Beware the Wicked Heir Read online

  “As long as—” She took a deep breath. She was alive, she needed to remember that. “As long as I don’t fall to my death in the next seven days, I’ll be fine.”

  “This house rarely makes that kind of promise,” Kieran said. Olivia could swear she saw a glint of empathy in those bright eyes of his before he turned. “Emma, please show Ms. Abbate to her room while I fix the banister.”

  Then he vanished down the labyrinth of corridors before Olivia could thank him a few more million times for saving her life.

  Hand to her chest, heart beating erratically, legs cold from the adrenaline rush, Olivia wobbled after Emma as she led them down the musty corridor.

  That had been—good Lord, that had been scary. Now that her feet were back on solid ground, the logical side of her mind took over.

  The drop wasn’t high enough to get her killed. A broken leg, yes, but bones could be mended.

  She took another deep breath.

  Minimizing the experience erred on the side of unhealthy, but if she planned on getting the Bolton Manor listing, she couldn’t worry about what-ifs.

  She could, however, be very, very careful from now on.

  Emma stopped in front of a stubborn door, jiggling the handle. She jammed her slender shoulder into it. The huge wooden door creaked open. How there was more dust on it than on any horizontal surface, Olivia had no clue. It seemed the manor’s filth paid no attention to something as trivial as gravity.

  “All the furniture in this house has a personality.” Emma ducked her head, a bit embarrassed, as she pushed the door open, and set down Olivia's carry-on. “I need to get back to Mrs. Bolton. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Maybe a hug? But after bickering with Milo in front of Kieran and mangling a part of the house, she needed to at least appear grounded. And Emma wasn't the person her traitorous body wanted to embrace, anyway. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Don’t worry. At Bolton Manor, we need to look out for each other,” Emma said over her shoulder as she scurried away.

  Olivia stepped inside her bedroom—a dark cavern of a room, with moth-eaten velvet fabrics swallowing up every piece of furniture, and dirty windows. Nothing looked like it had been touched in decades. A lingering suffocating feeling clung to every piece of furniture.

  Olivia wanted to scream and throw up at the same time.

  Insane. She was insane for agreeing to stay here for more than half an hour.

  Olivia hated clutter. It reminded her too much of the final months of her parents’ fifth almost-divorce when nobody even bothered to check if she had eaten, let alone try and clean up the ever-growing mess in their house. That place hadn’t ever felt like home.

  All those feelings of hopelessness came rushing back and she closed her eyes, shaking her head. A shudder ran through her, leaving a sharp bitter taste in her mouth. Her insides still didn’t feel completely stable after dangling from the ledge. The adrenaline rush made her mind all foggy.

  She couldn’t afford a breakdown right now. Fresh air, that’s what she needed. Then she’d charm the pants and overpriced jewelry off the owner.

  Olivia threw her luggage on the floor, not bothering to check where it landed. It was time to get out of these rumpled clothes and secure her future.

  Curiosity

  Every muscle in Olivia's body protested as she descended the stairway, useless phone clutched tightly in her hand.

  Her hair was still a bit damp from the hastiest and nastiest shower of her life. After spewing a slimy brown liquid for a few minutes, the water pooling in the vintage bathtub had been ice cold.

  Then she had to spend a full fifteen minutes trying to close the windows—the wooden frames were plump with moisture—before finally escaping the bedroom.

  The banister was still splintered, bits of wood stuck to the rug. Olivia averted her gaze quickly.

  She was fine. She was walking. She had a job to do. And it was all thanks to Kieran, who still hadn't reappeared.

  “Hey.” Emma zoomed past Olivia at the foot of the stairs, perfectly balancing a tea set onto her frail arms. “Going out?”

  Olivia nodded. Fresh gulps of air would calm her down.

  Emma sighed in relief. “Could you maybe bring your friend along? Mrs. Bolton always likes to take a nap after her tea, but he keeps talking and talking.”

