hear the quickening of his heartbeat in his ears. It was perfect.
They stood in a sparring area with firm mats and martial arts dummies. Weights and mirrors glittered in the florescent lights off to the side.
“Nice.” Asher sounded impressed. “I guess you like to work out.”
“I do,” Grant said, but that wasn’t his only motivation. He nodded to the back of the room. A cliff of rocky outcroppings for rope climbing and the façade of a high-rise hotel complete with second-story windows and balconies graced the far corner. Beneath the mock building and the climbing wall, a recessed trampoline floor would save Grant if the ropes and pulleys somehow didn’t do their job. “It’s research too. After all these years of writing espionage thrillers, I’m finally going to feel what it’s like to climb the side of a building.” He chuckled and turned to Colt. “Thanks to your idea about installing the variable-speed fan to simulate wind.”
Colt dipped his head with a smile of acknowledgment.
Asher let out a low whistle. “Looks like fun.”
Grant couldn’t agree more. He no longer felt the need to finish the walkthrough with Colt and Asher at his side. They’d only seen one room of this wing, but he wanted to keep the rest to himself.
There was still a room down the hall with various door locks and technology any member of the CIA would be proud to break into, as well as a shooting range, an FBI-style training warehouse, and the adjoining escape rooms with hidden passageways and trapdoors. It was going to be both a physical and a mental workout as well as educational and amazingly fun. He couldn’t wait to get to work.
“Everything looks great,” Grant said, leading them toward the staircase to the main floor.
“Are you sure you don’t want to inspect every room?” Colt shook the clipboard in his left hand. “In case there’s anything you want to add to the punch list?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary right now.” Grant shook his head. That wasn’t what Asher Lockmore was there for; Grant was pretty sure he had better things to do with his time. “There’s no way we can inspect it all right now. I’ll let you know if I find any problems.”
Colt raised his clipboard and free hand into the air, signaling that it was Grant’s decision. “What did you think, then, Mr. Robbins? Is everything as expected?” Colt’s voice boomed across the open living area, as if a quiet whisper wouldn’t have made its way just as easily to his ears. Grant valued the man’s enthusiasm, but if the window glass had been of any lesser quality, it would have vibrated with the sound waves that accompanied the final walk-through.
“Perfectly satisfactory,” he said, distracted. Grant had worked with the architect, Keenan Perry, out of Corpus Christi, Texas, and kept a close eye on every part of the process, so nothing had surprised him—which, he supposed, was a good thing.
“Perfectly satisfactory?” Colt echoed, and he punctuated it with a dry laugh. “Everything a spy novelist could want, I say.” He snorted. “If someone asked me, I’d venture to guess Dawnwell was a new CIA operation and everyone’s trying to keep it hush-hush.”
“It is absolutely stunning, Mr. Castillo,” Annalise agreed so Grant wouldn’t have to. “Your crew was amazing. The craftsmanship exquisite. Everything is exactly as it should be.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.” Asher walked to the lake side of the house, where a spring flowed from beneath the house and down the bluff toward Beaver Lake. “The view itself is worth it. I didn’t think there would be anything that could convince me to leave Seattle—especially with what I had in my head about Arkansas—” He shook his head, but the faraway look made Grant think there might have been another something—or someone—who had convinced him to stay. If he’d known him better, Grant might have asked what the woman’s name was, but he didn’t. If he was right, he’d find out soon enough.
“It’s the seclusion that drew me in. And yes, that view.” Grant was relieved that both men followed Annalise as she started toward the front door.
“I’ll be seeing you around,” Asher said. “If you have a sweet tooth, there’s a fudge shop on Main that makes the best fudge in the world.”
“Thank you. I look forward to getting to know you, neighbor.” Grant nodded to him.
Asher waved as he climbed into his car. Grant then turned to say goodbye to the builder.
Colt stood with his beefy arms folded over his chest. “After all these months working on the house, I’m curious about the interconnected rooms.” His eyebrows drew together, waiting for Grant to explain the mazelike rooms built in the basement.
When Grant hesitated, unsure about revealing his home’s secrets, Annalise filled the short pause. “They are interesting, aren’t they? I can see so many possibilities . . .” Annalise’s words were noncommittal. Grant liked how she let the words hang on the air as if their purpose hadn’t already been determined.
“I’ll call you if Mr. Robbins finds anything amiss,” she said. “Thank you for checking in on us.” She touched the door as if waiting for him to leave so she could close it. Grant could feel her pushing the man out the door, and for that alone, he was ready to give her a generous bonus for the week.
Instead of taking the hint, Colt cleared his throat. Grant shoved his hands into his pockets. There was another part of the property calling his name, and he didn’t want company when he checked it out for the first time . . . Patience.
“Do you want to go check out the other building?” Colt asked. “It turned out rather well—the way it blends into the side of the cliff like it was designed to be there.” He talked faster and faster, like a trip that turned into a stumble and then a fall flat on his face. “You can’t even tell that it was reassembled. A prefab house is a little unusual for a billionaire’s estate.”
