The Virgin Intern(6)

That is, until I pull up to the Sterling estate. Holy crap. I knew this guy was loaded, but whoa. I’m greeted with tall black iron gates and a curving driveway that leads to one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen. It looks like a castle, and I think there might actually be a spire off the back, but it’s hard to tell from this angle. Who even needs a guest house when you have something that big? Then again, he probably likes his privacy.

The driveway curves around the main house and down past a swimming pool that is a perfect blue, and gardens that look like they’re a spread in Travel & Leisure. Is that a hedge maze? Seriously, I really hope this guy is innocent, because we need to be friends. I’ll house-sit for him any time.

I pull up to the guest house, a villa situated behind some tall trees that keep it somewhat hidden away. It has its own garden and small pool, and even without being attached to the mansion next door it’s gorgeous. It’s a white creation in the Spanish style, with red tiles on the roof and blue shutters that make it look cheery.

I take it all in with an appreciative sigh and then get out of my car and stretch. I guess I’d better get to unloading. The faster I get it done, the faster I can get a shower and a cold drink. I grab a box and the keys my uncle gave me and let myself inside. It’s blessedly cool. The first floor is breezy and open with the entryway flowing into an open living room, small dining room, and galley kitchen. Natural light is pouring into the space from what seems like a hundred windows. I could learn to like it here, I think.

I put the first box on the floor in the dining room. My uncle wants that space to be the primary office area of the house, so all the boxes will go there for now. We agreed that we’d find a better set-up once we were both settled into the house.

Trudging out to the car again, I decide that I’m going to try to get the boxes into the house in as few trips as possible. Even if that means nearly breaking my back by carrying multiple boxes. I stack three on top of each other. It’s a stretch, but these are the lightest ones, and no one’s here to see me if I drop them.

I have to use my butt to open the door—no hands—and I nearly trip over the threshold. I steady myself and make a mental note to only bring two next time. I’m halfway to the dining room when I hear a sound, like someone else is in the house.

“Hello?” I can’t see over the boxes, but I’m almost there. But as I turn the corner I collide with something and I hear a grunt of pain. I stumble back, keeping my grip on the boxes even as I blurt out an apology. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

The mystery person grabs the top box off my pile and suddenly the other two boxes go crashing to the floor, because standing in front of me is Andrew Finch. And he’s smiling.





Chapter 3




I think that my mouth is on the floor along with the boxes. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing that you’re doing here.” He takes the box he rescued into the dining room and adds, “I’m living here for the next couple of months. Roger didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say, picking up a sheaf of papers that spilled from one of my boxes. “My uncle forgot to mention that detail.”

“I’m not surprised.” I pile my two boxes on top of the rest. “Did you get all these into your car by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

He scoffs, “I’m sure there are plenty of guys at the office that could have been persuaded to help you.”

I feel myself bristle. “I’m not made of glass, it’s just boxes.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, mouth sliding into a smile. “You’re perfectly capable of carrying boxes. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s hot as hell outside, and you didn’t need to do it all yourself.”

“It was really fine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it was. Why don’t you get some water and then grab your suitcase? I’ll take care of the rest of the boxes.”

“Mr. Finch, you really don’t have to—”

He cuts me off. “First, please don’t ever call me Mr. Finch. It makes me feel like a fossil. Second, you already carried all those file boxes once. I can take it from here.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look and I change my mind about finishing the thought. Instead I say, “What should I call you, then?”

“Andrew is fine.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over one of the dining room chairs.

I wander into the kitchen and poke around in the cupboards looking for a glass. I find one and get some ice and water, and then I go back and get another glass for when Andrew is finished with the unloading. It’s the least I can do.