Chapter 2 - The Master of Hawthorne Ridge
The main study of Hawthorne Ridge was a cavernous space lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, thick Persian rugs, and a towering stone fireplace where a low-burning fire cast long, dancing shadows.
Mrs. Geller knocked twice on the heavy double doors before pushing them open, gesturing for Sofia to step inside.
“Wait here,” the housekeeper muttered, closing the door behind Sofia.
Sofia stood in the center of the massive room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron. The air smelled of aged bourbon, old paper, and cedarwood.
At the far end of the room stood a massive executive desk facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the snowy gardens. A single figure stood before the glass, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets.
Adrian Mercer did not turn around immediately.
“Sofia Carter,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth.
“Mr. Mercer,” Sofia managed, clearing her throat. “I want to apologize for what happened in the courtyard this morning. It won't happen again. My daughter didn't understand—”
Adrian turned slowly.
His dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her instinctively want to step backward. He looked tired, the faint lines around his eyes hinting at a sleepless night, but his posture remained rigid, commanding, and absolute.
“She called him Buddy,” Adrian said.
Sofia blinked, caught off guard. “Sir?”
“The dog,” Adrian walked slowly toward her, his footsteps entirely silent on the thick carpet. “His name is Bruno. No one has called him Buddy in eleven years. Not the handlers, not the trainers, not even me.”
Sofia swallowed hard. “She’s three years old, Mr. Mercer. She doesn't know protocol. If she frightened the animal—if she damaged him in any way—I can take out my cleaning supplies and—”
“She didn't damage him,” Adrian cut her off, stopping a few feet away from her. He looked down at her with a baffling expression. It wasn't anger. It was curiosity, wrapped in layers of cold calculation. “In fact, for the first time in three days, Bruno ate his full breakfast this morning.”
Sofia stared at him, stunned.
“For eleven years,” Adrian continued, his voice dropping slightly, “that animal has been a weapon. He was trained to protect this estate, to intimidate, to hold the line when words failed. But this morning, when I walked into the west wing, Bruno was sleeping outside your daughter’s door.”
Panic flared in Sofia’s chest. “Mr. Mercer, please! She didn't mean to trespass—”
“I am not firing you, Sofia,” Adrian said quietly.
The words hung in the air, unexpected and jarring.
“You’re not?”
“No,” Adrian replied, walking back toward his desk and picking up a heavy silver pen. “In fact, I am adjusting your duties.”
Sofia frowned, her protective maternal instincts immediately locking into place. “Adjusting them how?”
“Effective immediately, your primary responsibility as a housekeeper is no longer scrubbing floors or cleaning the guest suites,” Adrian stated, looking up at her with unwavering authority. “Your primary job is looking after the west wing. And ensuring that your daughter remains close by.”
Sofia’s jaw dropped. “You want us to stay near the dog?”
“I want,” Adrian corrected smoothly, “my dog to remain calm. And it appears the only person in the state of Illinois capable of achieving that is a three-year-old girl who thinks a Cane Corso is a stuffed animal.” He paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You will be paid triple your current wages, and your housing will be upgraded to the family quarters on the second floor. Do we understand each other?”
May you like
Sofia stood frozen, her mind racing. It sounded insane. It sounded dangerous. But as she thought of the freezing apartment, the overdue bills, and the biting Chicago winter, she realized she had very little choice.
“...Yes, Mr. Mercer,” she whispered.
