Chapter 2
Michael silently led the way inside the building, where Damien paused to look around at his new home. His lip lifted in a sneer as he took in the dark wood and rose-colored wallpaper. “Geez, this place is depressing,” he said in disgust. “People actually pay money to sleep here? Do we cater to the mentally deficient?”
Michael didn’t reply. He’d walked over to the large staircase leading upward, and was patiently waiting for Damien to catch up with him. “Sir?” the driver said tentatively.
Damien shook himself and turned toward them. “Lead on, Stud. Let’s get this over with. I can’t wait to see where I’ll be living. I hope it’s high enough up that I’ll die when I inevitably throw myself out the window in despair,” he drawled as he followed Michael’s tall form up the staircase.
They reached the second floor, and Michael led the way down a hallway with polished wood floors and doors on either side of it. He reached the door at the end of the hallway and used one hand to open it, climbing yet another set of stairs(these much narrower and uncarpeted) to emerge out into the attic, which had been converted into an apartment where the manager lived. Any storage needs were met by a large shed that had been erected at the back of the house, out of the way of the guests’ eyes.
Damien stepped into his new home, looking around himself as Michael set his bags down on the floor. His lips pursed thoughtfully, but he said nothing. That’s because any disparaging comments that he’d been prepared to make had died on his lips when he’d seen the apartment where he’d be living. Much to his disgruntlement, it was actually quite charming.
The large, open-floor plan space had a parquet floor made of gently polished wood, and covered in the living room area with a large, handmade braided rug done in cream, rose, and green. The walls were white-painted plaster, and pictures were hung up here and there to give them some color. Most of them were a tad bucolic, country scenes with animals and peasants and clouds, but they worked with the space they were hung in. A breakfast counter divided the kitchen from the living room, with three bar stools pulled up to it so that it could be used as a table. The appliances were replicas of those used around the turn of the twentieth century, giving the kitchen a homey, old-fashioned look. Wrought-iron lamps hung from the large rafters overhead, and the big bed was covered with a pretty quilt. The furniture in the living room area, instead of being the overblown and heavily carved stuff used in the rest of the building, was simple and plain. The couch was covered with a fabric that echoed the pattern in the rug underfoot.
Damien glanced around at his new home, then walked to one of the doors at the far end and opened it to reveal a bathroom tiled in cream and rose, with a large claw-footed tub taking up much of the room inside. The other door yielded a big walk-in closet, which he grudgingly acknowledged would contain most of his wardrobe with ease. He closed the door with a sniff, turning to the two men still standing near the door of the apartment.
“It’ll do, I suppose,” he remarked. “Why don’t you go downstairs and tell Ross that I’ll be staying after all? And that he can scurry back to New York and recommence kissing my daddy’s ass,” he added to the driver, who was happy to get while the getting was good.
Damien’s green eyes came back to Michael’s stoic face, and he smiled lazily. It was the smile of a shark spotting blood in the water. “Hey, big boy. Why don’t you show me around?” he cooed, swaying his hips a little as he walked toward the handyman. “We can start with the bed,” he added, his smile widening. “Test out how firm the mattress is, that sort of thing.”
Michael stood his ground, his face impassive. “I have to get back to work,” he said quietly, evenly.
“But this will be work, too, never fear,” Damien purred, approaching him. “I’ll work your…pants off, Michael.”
A big hand closed over his wrist when he reached out to touch the handyman’s body. He fought against the grip, but found that the other man was just too strong. He scowled. “Let go of me!” he snapped angrily.
Michael did let go of his hand, but seemed prepared to grab it again if Damien made any more forays where he wasn’t wanted. Fuming, he snarled: “Listen, hunk, I’m the boss around here. Got that? You have to do whatever I tell you to.”
Michael considered his words in silence. Then he said calmly: “In that case, I quit.”
Damien gaped at him. “You can’t do that!” he yelled.
“Yes, I can. And I will,” Michael responded, folding his arms over his chest.
Annoyed and frustrated, he glared at the taller man furiously. But this expression had no affect on Michael either, so at last Damien said grudgingly: “Fine. I’d rather have something sexy to look at than nothing at all, so I won’t bug you anymore. Deal?”
Michael nodded. “Do you want some help unpacking?” he asked, glancing down at Damien’s luggage.