  Of all the words in the English language, "friend" was the last Olivia would have used to describe Milo.

  “Just wave something sweet in front of him, he’s like a bloodhound with sugar,” she said. "Hey, do you know where I can find Kieran?"

  "He's probably in his study, but...he doesn't like to be disturbed." Emma worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a few moments. "Nobody knows what he's actually working on, but I think it's pretty important. He's kind of secretive about that."

  Huh. He did look like the secretive type, a mystery waiting to be uncovered. Olivia shook her head. As long as whatever he did with his life didn't involve anything illegal—and thus potentially endanger her sale—she shouldn't care. But her curiosity didn't listen to logic.

  She just wanted to thank him for saving her. That was all.

  “Make sure you don't stray from the path in the forest. It can get murky,” Emma said as she scurried down the endless halls.

  Everything on this damn estate was a bit murky, wasn't it?

  Olivia inhaled deeply as she stepped out into the fresh summer air. The fading sunlight felt like heaven after only a few hours inside that blasted house. It warmed the chill that had crept into her body. Even her headache disappeared as she took hundreds of photos, making sure to angle her phone so that everything looked real estate perfect, serene, and idyllic.

  But that untamable curiosity of hers carried her down the bumpy path leading to the boathouse. From the manor’s shadow, it had looked like a rusty speck, nestled between the uneven willow trees.

  On a closer look, it became clear the Boltons had an affinity for illogically large buildings.

  Olivia’s apartment could’ve fit in the boathouse ten, maybe thirteen times if she gave up her small and neglected kitchen. An unpleasant musty scent lingered in the air, and the mosquitoes buzzing around made it feel more along the lines of growing-infestation than fancy-weekend-away-from-the-kids.

  The red bricks had seen better days, some of the oval windows had been broken, the roof had a few holes, and the deserted dock and boat channels had slimy green patches all over them, but everything seemed fixable.

  From the outside at least, because the rusty door would not open, no matter how hard Olivia tried. She finally gave up with a huff.

  She’d have to talk to someone about it, Emma, Mrs. Bolton…maybe Kieran.

  Olivia turned on the path toward the forest, careful not to step on any of the tiny purple flowers growing between the stone slabs.

  She wondered if Kieran indulged in midday strolls once in a while. Lean muscles like his needed some kind of physical activity to be strong enough to hoist her up in one move.

  The air turned colder, the tall trees catching all the sunlight. By the time Olivia reached a fork in the path, she had her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

  The forest mirrored the house’s interior. Warped tree trunks surrounded Olivia in the setting sun, appearing even more twisted in the dim light. The smell of decaying life filled the damp and heavy air.

  Thick roots stuck out, creating unreachable patches; the ground was muddy and dark, with no other plants apart from a few disgusting bulbous mushrooms sporadically spread out. Even the bugs and birds were hidden. It felt lifeless and dreadful.

  An abandoned well stood in the middle, the wooden covering long caved in. Olivia took a few photos.

  She could sell this as the rustic part of the residence. Milo surely wouldn’t venture this far out, what with no networking opportunities, gullible clients, champagne flutes or—

  A black camcorder lay next to a pile of dead leaves, its screen still open. In the middl
e of the forest. Ignoring the sudden prick in her skin, Olivia picked it up hesitantly.

  She shut off the camera, eyes darting around for the owner. Whoever had left the device here couldn’t be very far. She pressed play on the last video.

  It only showed jittery footage of the well and its inside. Two strange voices argued loudly in the background, overlapping each other to the point where Olivia couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  Maybe Mrs. Bolton allowed visitors on the property. Or most likely someone had trespassed and left a nice little piece of evidence behind.

  “You there!” a voice boomed from behind her.

  Dangerous Things

  Olivia whipped her head to the right, already on alert.

  A pudgy middle-aged man appeared from behind the trees. His fanny pack jiggled on his hip as he ran, face a startling shade of red. A pair of binoculars bounced off his belly. “Just one—one—moment.”