Grant stiffened at the derogatory term but held his tongue.
“I’m sure it turned out beautifully,” Annalise rescued him once again. She opened the front door a little wider, practically kicking the guy out.
“Don’t forget to check out the city’s calendar,” Colt said, even as he stepped over the threshold. “Eureka Springs has something special going on almost every weekend—”
Colt’s speech was shaping up to be a nice tourism spiel, but both Grant and Annalise were well aware what Eureka Springs was known for.
“We’ll look into it,” Annalise interrupted. She leaned toward Colt, and her tone softened into a plea. “Mr. Robbins just got into town today. He’s exhausted, and it’s my job to make sure he gets some rest.” She gave Colt the puppy-dog I can’t help it, so please don’t make me lose my job look. To help sell it, Grant looked away, pretending not to notice.
“Understood,” Colt said softly, the two of them in cahoots as they blamed the grumpy, mean boss. That was fine.
Off the hook thanks to Annalise’s intervention, Grant exited the back door. She would catch up, but he couldn’t wait one more minute.
“Now that Mr. Lockmore and Colt are gone, what are your honest thoughts about the house?” she asked when she caught up to him on the flagstone path.
“How long have you known me? My whole life? Do you think I would have whitewashed my opinions to spare his feelings?” He looked over at her to see her expression—maybe she’d been joking with him, but that wasn’t really her style.
“Either you had no feelings whatsoever about the house, or your mind was on your writing cabin.” Her tone indicated that she was going with the latter.
“Bingo.”
What the two of them called a writing cabin was a 1939 original Frank Lloyd Wright house brought painstakingly piece by piece
and board by board from its original construction site in Ohio. The architectural genius was famous for his unique homes, most of which were tightfistedly kept by the original owners’ families. Finding one for sale had been more difficult than winning the lottery.
After one more turn in the path, Grant caught his first glimpse of the reassembled house on Arkansas soil, and his chest swelled with joy. From the road, no one would notice the cottage-sized building that blended into the natural landscape.
Grant took in a full lungful of damp, fresh air. It smelled of moss and rich soil and tasted of mushrooms and memories. Instantly, his heart rate slowed with peace.
“This walk is perfect—just the right distance from the house.” Walking through nature in the fresh air would kick-start his writing every day. “Glad Keenan proposed the tunnel. I’m going to appreciate not having to slosh through bad weather.”
The tunnel from the main house didn’t go into the Frank Lloyd Wright house directly, of course. Altering the structure in any way would be an abomination. Even the original furnishings had been refurbished and kept in the same positions they’d occupied for nearly a century. Instead, his architect had designed a matching shed-like building that opened under the carport.
“Rather foresightful,” she agreed.
“As opposed to fortuitous?” It was a nice distinction, but she was taking liberties with the English language. He gave her a sideways look. “You do know that’s not a word, right? Those who graduated top of their class at Brown should know better.”
“Jealous?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “As a bestselling author, you could make up your own, too.”
Grant let that one go.
He stepped onto the concrete porch, and paused for a second before twisting the doorknob to allow the moment to sink in. He was once again surprised by the low staircase in the foyer that hovered a few inches over his head. A few steps in, the ceiling height doubled. This was where he would spend his time. The furniture was spare but comfortable with its built-in banquette-style couches. The compact room had fully retractable glass-paneled doors and an atrium of live trees in the far corner of the living room, bringing the outdoors in.
He walked over and opened one of the doors. The warm breeze that floated in ruffled the leaves on the trees next to him, and he closed his eyes to feel the sunlight on his face. Below him, the lake lapped at the shore in a peaceful cadence.
Frank Lloyd Wright’s homes inspired him to think outside the box, and already he could feel creativity surging inside of him. He couldn’t let the moment pass. Frantically, he looked around the room wondering where—
“Your laptop is in the top drawer of the built-in desk.” Annalise motioned to the far corner of the room.
He walked over, and sure enough, there it was. Of course she would have brought it. And with a full battery, he was certain. She must have come in while he was showering or eating. While disappointed she’d been in here before him, he wouldn’t let that taint his appreciation for finally having a Frank Lloyd Wright home of his own.
Tucking his laptop under his arm, Grant flopped on one of the couches and flipped open the computer. His fingertips tingled with anticipation.
“One question. How long are we planning to stay at Dawnwell?”
For a moment, Grant had forgotten she was there, and he blinked away the world he’d started to create on his computer.
“I mean to prepare the staff,” she hedged.
He pushed back the scene knocking away at his brain to focus on her. Of course it was a reasonable request. He lifted both hands from his keyboard, palms in the air. “Long enough for the latest craze to pass—so with the official release of Trouble Entendre in three weeks, maybe we give it another three to four weeks for the excitement to die down?” She knew the timing herself by now, but saying it out loud helped explain why he didn’t have an exact date. “Or until I get bored.” He gave her a wicked grin.