“No, I’ll do it myself. You’d probably just end up wrinkling most of it,” Damien said sulkily. “Why don’t you get lost? I don’t want to look at you anymore right now.”
Michael left without saying another word, and Damien went and hurled himself down on the couch to pout. God, he hated this place! He really was going to get his father for this, no matter what it took. Exiled to the back of beyond, with a hunky handyman who wouldn’t even let him play, in an ugly house that looked like Queen Victoria had thrown up in it…it was too much to bear! And he’d bet that there were no more eligible men around for miles - you couldn’t count that old gardener, and the rest of the staff were women. His parent couldn’t have planned a worse punishment for him if he’d really sat down and thought it out.
Petulantly he kicked at the leg of the coffee table, muttering curses to himself. Okay. He was stuck here unless he decided to set out on his own with no money from his father, and he knew that wasn’t a possibility. He had champagne tastes, and he’d never done a lick of real work in his life. In this economy, with no money to call his own, he’d soon starve to death or take up prostitution to keep himself fed. So he’d have to make the best of it.
Well, Daddy hadn’t said what he could and couldn’t do as manager of this B&B. An evil gleam entered Damien’s green eyes. In fact, he’d given his son carte blanche where it was concerned. He meant to take advantage of that. The first thing he’d do was contact an interior decorator, and start hiring people to redo this place from top-to-bottom. He’d always enjoyed that kind of thing; in fact, if he hadn’t decided to be a professional lay-about, he might have gone into interior decorating himself. And hopefully, getting to play around with swatches and paint chips and catalogues would take his mind somewhat off the fact that who knew when he’d ever get laid again?
Hmm. On the heels of the first rather evil thought had come a second one. Damien licked at his lips, feeling devilish and decidedly wicked. He’d advertise this place as a bed-and-breakfast that catered to gay people, both couples and swinging singles alike. He knew all of the best places to put advertisements where gay people would see them, and he’d offered discount packages to them to entice them into staying at the Sweet Springs Bed and Breakfast. That way, he wouldn’t be mewed up in this awful house with no company(I.e., no one to have sex with) for months or even years on end. He smiled, running a long finger along his jaw. His father had just thought that he was oh-so-clever, exiling Damien here where he couldn’t get into trouble. He really SHOULD have sent his wayward offspring to Tunisia, because as far as he knew homosexuality was a criminal offense in parts of Africa. Damien laughed, a low, throaty, pleased sound. There was more than one way, he thought in satisfaction, to skin a cat.
Michael emerged from the house to find Gavin Ross just climbing into the limo for the drive back to the airport. The other staff turned to him anxiously. “Are you all right, Michael?” Karlie asked him.
He nodded. “He’s unpacking,” he said simply.
Molly snorted. “Oh? I’d bet he complained all the way upstairs,” she remarked sardonically.
“Yes,” Michael agreed. “But he liked the apartment.”
“How could you tell that?” Karlie asked. “Since he hasn’t had one good word to say about the place so far.”
“He didn’t complain about it,” Michael told her simply.
They looked at each other, then began to laugh. “I see,” Karlie chortled. “Anyway, he didn’t bug you, did he?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
He shrugged. “He’ll leave me alone from now on,” he replied phlegmatically.
The rest of the staff exchanged more glances at these words. Clearly Michael had taken care of Damien’s importuning, which didn’t surprise them. Quiet as he was, the handyman was also quite commanding when he wanted to be. Even a spoiled little rich kid would have trouble with him.
“Okay, Well, I guess we should all get back to work, now that we’ve done our bit to greet the new manager,” Molly remarked.
“My pie!” Franny yelped, and darted away inside toward the kitchen.
Molly and Karlie left together to finish cleaning the bedrooms upstairs, and William ambled off to dig up a bed he planned to plant some tulips in. Michael walked around the side of the house, intent on getting back to the job he’d been doing when Karlie had called him up to the porch to greet the new manager. There was a pipe that needed fixing in the laundry room at the back of the house; it was leaking pretty badly.
All of them returned to work, not one of them aware that their new manager had BIG plans for the B&B in the coming months. Damien remained upstairs for the moment, unpacking his clothes and coming up with even more new ideas as he did so. His fertile brain, coupled with the money and resources to make his ideas into realities, made Damien Burkley a formidable person when he wanted to be. The Sweet Springs Bed and Breakfast was never going to know what had hit it...