  Olivia relaxed instantly. He looked like the least threatening man in existence. Probably a botanist or geologist on the prowl for his next scrapbook.

  “You don’t need to run, I’m standing right here.” She raised the camera up to emphasize her point. He didn’t seem to hear, as he flailed his arms, trying to pick up his pace.

  “You—you—you found—” he blurted out when he finally stopped in front of her, bending forward, hands on his knees. He had a hard time catching his breath. He opened his mouth a few more times, but only a wheezing sound came out.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, f—fine.” He waved her off and sat on the edge of the well. One of the stones came unstuck and plummeted into the water.

  A few moments passed in awkward silence, filled only by the man’s deep breaths, each one stretching his yellow shirt.

  “Sarah! I’ve found it,” he yelled into the wilderness before he turned his warm smile to Olivia. He took out a handkerchief and patted his pasty receding hairline. “Sorry to meet like this. You must be one of the estate agents Kieran was complaining about.”

  Olivia barely contained a heavy eye roll. Figures the grandson would be complaining about the people trying to stuff millions into his pockets. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Martin Gresham, how do you do?” He shook Olivia’s hand a little too vigorously. “And that is my lovely wife, Sarah.”

  A plump woman came strolling down the path, fanning herself with a crumpled magazine. Tight curls framed her beautiful face, her olive skin shining with a layer of sweat. She smiled at Olivia, two little dimples appearing on each cheek.

  “You must’ve given her quite a fright, dear.” Sarah narrowed her eyes playfully at Martin, and his face reddened again. “Don’t mind my husband, he tends to get a bit overexcited.”

  “No problem.” Olivia returned Sarah’s smile. Finally, someone who didn’t show outright disdain or fright at the sight of her; a girl could get used to that very quickly. “I’m guessing this is yours.”

  Sarah took the camcorder away and tucked it in her own bright red fanny pack. “Thank you. We’ve been looking everywhere for this.”

  “Thought we left it back at the stables,” Martin said and Olivia perked up. “Spent a good half hour turning over leaves. And then we saw a fox. A real beauty, that one—”

  “These stables...where are they exactly?” One more sight Milo probably didn’t know about.

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Sadly, all that’s left is a pile of mismatched rocks,” Sarah said.

  Martin sighed. “Such a shame.”

  “The real treasures are inside, trust me.” Sarah helped her husband stand, grasping his shoulder gently when he swayed back a little too far.

  Ah, the two missing guests. Olivia didn’t want to befriend some trespassers, no matter how affectionately Sarah watched her or how their presence reassured her that she won’t be spending the next few days in a nest of craziness.

  They were one of the few happy couples she had ever met.

  “Great.” Olivia swallowed her sigh. Too bad those treasures were carefully kept under a thick layer of dust and neglect. “You’ve been here long?”

  “Not long enough.” Martin shook his head. “You know the saying—so many things to see, so few days left in our paid vacation.”

  “I should get going,” she said when Martin’s gaze wandered a few times too many toward the forest. “It was nice meeting you both.”

  “Same here. See you tonight.”

  “What's tonight?”

  “The party.” Sarah smiled and pushed a curl out of her eyes. “Special request from the birthday girl. See you then.”

  With one last look at Sarah and Martin retreating into the woods and chatting excitedly about a chipmunk in a nearby tree, Olivia started her slow walk back to the manor.

  A party for Mrs. Bolton, huh? An opportunity to get to know the owner—and see Kieran again.

  The warm summer breeze blew across her face once she stepped back onto the carefully mowed lawn.

  She wandered around the front courtyard, stopping at each insignificant little crack in the building. They might’ve dented the property’s value, but to her, they gave character to the manor. And so much past it filled her history-buff heart.

  She'd always loved this kind of buildings. They were one of the reasons she'd gone to an insanely expensive college. But back in her university days, she had wanted to admire and explore them, not sell them and pray they wouldn't be torn down and replaced with a water park. Or a fancy spa.

