Ner (Not So) Rich Millionaire Playboy: A Vintage Romance

by Amberlee Day

  A bad taste settled in Ned’s mouth. He tried to swallow it away. “Dr. Tune’s specialty is North American castles. If she’s a talking head, she’s one that people listen to.”

  “For what purpose? I don’t see it. What matters now is how to make a profit out of this albatross your mother left me.”

  Ned’s lip curled. How could this callous man be his father? His mother would know what to say to him. She always did. “What matters is maintaining the historical significance of this place,” Ned said, “as well as turning a profit. They aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “You haven’t proven that to me yet.”

  “I don’t know why I have to. You may not have been born a Demander, but you married into the family. There’s a responsibility there.”

  His father shrugged. “Not feeling it. And if you remember, Ned, you weren’t born a Demander either. You’re a Sterling, and I keep waiting for you to act like one.”

  Ned clenched his fists until nails bit into skin. “Just treat the Tunes with respect. That’s all I ask. And if you can’t, just stay away from them.”

  His father sneered a smile in response. “I’ll do my best.”

  Not for the first time, Ned wondered what his mother had ever seen in this man. Yes, he was confident, savvy, and women seemed to find him attractive. But Philip Sterling didn’t have the same values his wife had, not by a long shot. Sometimes Ned wasn’t sure the man had any scruples at all.

  He shook his head and left, shutting the door behind him. Hopefully his father would keep his word and not insult the Tunes any more than he already had. For now, Ned needed to focus on managing the hotel as normal, and making sure everything was in place for Dr. Tune. If his plan was to work, he needed to keep her on his side, even if that meant sweetening things with that drippy niece of hers.

  Beautiful, but drippy.

  Chapter 5

  Beverly sat in the chair next to the window and watched the rain run down the glass. With Aunt Affie napping in the adjoining room, dinner still hours away, and the novel in her lap finished, the draw of being in a new place pulled her out of the fantasy world in her head. Mostly. She’d loved this story, and book withdrawal left her sad and antsy. It occurred to her that the heroine in this book wasn’t shy about seeking out adventure; why shouldn’t Beverly?

  Lucky Aunt Affie was such a sound sleeper, because nothing about this old castle was quiet. Walking across the floor—clearly wooden rather than stone—produced loud groaning noises like it was cracking. The door also creaked open and the latch clicked loudly when it closed again. Their rooms were on the second floor, with a set of stairways going up and down on each end of the hall. Beverly had already seen the downstairs, and clearly her novel’s heroine would explore where she hadn’t been before and likely wasn’t supposed to be. She chose the narrow staircase up.

  An identical hall greeted her on the third floor, with its patterned maroon carpet and dark wood trim and doors. Antique crystal lights hung from the ceiling, and the plumbing ran in exposed painted pipes along the very top of the wall. A light switch at the bottom of a stairway had been tacked on along with its enclosed wiring running up to the ceiling. It wasn’t fancy. Likely the indoor plumbing and electricity were added some time after the place was built.

  The simple interior didn’t lessen the aged feeling of the place as she walked past doors that read Room 301, Room 302, Bath for Room 302. She hadn’t asked Aunt Affie what she knew about the history of Demander yet, and wondered about the strange layout. Beyond the pipes and wiring, had the place been remodeled or kept in original condition? She wondered how long the dings in the tall baseboards had been there, and who had made each one.

  One more flight of stairs. Like the others, the fourth floor had a hallway with doors, but something was different here. The hallway ran even narrower, and no antique photographs hung on the walls as they did on the other floors. This area looked unused, or at least unintended for visitors’ eyes. When the hall took a sharp turn to the left, it took her into black darkness. Still, it didn’t seem to end. She ran her hand along the wall to find a light switch.