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Michael silently led the way inside the building, where Damien paused to look around at his new home. His lip lifted in a sneer as he took in the dark wood and rose-colored wallpaper. “Geez, this place is depressing,” he said in disgust. “People actually pay money to sleep here? Do we cater to the mentally deficient?”
Michael didn’t reply. He’d walked over to the large staircase leading upward, and was patiently waiting for Damien to catch up with him. “Sir?” the driver said tentatively.
Damien shook himself and turned toward them. “Lead on, Stud. Let’s get this over with. I can’t wait to see where I’ll be living. I hope it’s high enough up that I’ll die when I inevitably throw myself out the window in despair,” he drawled as he followed Michael’s tall form up the staircase.
They reached the second floor, and Michael led the way down a hallway with polished wood floors and doors on either side of it. He reached the door at the end of the hallway and used one hand to open it, climbing yet another set of stairs(these much narrower and uncarpeted) to emerge out into the attic, which had been converted into an apartment where the manager lived. Any storage needs were met by a large shed that had been erected at the back of the house, out of the way of the guests’ eyes.
Damien stepped into his new home, looking around himself as Michael set his bags down on the floor. His lips pursed thoughtfully, but he said nothing. That’s because any disparaging comments that he’d been prepared to make had died on his lips when he’d seen the apartment where he’d be living. Much to his disgruntlement, it was actually quite charming.
The large, open-floor plan space had a parquet floor made of gently polished wood, and covered in the living room area with a large, handmade braided rug done in cream, rose, and green. The walls were white-painted plaster, and pictures were hung up here and there to give them some color. Most of them were a tad bucolic, country scenes with animals and peasants and clouds, but they worked with the space they were hung in. A breakfast counter divided the kitchen from the living room, with three bar stools pulled up to it so that it could be used as a table. The appliances were replicas of those used around the turn of the twentieth century, giving the kitchen a homey, old-fashioned look. Wrought-iron lamps hung from the large rafters overhead, and the big bed was covered with a pretty quilt. The furniture in the living room area, instead of being the overblown and heavily carved stuff used in the rest of the building, was simple and plain. The couch was covered with a fabric that echoed the pattern in the rug underfoot.
Damien glanced around at his new home, then walked to one of the doors at the far end and opened it to reveal a bathroom tiled in cream and rose, with a large claw-footed tub taking up much of the room inside. The other door yielded a big walk-in closet, which he grudgingly acknowledged would contain most of his wardrobe with ease. He closed the door with a sniff, turning to the two men still standing near the door of the apartment.
“It’ll do, I suppose,” he remarked. “Why don’t you go downstairs and tell Ross that I’ll be staying after all? And that he can scurry back to New York and recommence kissing my daddy’s ass,” he added to the driver, who was happy to get while the getting was good.
Damien’s green eyes came back to Michael’s stoic face, and he smiled lazily. It was the smile of a shark spotting blood in the water. “Hey, big boy. Why don’t you show me around?” he cooed, swaying his hips a little as he walked toward the handyman. “We can start with the bed,” he added, his smile widening. “Test out how firm the mattress is, that sort of thing.”
Michael stood his ground, his face impassive. “I have to get back to work,” he said quietly, evenly.
“But this will be work, too, never fear,” Damien purred, approaching him. “I’ll work your…pants off, Michael.”
A big hand closed over his wrist when he reached out to touch the handyman’s body. He fought against the grip, but found that the other man was just too strong. He scowled. “Let go of me!” he snapped angrily.
Michael did let go of his hand, but seemed prepared to grab it again if Damien made any more forays where he wasn’t wanted. Fuming, he snarled: “Listen, hunk, I’m the boss around here. Got that? You have to do whatever I tell you to.”
Michael considered his words in silence. Then he said calmly: “In that case, I quit.”
Damien gaped at him. “You can’t do that!” he yelled.
“Yes, I can. And I will,” Michael responded, folding his arms over his chest.
Annoyed and frustrated, he glared at the taller man furiously. But this expression had no affect on Michael either, so at last Damien said grudgingly: “Fine. I’d rather have something sexy to look at than nothing at all, so I won’t bug you anymore. Deal?”
Michael nodded. “Do you want some help unpacking?” he asked, glancing down at Damien’s luggage.