  But a job was a job. Her teenage dreams of traveling the world and uncovering its secrets, one derelict building and torn manuscript at a time, were best left behind where they belonged—with her questionable fashion sense, chopped bangs, and starving idealistic ass.

  The comfortable silence got blared to shreds by the sound of a fast-approaching motorcycle.

  Olivia turned in time to see it climb up the hill, in all its badass glory. Her first boyfriend used to pick her up on his almost illegally-old Harley, and she'd fallen in love with the dangerous things.

  If she ever managed to dig herself out of debt, Olivia was going to save up and buy one. But she doubted she'd ever save up enough money to get her hands on a black beast like the one speeding closer with a fabulous roar.

  Then she noticed who was riding it. Kieran.

  Olivia flexed her fingers in a half-greeting. To her surprise, Kieran didn't whiz past her. He stopped, took off his helmet and ran a hand through his messy hair, the leather of his jacket crinkling deliciously.

  He fixed those blue eyes on her and wouldn’t look away.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked smoothly.

  Olivia’s skin flushed at the memory of his arms around her.

  “As fine as one can be after almost falling in an unknown house,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to run off. "Thank you for saving me."

  "You mentioned. Don't worry about it." He patted the trunk attachment. “And now that I bought a hammer that won’t crumble in my hands, you shouldn’t worry about falling anymore, either.”

  Falling from heights, no. Falling in other ways? Debatable.

  “With the right kind of attention, this house can become amazing,” she said evenly, watching him closely.

  “See, you say attention,” he said and smirked, “but I’m thinking more general stripping down and complete renovation. The left wing is practically in shambles.”

  She didn't know if she should laugh or pretend she hadn't heard that. “You should greet prospective buyers with that line.”

  “I plan on staying as far away from them as legally possible.”

  Gorgeous, smart, and funny? He was dangerous.

  Olivia licked her teeth. “Yeah, I forgot you don’t really enjoy that part of the process.”

  Kieran tilted his head to the side and propped his helmet between his long legs. “Would you be thrilled to sell a home you grew up in?”

  Yes. But people didn’t want to hear that.

 
“I suppose not,” she said, the rehearsed lie slipping easily past her lips. But Kieran didn't look like he believed her. Curious. Nobody else had ever questioned the picture-perfect upbringing she'd invented. “But I’d want to know who it ended up with.”

  “Guess I’ll just have to trust your judgment,” Kieran said evenly. “Or Underwood’s.”

  Olivia took a deep, centering breath. This was her chance. While Milo busied himself with buttering up the owner and most likely bad-mouthing Olivia, she could be doing the exact same thing with one of the people Mrs. Bolton trusted.

  All she had to do was open her mouth and say something as vile and unprofessional as Milo probably had done a million times already. Just a few wrong words. People did it all the time. It should be the easiest thing in the world.

  “Good to know you have so much faith in our firm,” she said instead, biting her tongue until it hurt.

  Damn it. These stupid morals were going to keep her in the junior agent position until early retirement.

  Kieran shook his head, his smirk growing. “You should’ve thought about becoming a diplomat. I think it might’ve suited you.”

  “I could say the same about you.” She licked her lips, eyeing the motorcycle again. Her gaze might've strayed to his lean body a couple of times. After all, that's what estate agents did—admire what they couldn't have.

  “So...did you enjoy your first hours here?” he asked. Was it just Olivia's imagination or did he actually sounded like he cared about her answer?

  “Apart from falling, can’t complain.” She could. All night long and into the early morning hours.

  Kieran quirked one eyebrow but didn’t comment. An incessant ring burst the silence, stealing his attention.

  He took one look at his phone, frowned, and put his helmet back on. “You should get back inside, a storm’s coming from the North.”

  Olivia shrugged. She had checked the weather forecast on the cab ride. “Probably just a summer drizzle.”