“Can I please see some identification?” he barked at her.
“Wow.” Maryn yanked open her purse and fished around for her wallet. She found her driver’s license and held it up for inspection. “Talk about a stiff,” she muttered.
The guard didn’t react to her comment. He studied her driver’s license for long enough that her fingers almost froze then nodded. “Mr. Shaffer is expecting you. Stay on the main road and it will lead you to the estate.”
“Yay for the estate.” She pumped a fist.
The guard arched an eyebrow andalmostsmiled. Almost might have been stretching it, but his grip on the rifle loosened a fraction. Why would he have a big old rifle instead of a pistol? He looked like he was ready to hunt for bear or something.
“Yay for the hot girl going to meet the big guy,” he muttered.
“What did you just say…” Maryn shook her head, certain she’d heard him wrong.
He saluted her with his gun and a wink before turning back to the gate house.
“Whew. Crazy.” Maryn rolled up her window, put her license away, and cranked the heat. The gate swung open. She proceeded slowly through and followed the winding road through more pine trees than she’d ever seen in her life. They were straight and tall, reminding her of a military unit. She snickered. The guard at the front gate had been a piece of work. Why had he called his boss the big guy? Well, Mr. Shaffer was a big guy from the photos she’d seen, but that guard was off. She wondered if the boss/employee relationship was much different here than what she’d encountered at other interviews.
The long ribbon of asphalt and enormous property stretched around her, reminded her that this guy was the ultra in Richies. What was she doing pretending she could hang with somebody like this? Being raised around wealthy people as the live-in maid’s daughter, she knew her place well. She’d risen to the top of her profession because of her good writing skills, her humor, and a refusal to quit. She regularly interviewed and rubbed cheeks with famous and wealthy people, but the only two of that species she was comfortable around were Alyssa and her new husband, Beckham. Those two didn’t really qualify as wealthy snots as they spent their time and money helping underprivileged children the world over.
Why had she been so excited when James secured her this opportunity? The whole interview suddenly seemed dumb, presumptuous, and far too intimate—flying into Idaho Falls and then driving the rented Mazda hours into the backwoods of Island Park to go to this wealthy dude’s house and what… drag all of his secrets out that he’d never revealed to anyone? Rolling her shoulders, she forced herself to keep driving. She’d worked too hard for too long to miss out on an opportunity like this. Tucker Shaffer’s story could propel her into semi-stardom and probably a huge bonus on top of that.
She understood quickly what the guard dog had meant by “main road” as paved paths led off through the trees at different intervals. The road seemed to go on forever. It had to be over a mile before the house came into view, but “house” didn’t seem like the correct word. It was a massive log cabin. Absolutely gorgeous and sprawling. Maryn fell in love at first sight. It was large enough it should’ve been ostentatious, but it fit so well with the forest and river in the background that it was just an extension of their natural beauty.
She relaxed for a minute, hoping Mr. Shaffer was like his house—big and too expensive, but still comfortable and welcoming. Somehow she was getting a thorough tour of this beaut. She didn’t love rich people, but she did love impressive architecture and design. Crazy that this was only one of his homes. Her research had revealed pictures of beautiful estates in Potomac, Maryland; Laguna Beach, California; and Grand Cayman.
She stopped her rented Mazda in the circle drive and popped out of the door. The wind cut through her light jacket. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. It was barely October and she’d left seventy-five degrees when she flew out of L.A. and it had been a respectable fifty when she landed in Idaho Falls. This may be the most beautiful property she’d ever seen, but why endure the cold this time of year when he could be in California or Grand Cayman?
At least she looked good with gray, skinny jeans tucked into high-heeled red boots and a detailed Levi jacket over a blousy floral shirt. She flipped her blonde curls, knowing attractiveness was a bonus when interviewing grumpy men. She hated to use that card, but sometimes a girl had to utilize whatever tricks she could.
She bounced up the steps and pressed the button. A uniformed butler came to the door. He was perfect—tall, gray-haired, and so starched she wasn’t sure how he moved.
Maryn grinned and stuck out her hand. “Hi, Maryn Howe. I have an intimate chat scheduled with the lucky Mr. Tucker Shaffer.” She knew she shouldn’t tease, but this guy had it coming.
The butler gingerly pressed her fingers, not so much as raising an eyebrow at her lingo. “Pleasure, Miss Howe. Please come in to the study.”
Maryn gawked at the foyer with three stories up and one down of stairs, windows, and open space. The woodwork was unreal and when she craned her neck around the grand staircase she caught a glimpse of what must be the main living area. Ooh, she had to check out this house more. The only television shows she ever watched were on the Home and Garden Network featuring amazing homes.
The study was tasteful with windows showcasing the never-ending trees outside. The sun shone brightly today, but Maryn almost found herself wishing for a snowstorm. It would be amazing to see that forest become a winter wonderland—if she could stay inside with a warm cup of cocoa. She was getting more than a little ahead of herself. There were claims that Tucker Shaffer had thrown reporters off his property before. She’d better make a fabulous impression if she wanted to stay long enough for cocoa and a snowstorm. She smiled. She could only be herself, and if he didn’t like that, she could do the flight of shame back to L.A. At least then her toes would be warm.
The butler gestured to a leather armchair. “Please, sit. Mr. Shaffer will be up shortly.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name, my friend,” Maryn said.
His eyebrows arched before his face returned to its former expressionless shape. “Mr. Braxton, at your service, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,Mr. Braxton.” He was a funny old guy, so stiff and proper. Just another reason Maryn disliked wealth, it made the hired help into zombies. She should know, her mother had been the perfect, little maid doing everything the master of the house wanted, a sickening amount of everythings. Maryn vowed she’d never be a servant or a master and had carved a career out of sweat and starvation, only taking help from her best friend, Alyssa, and Alyssa’s Granny Ellie, may that saintly woman rest in peace.
“You as well, ma’am. Pardon me.” He swept from the room.
Maryn wasn’t sure if she’d offended him or not. She shrugged and instead of sitting like he’d asked, perused the room, taking in the stately furnishings and lack of feminine fluff. The pictures she had of Mr. Shaffer showed a well-built, attractive, thirty-something business kind of guy. This house and the staff she’d met so far screamed uppity, but there was something about the massive desk covered in papers and the books lining the perpendicular wall. She stepped closer and was pleased to see Cussler, Clancy, and Baldacci mixed in with business and finance nonfiction books. Nice.
For just a second, she dreamed of cuddling up in one of the overstuffed leather chairs next to the fireplace and reading a book. She just needed some snow, a cup of cocoa, and an invite.
* * *
“The reporter is here?”
Braxton nodded quickly.