“No, I’ll do it myself. You’d probably just end up wrinkling most of it,” Damien said sulkily. “Why don’t you get lost? I don’t want to look at you anymore right now.”
Michael left without saying another word, and Damien went and hurled himself down on the couch to pout. God, he hated this place! He really was going to get his father for this, no matter what it took. Exiled to the back of beyond, with a hunky handyman who wouldn’t even let him play, in an ugly house that looked like Queen Victoria had thrown up in it…it was too much to bear! And he’d bet that there were no more eligible men around for miles - you couldn’t count that old gardener, and the rest of the staff were women. His parent couldn’t have planned a worse punishment for him if he’d really sat down and thought it out.
Petulantly he kicked at the leg of the coffee table, muttering curses to himself. Okay. He was stuck here unless he decided to set out on his own with no money from his father, and he knew that wasn’t a possibility. He had champagne tastes, and he’d never done a lick of real work in his life. In this economy, with no money to call his own, he’d soon starve to death or take up prostitution to keep himself fed. So he’d have to make the best of it.
Well, Daddy hadn’t said what he could and couldn’t do as manager of this B&B. An evil gleam entered Damien’s green eyes. In fact, he’d given his son carte blanche where it was concerned. He meant to take advantage of that. The first thing he’d do was contact an interior decorator, and start hiring people to redo this place from top-to-bottom. He’d always enjoyed that kind of thing; in fact, if he hadn’t decided to be a professional lay-about, he might have gone into interior decorating himself. And hopefully, getting to play around with swatches and paint chips and catalogues would take his mind somewhat off the fact that who knew when he’d ever get laid again?
Hmm. On the heels of the first rather evil thought had come a second one. Damien licked at his lips, feeling devilish and decidedly wicked. He’d advertise this place as a bed-and-breakfast that catered to gay people, both couples and swinging singles alike. He knew all of the best places to put advertisements where gay people would see them, and he’d offered discount packages to them to entice them into staying at the Sweet Springs Bed and Breakfast. That way, he wouldn’t be mewed up in this awful house with no company(I.e., no one to have sex with) for months or even years on end. He smiled, running a long finger along his jaw. His father had just thought that he was oh-so-clever, exiling Damien here where he couldn’t get into trouble. He really SHOULD have sent his wayward offspring to Tunisia, because as far as he knew homosexuality was a criminal offense in parts of Africa. Damien laughed, a low, throaty, pleased sound. There was more than one way, he thought in satisfaction, to skin a cat.
Michael emerged from the house to find Gavin Ross just climbing into the limo for the drive back to the airport. The other staff turned to him anxiously. “Are you all right, Michael?” Karlie asked him.
He nodded. “He’s unpacking,” he said simply.
Molly snorted. “Oh? I’d bet he complained all the way upstairs,” she remarked sardonically.
“Yes,” Michael agreed. “But he liked the apartment.”
“How could you tell that?” Karlie asked. “Since he hasn’t had one good word to say about the place so far.”
“He didn’t complain about it,” Michael told her simply.
They looked at each other, then began to laugh. “I see,” Karlie chortled. “Anyway, he didn’t bug you, did he?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
He shrugged. “He’ll leave me alone from now on,” he replied phlegmatically.
The rest of the staff exchanged more glances at these words. Clearly Michael had taken care of Damien’s importuning, which didn’t surprise them. Quiet as he was, the handyman was also quite commanding when he wanted to be. Even a spoiled little rich kid would have trouble with him.
“Okay, Well, I guess we should all get back to work, now that we’ve done our bit to greet the new manager,” Molly remarked.
“My pie!” Franny yelped, and darted away inside toward the kitchen.
Molly and Karlie left together to finish cleaning the bedrooms upstairs, and William ambled off to dig up a bed he planned to plant some tulips in. Michael walked around the side of the house, intent on getting back to the job he’d been doing when Karlie had called him up to the porch to greet the new manager. There was a pipe that needed fixing in the laundry room at the back of the house; it was leaking pretty badly.
All of them returned to work, not one of them aware that their new manager had BIG plans for the B&B in the coming months. Damien remained upstairs for the moment, unpacking his clothes and coming up with even more new ideas as he did so. His fertile brain, coupled with the money and resources to make his ideas into realities, made Damien Burkley a formidable person when he wanted to be. The Sweet Springs Bed and Breakfast was never going to know what had hit it...
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