Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) (31 page)

"I wanted him to throw the junk out-"

"-and I could help out," I finished. "I have very reasonable rates."

Sanford kept on glaring down at me. It was horrendously intimidating, but a little part of me wondered if he ever smiled, if he even had the capability to feel joy. Maybe he was an evil robot, just here to look distractingly handsome and glare at young women who hadn't done anything wrong. I forced myself to look back, not to break my gaze and pull away like every fiber of my being wanted to do.

Finally, just as my courage felt about to give out, Sanford sighed and dropped his angry look. "Can you come over later this afternoon to take a closer look, give me a quote on what this whole thing will cost me?" he asked.

I nodded so energetically that I probably looked like a bobblehead. "Oh, yes. Just let me know what time you want me there, and I'll show up!" I glanced down at my outfit. "And I'll dress more professionally than this," I added.

Sandford looked at my outfit, and for just a second, I could have sworn that he was off balance. What, hadn't he seen a woman in a sports bra and leggings before? An instant later, I remembered how he was fabulously loaded, and guessed that he probably wasn't used to seeing someone who wasn't a size zero.

Well, screw him. It wasn't my fault that I sometimes needed a big bowlful of ice cream after a stressful day. At least Whiskers didn't judge me.

"Come over after dinner," Sanford said, after spending just a second too long looking at my outfit. I nodded again, doing my best to ignore any judgment in his eyes. "Just a quick walk-through, and I don't want this getting spread all over town," he warned.

"Spread all over town?" I did my best to look innocent. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, reaching up and massaging the bridge of his nose between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. For some reason, the gesture made his big, muscular forearm flex, and I nearly went cross-eyed as my vision shot right to it.

"I know that the people in this town love to gossip, and that no secret stays that way for long," he said after lowering his arm. "While I don't expect anything I do to truly stay secret, I'd appreciate if you tried to keep down any rumors about me, based on whatever belongings might have been left in the house before I moved in." His eyes glittered at me. "Understand?"

I wasn't sure that I did, not really, but I still nodded. It sounded like I might actually manage to get hired, and I didn't want to trip on my face after getting this far. "Well, I'll see you tonight, then," I offered. "Enjoy your run!"

"Yeah, right," he grunted, but at least he wasn't needling me about my thighs or my appearance. He gave his head a little shake, and then moved over to the side so I could resume running.

I did so, but as I resumed jogging away, I could have sworn that I felt his eyes lingering on me, watching me from behind as I ran. He wasn't staring at me, was he? Could Sanford Welles, mysterious man of stormy dark glares and unreasonable anger, be checking out my ass?

I risked a glance back over my shoulder, just in time to see him running. I could have sworn that I saw him turning back to face away from me, but it might have just been my imagination. Probably was, I decided. No way that wealthy, dark and stormy Sanford was bothering to check me out.

Slipping my earbuds back into my ears, I hit "play" on my music again. "Love in the middle of a firefight," I called out to myself, continuing my jog around the neighborhood, slowly circling back towards my house.

I arrived back home, sweaty and exhausted but feeling a little better about myself. Sanford hadn't said no, after all! He might have glared at me, but I figured that he did that to everyone he met, and he still seemed willing to give me a chance to appraise the stuff in his house. And from the sound of it, he didn't want most of the items - which meant that I could hopefully persuade him to let me sell the valuable pieces. It would net him some quick cash, not that he needed it - and, more importantly, it would net me a fat commission!

"A good workout, overall!" I told Whiskers, as he sat on top of my bed and dozed in and out of consciousness. "And Sanford might give us a job so that we can afford to keep you in the fancy cat food!"

He blinked at me to signal his understanding before putting his head back down and blissfully closing his eyes.

I peeled off my workout clothes and stepped into the shower. Hopefully, my professional outfit hadn't gotten too sweaty during its brief usage this morning, and I could wear it again this evening. I hummed a few more bars of the last song playing on my music before I got home as I stepped into the steaming, streaming water.

Alone in the hot water, thoughts of Sanford crept, unbidden, back into my head. I hesitated for a second, picturing that angry glare, but then I thought instead about his broad shoulders, about that momentary feel of his hard muscles when I fell on top of him. About his hand, resting on my ass and curling around me like it belonged there.

I definitely ought not to be fantasizing about this man, especially when he might be my future employer. Still, the hot water on my sore muscles felt so good after that run, and why not indulge myself for a minute?

As long as I didn't have to listen to the actual Sanford saying anything, I thought to myself.

Chapter Eight

*

That evening, dressed once again in my most professional outfit, I did my best to calm my nerves as they grew increasingly frayed with each second of standing on the front porch of the Winterhearst mansion. I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, trying to listen for footsteps on the other side of the heavy front door and wondering if I should push the doorbell again, if it even worked.

Just as I started to stretch my finger out towards the buzzer button again, however, Winston drew the door open, giving me his professional little smile. "Ah, Miss Dean, right on time. Please, come in."

I stepped into the front hall of the big house. Winston closed the door behind me, and I gulped as I heard the deadbolt slide shut. I tried not to think about how I felt locked inside this mansion, locked in with Sanford.

"Mister Welles will be right out to meet you," Winston informed me with another little half-bow, and then he turned and ducked around a corner before I could respond. I stood there, waiting, in the hall, all on my own.

Of course, I didn't sit still for long. I glanced off to the side, and saw a room filled with covered furniture, just waiting for me to take a look. Heck, those covered pieces practically called out to me, urging me to walk over and take a quick little peek under their sheets!

I didn't see any sign of Sanford, so why not take a quick little look? Besides, he wanted me to go around and look at all the stuff anyway, so why not get started while I waited for him to appear?

I strolled casually into the dusty room, wondering what it had been before someone pushed all the furniture against the wall and covered them with sheets. Maybe a sitting room of some sort, I decided, looking at the big windows that looked out onto the street. I bent forward, grabbing a corner of the big sheet draped over the furniture, and lifted it up.

"Getting started without me?" asked a voice behind me, and I nearly hit my head on a lamp as I jerked up and spun around.

And there stood Sanford, his arms crossed as he frowned at me. I tried to tell myself that I hadn't been doing anything wrong, but my heart still beat faster at how he had snuck up on me. I took in his dark jeans and buttoned white shirt. Along with his black curls and strong jawline, he looked like a pirate captain, stepping straight off the cover of some old paperback romance novel.

"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.