  She moved carefully, the prickling hairs on her arms reminding her that she could be walking into danger. No signs had kept her away, but maybe they didn’t expect guests to venture here. Even the doors lacked room numbers. What could be down that hall? Perhaps another stairwell, one that dropped suddenly and would send her spiraling downward. In the book she’d just finished, there was just such a dark passage that led to a back staircase. It was dark because someone had taken the bulbs from the light fixtures. The heroine had ventured into the darkness, hoping to discover a way out from the house where she was held captive. It wasn’t difficult for Beverly to imagine that she was the character in that book, and that beyond this dark hallway she could discover either her freedom or the dastardly man who had abducted her and locked her in, who had threatened her terrible harm if she dared try to escape. Should she go on? Beverly’s heart hummed like an old motor in her chest as she stood at the edge of the darkness, deciding if she had the courage to venture forward. She could detect a scent, now. Vanilla, maybe like a candle burning. She leaned a little closer, sniffing, and trying to let her eyes adjust, when …

  “Looking for ghosts?”

  Beverly whirled around in fright, swinging a fist at the intruder behind her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it to a stop, slowly guiding it back down.

  Recognition sank in. “Ned,” she exhaled.

  He wore a tight smile; she could see her attempt at self-defense had caught him off guard as well. He asked, “Were you going to slug me?”

  Her temper flared that she’d been caught snooping. “Maybe I was.” He chuckled—scoundrel—and she frowned at him. “How did you manage to come up behind me without the floors creaking?”

  “If I told you, you’d know my secret.” He leaned just a bit closer to her, close enough to tell he smelled of … oranges? No, orange trees. Yes, that was it. She liked it, and didn’t like that she did. He had just scared her silly, and earlier set them up to be embarrassed in the lobby, after all.

  “Is your secret that you turn into a bat and fly through the hallways?” she asked.

  “Not quite, but I do know how to traverse this old place without making so much noise.”

  “Must be handy for pouncing on innocent hotel guests.”

  “Only when they’re wandering around the fourth floor.” Ned held her in that blue-eyed gaze of his, and the feelings she had at Trenforth Castle came rushing back. The last thing she wanted was to be taken in by a womanizer.

  She narrowed her eyes to give a clear message. It worked; he cringed.

  “Ouch,” he said. “You really don’t like me, do you, Beverly?”

  “What reason do I have to like you? And why do you care?” She’d meant it as a retort, but it came out a question, which infuriatingly made his eyes smile.

  “I’m your host. I want you to be comfortable here.”

  “Well, you aren’t off to a good start.”

  A note of contrition touched the curve of his mouth, and she caught herself watching it. “I’m sorry about my father. He doesn’t spend much time at the castle, and I’m afraid that when he does, hospitality isn’t his biggest asset.”

  “And it is yours?”

  “Like I said, I’m primarily interested in your comfort. You, and your aunt.”

  Beverly didn’t feel particularly comfortable. In fact, she squirmed under his persistent gaze. Why did he keep staring at her? All she really had for Ned were big question marks.

  “Maybe you can explain something for me,” she said, trying to regain some footing. “I don’t understand your fascination with my aunt. You went to a lot of trouble to make sure she came here.”

  “Not so much trouble, but I am glad she’s here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think what she does is important. Don’t you?”

  “I do, but …” She couldn’t
think how to say it kindly. “I’d be more comfortable if I liked you better.”

  “‘If you liked me better’?”

  “Yes.” She had trouble ignoring the elephant in the room—or elephant in the castle—the way he was looking at her. “I’d like you better if you weren’t a rich playboy.”

  Finally, the amusement in his eyes died, though it didn’t give her the satisfaction she’d hoped it would. He leaned back against the wall. He held a set of keys, she saw now, and he turned them back and forth in his hand as if it interested him. He was also blocking her from getting back out into the hallway, but she hoped that wasn’t his intent.

  “Let me set the record straight, Beverly,” he finally said, “since you apparently haven’t done your research on the castle, and you didn’t listen the first time I told you. I’m not rich. My father is. And as far as being a playboy, well, I guess you’ll just have to get to know me and find out.”

  Jittery specks of awareness crept over her as she imagined getting to know him. She tried to cover having to catch her breath but only managed to breathe sharply in through her nose, inhaling his woodsy-citrus scent more deeply. “Mr. Sterling,” she started, but he cut her off.

