CHAPTER TWELVE
HE’D ALWAYS PRIDED himself on being prepared. Overly prepared, in fact. But damned if he’d seen any of this coming.
Jordan Paydan stood in front of the glass wall of his Upper East Side Manhattan penthouse and stared at the paperwork that had just been delivered to him via special messenger. No detail had been left up to chance. Every “i” had been dotted; every “t” had been crossed. A slew of family practice attorneys had made sure to look over each piece of paper.
And now Jordan’s life would never be the same.
His stepmother hadn’t put up any kind of a fight; she’d simply waited for the funds to be transferred into her account. He grunted a laugh at the term. Stepmother. The woman was barely older than his own thirty-one years. She certainly didn’t appear to want to act like a responsible adult. He didn’t know her well at all, but that much about her was as clear as the sky on this bright New York afternoon. Considering the events of the past few months and based on the paperwork he currently held in his hands, his stepmother had no qualms about moving on after his father’s death.
Jordan uttered a small curse and threw the envelope and documents onto the mahogany desk behind him next to the couch.
Nothing to do now but to try and plan for the colossal changes that were about to overtake his very existence. None of which were his own doing in any way. He just had to figure out where exactly to start.
Six months later
JESSALYN RAFFI WAS completely engrossed in the mural she was painting on the wall. It was good. Really good, if she did say so herself. She’d spent most of the day painstakingly drawing and creating a detailed image of a majestic, ancient castle sitting atop a grand mountain. Fat, fluffy clouds floated above its towers. She’d even thrown in a few knights on steeds along its base.
Jess had no doubt the child about to occupy this room as a new resident of this house was going to love it. What child wouldn’t? To be able to walk into your bedroom and feel like you could be transported through time and space into an entirely different reality would seem magical to any youngster. She was certain of it.
As engrossed as she was, she didn’t even hear the front door open and close downstairs; nor did she hear the steady sound of footsteps as someone came up the stairs and approached the open door. It took her a moment to realize that someone now stood right outside in the hallway. So it was no wonder she shrieked as loud as she did when she finally understood she was no longer alone. A strange man stood staring at her. Out of sheer reflex, she threw the wet paintbrush she held directly at his chest like some sort of futile weapon, her aim finding its target straight and center.
“What the hell?” a deep masculine voice responded with outrage.
She realized her mistake almost immediately. But it was too late. An angry splotch of red paint spread and splattered across the newcomer’s shirt.
His clearly expensive, well-tailored silk shirt.
He was no intruder. In fact, if she had to hedge a bet, Jess would guess he was the new homeowner. And she’d attacked him with a messy wet paintbrush.
She rushed over immediately, grabbing her damp rag off the floor along the way. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. It’s just that you startled me.” But her attempts to try and wipe the paint off his chest only served to make matters worse. The splotchy stain simply spread across the fabric of his shirt into one big blob of bright red. The more she tried to mop it up, the messier things got.
“Please stop,” he commanded through gritted teeth, his hands clenched at his sides. No doubt he was willing himself to keep from forcefully grabbing her hands and pushing her away. To his credit, he didn’t.
Jess wanted to sink into the floor. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “What in the world are you doing here?”
He blinked at her, anger clouding his eyes. “This is my house. I should be the one asking you that question.”
Through her mortification, Jess finally allowed herself to look at the man’s face. Lordy, he was so utterly striking. Sandy-blond hair just dark enough that he couldn’t be described as fair. Just enough facial hair that added a rugged masculinity to his face. Piercing grayish-green eyes. He stood about a head taller than she did. Even in his annoyed state, it was impossible not to notice just how handsome he was.
“But I had no idea you were due to arrive,” she stammered through her embarrassment. “Marie told me you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow morning. She owns the contracting company you hired. Just so happens she’s a friend of mine. Throws me odd jobs here and there.” Now she was just blabbering. Get a grip. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I was just finishing up.” She pointed to the massive painting on the wall behind her.
He didn’t even glance at it. “None of that explains why you’re here at this hour. Nor why my front door was unlocked.”
She shrugged, tried to smile. It didn’t quite manifest. “I guess I lost track of time. Like I said, I was working on the mural.”
A momentary pause of silence ensued in which he simply stood and studied her. Jess turned away when she couldn’t stand the scrutiny any longer. “It’s a castle,” she unnecessarily informed him.
“Why?”
She turned back to face him as the single word hung in the air. “Why? Why what?”
He let out a long, clearly frustrated breath. “Why are you painting a mural in the first place? I asked my assistant to hire contractors simply to apply fresh paint through the house. They were given very specific instructions regarding color scheme. Instructions that I was told were relayed to the painters.”
Jess cleared her throat, trying not to get flustered. She had to keep her cool here. “Yes, I know. Eggshell white. Throughout the whole house.” How did he not see how utterly bland and boring that was? Eggshell white could hardly be considered a color scheme for heaven’s sake. She kept that thought to herself.
He gave one sharp nod. “Correct. Very simple. At no point was there any request for a medieval castle complete with towers and banners to be drawn on the wall.”
A lump had formed in her throat. “I realize that. But I was told this was to be the child’s room and I thought any little boy or girl would appreciate—”
He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Regardless of what you thought, you took it upon yourself to do something that resulted in a delay to my schedule.”
She tried not to cringe. He sort of had a point about that. “I apologize. But it will only take me a few more minutes to finish up.”
He