After several minutes of following the winding asphalt even higher on the cliff, an enormous gate came into view. Phil stopped at the electronic panel out front and pressed a button.
“Phil Shotelle and his fiancée,” he said briskly after a male voice crackled from the intercom.
Fiancée? Oh God.
The first chance she got at a phone she was using it, make no mistake.
The gates parted with a mechanical creak. Phil followed the driveway until it ended in front of the most spectacular house Lynn had ever seen. Some stucco and limestone fa?ade made up the exterior, but mostly it was all glass. An endless expanse of sparkling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and the rocky slopes all around the house.
“See?” Phil tossed a hand toward the landscaping. “This is the kind of house I could have, Lynn. After I get this promotion, I’ll be able to buy a place like this.”
Because it was all about the money. And power. Lynn fought again with her conscience. Should she keep playing along, or should she take a chance and simply walk away? But when she mentally listed the things Phil had done, each additional item only highlighted his determination.
He’d broken into her apartment to pack her bag, tricked her into coming to Monterey, threatened Parker’s business. Hell, looking back she wondered if he’d sabotaged her car.
Those were the actions of a determined man. A man who would destroy DreamMakers without a blink, especially if his world had also fallen apart.
She had to call Parker, ASAP.
The moment Phil killed the engine and reached for the door handle, Lynn prepared herself. She needed to get her phone out of his clutches.
The front door of the mansion swung open and a gray-haired man stepped onto the pillared porch. “Mr. Shotelle,” the man called. “Let me help you with your bags.”
Lynn slid from the van, her flats hitting the concrete as the older man limped toward her and Phil. He was in his late seventies, early eighties even, and when he introduced himself as Henry, Mr. Bigelow’s butler and security man, she tried not to raise her eyebrows. Seemed as if someone as wealthy and powerful as Jeffrey Bigelow would want a younger, fitter man to provide security.
“I’m afraid my employer was delayed in Los Angeles,” Henry told them as he went to get their luggage.
He struggled to lift their bags—their very light, very small bags, and Lynn’s pity meter shot skyward. She hurried over and took both bags from his hands with a smile.
“I can take them,” she said quickly. “I need some exercise after the drive.”
Henry nodded. “Whatever you wish.”
“You were saying Mr. Bigelow has been delayed?” Phil’s tone was pleasant, but Lynn had known him long enough to detect the note of irritation in there.
Poor baby. His big plans to impress his boss were starting off with a hitch. Damn bastard deserved it.
Henry’s presence could work to her advantage. If she could get a moment alone with the elderly butler, she’d ask him to use the phone so she could get the hell out of there.
“His meeting ran longer than he intended,” Henry answered Phil as the trio walked to the front door. “He’s decided to spend the night in the city and helicopter here tomorrow morning.”
“Helicopter?” Phil raised a brow.
“Yes. There’s a helipad behind the house. It’s quite convenient for a man who travels as often as Mr. Bigelow.”
They entered the house and Lynn gaped at the dramatic entryway, with its soaring ceiling, glass skylights and shiny hardwood floor. The sun had nearly set, so the light reflecting off the glass ceiling was muted, casting an orangey glow in the massive space.
“You’ll be staying on the third floor.” Henry took a step toward the spiral staircase to their left. “Separate rooms, of course.”
Really?
The butler quickly solved her puzzlement. “Mr. Bigelow feels it’s only proper for an unmarried couple to have separate sleeping quarters.”
“I agree,” Phil said with an approving nod. “Perhaps you could show us my room first, then we’ll get my fiancée settled.”
Aggravation jammed in Lynn’s chest as Phil took his suitcase before tightly gripping her hand and practically dragging her to the staircase. She didn’t want to make a scene and give poor Henry a heart attack, but enough was enough.
“I’d like to use the restroom first,” she blurted out. “I need to freshen up after the long drive.”
Phil’s dark blue eyes flashed. “You can do that in your room, sweetie.”
She swallowed a frustrated breath. Damn it. He wasn’t planning on letting her out of his sight, was he?
As her mind worked a mile a minute searching for a solution, she obediently climbed the stairs. Everywhere she looked she saw glittering gold and stately leather accents. Yet for all its modern appearances, the house still featured bedroom doors that required old-fashioned keys to lock them.