  “It’s Ned. And I have to say, it’s good to know that you like me better now that you know I’m not rich.”

  Her edginess exploded into indignation. “I never said—”

  He pushed himself off the wall and walked backward to exit the alcove. “Oh yes, you did, Beverly.” He winked. “Yes, you did.”

  Before she could stop him from leaving and make sure he knew just how much she didn’t like him, her phone suddenly started ringing. It was the Alfred Hitchcock Presents theme song.

  His dark eyebrow shot up. He must have recognized it. “Really?” he asked, before disappearing around the corner.

  “Oh!” Beverly growled. “Playboy.” She answered her phone. “Hi, Julie. Hold on.” She peeked around the corner and watched until Ned left down the stairway. He had a lively jaunt to his step that made her even madder, because he wasn’t bad to look at, in a polished-shoes-and-button-up-shirt kind of way. “How’s the bookshop going?”

  “Fine. What’s going on with you? You sound like you’re ready to hurt someone.”

  Beverly exhaled. She probably did, and Julie would pick up on her mood if anyone would. They’d been friends since they were four. “I feel like I could.”

  “What happened?”

  Beverly ventured into the fourth-floor hallway, and meandered over to make sure Ned wasn’t still on the stairs. “The owner here’s a jerk,” she said. “He invited Aunt Affie and me to stay at a discount rate if she’d do a lecture on castles.”

  “Um, yeah, he sounds like a jerk,” Julie teased.

  “That’s not the jerk part, although really it isn’t unusual for places to offer the discount. When we got here, his father—who I guess is the real owner—acted like we were stealing from him.”

  “Because of the discount?”

  “Yes! It was humiliating. I was ready to leave right then.”

  “What a cranky cheapskate. And you think the son set you up for it?”

  “Yes! I mean …” Beverly pictured Ned’s face in the lobby when he apologized for his father. He really was upset about it. Though if he’d known how his father would react, he shouldn’t have made the offer, right? “I don’t think he did, but he still put us in the situation.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Julie asked, “How old is this son?”

  Beverly folded one arm around herself. She knew where this was going. “Early thirties, probably.”

  “And his wife?”

  “Julie …”

  “Just asking! It’s a question.”

  “He’s single.”

  “Uh-huh. And cute?”

  Beverly walked over to the stairwell and checked one more time, but no one was there. She soft-stepped back to the center of the hallway, just in case, and whispered, “Yes, he is, if you like guys who know how good-looking they are and have that I-know-you-think-I’m-hot look.”

  Julie laughed. “Maybe he does, and maybe he just needs one last woman who thinks he’s hot before he stops giving other women that look.”

  “Uh, if you mean me, no thanks!”

  “Why not? You haven’t met anyone worth mentioning on this trip before now. And since in the bookshop you only meet nerds, it doesn’t hurt flirting with a hot guy.” Beverly could hear a muffled male voice in the background. “Not you, Edward. I meant other guys who come in the bookshop.”

  Beverly chuckled, and quietly said, “Yeah, because Edward isn’t a nerd.”

  “Mm-hm,” Julie agreed about her cousin, who was the skinny-guy, broken-glasses epitome of a nerd, including being a successful accountant.

  A thought dawned on Beverly. “Wait, what’s Edward doing at the bookstore? Are you having trouble with the accounts?”

  She could hear Julie take a deep breath. “That’s why I called you. You know I’m not good at the numbers. I think I messed up something to do with taxes. Edward’s going over the ledger to check.”

  Great. One more reason for Beverly to hurry up this trip and get back home. Her store needed her. “Alright, well, tell me what he finds out. You know I appreciate you covering for me, right?”

  “I do, and I like being here, really. It’s just …”

  “The numbers. I know.”

  They said goodbye, but not before Julie asked, “What’s this hot guy’s name, by the way?”

  A shy, vulnerable feeling suddenly surfaced in Beverly’s empty stomach. Somehow saying his name felt like she was admitting something. “Ned. Ned Sterling.”