“I never understood what you didn’t like about living here. I always had fun when I visited.” She shrugged, the implication that it was his loss. “Then we’ll be leaving from here to attend the escape mansion grand opening in London.”
Grant leaned back in his chair and groaned. “Do I have to go?”
Annalise put a hand on her hip and glared at him. “Grantham Robbins.” She emphasized his full name, the one printed on each of his book jackets. “You’ve gone to almost every Cruise Donnelly Escape Room opening so far.”
“Exactly.”
“This is different. This is the first full mansion setup. You have to be there. It’s important.”
When it came down to it, he wanted to go, to see players’ reactions to the different floors, levels literally unlocked as patrons figured out clues. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. It’s just . . .”
“Yes?”
“I know what you’re going to say next. You’re going to say I need a date, but I don’t.” It had been her fault that he’d been saddled with whomever she’d arranged for last night’s premiere.
Annalise tugged on her necklace. “Ah, but you do. Your agent begged you to. Your publisher insisted. This is a big deal. Like all capital letters big deal. Red carpet, media frenzy—bigger even than last night. Hype will be huge.” She squinted at her phone, but she had to know the date by heart. He did. “You have two months to find someone.”
“That’s just it, Annalise. I don’t have time to date. I don’t have time to look for someone, let alone find her. Can’t we just invite my parents?”
Her look said she wasn’t going to back down. It was for his own good.
“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll leave it to you. I don’t care who she is. If you think she’s a good idea and she’ll look good in the pictures, I’ll go with it.” He couldn’t believe he was saying that again after—Charlie?—the previous night, but if he couldn’t get out of finding a date, he might as well let his assistant do the work. “See if you can make it someone I actually want to be there with. Someone who can hold her end of the conversation. Someone interesting I can connect to. Someone . . . real.”
Annalise gave a long, drawn-out sigh and then sat next to him. “I’m not a matchmaker, Grant. It’s not in my job description—”
He opened his mouth, but she preempted the snarky comeback she’d probably already supplied for him in her head.
“—and you’re not going to rewrite it in. I have the original offer letter in my files.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered. “I’m pretty sure you wrote the contract to begin with.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Even though he didn’t want to think about finding a date, she had a point.
“If you want real . . .” Annalise brightened as if she had the answer. “Any chance there’s an acquaintance from back when you might be interested in? A childhood friend, a high school sweetheart?”
Images from high school flipped through his head and made his stomach flip as well. There weren’t too many girls he’d want to look up. The one he thought about on occasion, a blond beauty named Emily Wood, probably didn’t remember him. He’d never really been in her league. “I didn’t keep up with anyone.” Annalise knew this more than anyone, since she took care of his social media accounts.
“I’ll hire one,” she said simply.
“One what?”
“A matchmaker.” She left, clipping any retorts with the clicking of her heels as she walked across the tile toward the door.
Meeting someone real made his heart pound—in fear, in anticipation, or in desire? He took a calming breath. Annalise wouldn’t be able to find a matchmaker, because those didn’t exist, not in today’s society. She was all empty threats, and Grant had words he needed to get down. He focused on his computer. It was time to go to work.
3
When everything on the computer screen went fuzzy, Emily Wood, executive director of Eureka Springs’s chamber of commerce, realized she hadn’t actually focused on the town’s events calendar for a while now.
She had one gigantic hole in her calendar, and at the moment, the creative side of her brain felt drier than a used-up mop. A free weekend in Eureka Springs’s calendar meant nothing special to draw in tourists. With an event scheduled—like a Mustang car rally, a psychic readers’ convention, or an indie music festival—hotels booked solid, downtown bustled, and the businesses in the chamber of commerce remained happy.
The problem weekend was several months off, and she was tempted to push it from her mind, but she could no sooner ignore the hole than a cavity in her tooth. Once the chamber board found a headliner, that could determine the theme of the event. Or, if they came up with a theme, they’d have ideas of who to invite. It wasn’t her duty to find the headliners for all the events—that was what committees were for, and they would get the job done. She just needed to have a little trust. And patience. What she feared she really needed was a booster shot of enthusiasm. Things had gotten boring lately—or maybe that was her social life.
She loved Eureka Springs. Born and raised in this small town of barely two thousand, she’d never once had the itch to live anywhere else. Why would she when she could travel all she wanted and then be welcomed home to the community she loved? But being in a small town meant the dating pool had shrunk considerably in the decade since she’d graduated high school. Had it really been that long? That was all she needed—to remind herself that neither the city’s event calendar nor her social calendar were filling up anytime too soon.
She looked away from the computer and rubbed her eyes. When her vision came back into focus, her gaze fell on Countersign, the Cruise Donnelly book she’d brought to read on her break. The self-control it took to keep from sneaking a page or two was killing her, but if she got started, she’d show even less restraint. She would never get work done. Grantham Robbins was by far her favorite author, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they’d been close friends their first year in high school. With his fame, the guy probably didn’t even remember her.
The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2) Page 2