  Again, Julie had to think that over. “Good name,” she finally said. “Even more interesting the way you say it.”

  Beverly stood up straight from the antique half-moon table she’d been leaning on. “I didn’t—”

  “Goodbye, Bev,” Julie said. “And stop being so cautious. Get to know the hot guy.”

  She hung up, leaving Beverly speechless in the castle’s forlorn fourth floor.

  Ned whistled as he walked the downstairs hallway toward his office. He stopped to straighten one of the black-and-white photos lining the walls. This one was of his great-great-grandfather, who was a little boy when the castle was built. Ned had heard he was a cheerful man, and a romantic. As an adult he had significantly built up the castle library’s selection as a wedding present for his new bride, and continued amassing classic books for the collection.

  When the picture was straight, Ned tapped the glass near his ancestor’s face. “I’m trying,” he said, consciously summoning an optimistic attitude.

  “Trying what?” Adam came around the end of the hallway, carrying a stepladder. Tall and lanky, the castle handyman smiled good-naturedly down at Ned. “Trying to be less of a stick in the mud?”

  Ned snorted, and punched his friend’s arm in passing. “Who says I’m a stick in the mud? If anyone’s starting a rumor like that, it would be you.”

  “Yeah, I would.” Adam put down the ladder and took a swig from the water bottle in his tool tote. “When was the last time you went out and did anything fun? Huh?”

  “I do fun things all the time.” Ned leaned on his office doorjamb. He couldn’t stop thinking about Beverly’s face upstairs. Even angry, there was just something about her …

  “Prove it. Let’s go do something fun. Kayaking, maybe.”

  Ned pulled away from his thoughts. “Kayaking?”

  “Sure. We’ve only been one time this year. Got to get out there or the boats will get rusty.”

  “Right,” Ned chuckled. “You just want to see me go under again.”

  “You’re getting pretty good at that roll, dude. Last time you were only under about half a minute.”

  “Lucky I had a buddy with me to help me up … or not!” He fake-punched Adam’s arm, but Adam just looked at him with a curious expression. Ned folded his arms. “What?”

  “I
don’t know. I was just thinking … did you see the new guests? The old lady and the tall, gorgeous girl?”

  Ned’s stomach sank. Normally he didn’t care that female guests mooned over his lanky, good-looking best friend, especially when they discovered that working at the hotel only paid his bills while he developed his career as an artist. The idea that Beverly would join Adam’s admirers didn’t sit right. “Yes, I did meet them. What about them?”

  Adam laughed, an easy, happy sound, as always. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Ned shifted. “What’s it?”

  “Why you’re all whistling and talking to your predecessor, here.” Adam jabbed a thumb at the photo. “Ned’s got the hots for the hippie girl.”

  Ned prickled, and tried to push from his head the sudden image of Beverly’s pretty face and long, loose braid whose color made him think of soft flax and wheat woven together. He shook his head and turned back toward his office. “Definitely not. No time for that,” he insisted.

  “Why not? If you like her.”

  “Who says I do? I’m just trying to get her in my corner so I can get her aunt to stick around awhile.”

  “To write a book about the castle.”

  “Yes. Besides, Beverly already told me she doesn’t like me.”

  Disbelieving, Adam drew his chin back. “Hippie chick told you that?”

  “Yeah.” To prove it, he added, “She thinks I’m a playboy. Rich, and a playboy.”

  Adam shook his head and started down the hallway. “She’s got that wrong, alright. You haven’t had a date in years.”

  “Hey! It hasn’t been that long.”

  “At least a year, unless you’ve got someone hidden in the dungeon I don’t know about. I hope your plan works, though.”

  “Me too.”

  Before he closed his office door, he heard Adam chant, “Ned likes a girl …”

  He shut his door with a thud. Adam may know women, but he was wrong on this one. Whatever Ned felt about Beverly Tune, it wasn’t like. He shook his head to shake the image of her angry glare when he found her upstairs, doing whatever it was she was doing. Ned was used to making things work; he’d just have to figure out how to make things work with her to get what he needed … even if she pushed him every step of the way.