Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
“Some parts, yes.”
“Then give me another room for the night. Any room.”
He smiled.
I counted eight molars and instantly didn’t trust it.
“Heating’s out on the entire floor dedicated to guest rooms,” he said.
“All the bedrooms are freezing. And the central air system’s down as well.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I rubbed my arms through my sleeves.
“So you’re saying none of the rooms are livable?”
“Not quite. Mr. Laurent’s suite still has working heat.”
I stared at him.
“Why? Isn’t this place on central heating? His room and mine are on the same floor.
Geoffrey folded his hands in front of him.
“Yes. Except his room is on an independent system. Mr. Laurent’s suite was customized separately during the last renovation. Different wiring. Entirely self-contained.”
That so?”
It sounded like complete nonsense.
Who renovates a mansion and gives one room its own climate control?
But Geoffrey had the posture of someone on the witness stand at a murder trial.
Besides, what reason could he have for lying to me?
Then he suggested, “Since Mr. Laurent’s away, why not stay in his room tonight?”
I glanced at the closed door at the end of the hall.
Heavy, dark, and extremely locked-looking.
I’d never set foot in there.
A person’s bedroom was sacred territory.
I wasn’t about to crawl into his bed uninvited while he was away on a business trip.
“No. Just bring me another blanket. I’ll manage. No bring ten.”
“As you wish.”
I walked back into my room and sat on the bed.
Five minutes later, Geoffrey knocked and handed me a stack of blankets.
They looked thick.
They were not.
Thirty minutes passed.
My toes went stiff.
My nose ran.
I felt like a dead fish in the back of a refrigerated truck.
I shoved the blankets off and marched back out.
“Geoffrey!”
He materialized.
“Yes, Mrs. Laurent?”
“I’ll take Sebastian’s room. I’m not freezing to death in here.”
“Of course, Mrs. Laurent. Mr. Laurent’s sheets and linens were all changed this morning. Everything’s fresh. You can go right in.”
“Got it.”
Standing outside his bedroom, I texted him.
[Can I crash in your room tonight? Mine’s freezing think something’s leaking air through the walls.]
He replied almost instantly.
[Of course. It’s our house. Yours and mine. Sleep wherever you like.]
I typed out “thanks,” then deleted it.
He hated it when I thanked him for anything.
Instead, I sent a grumpy cat sticker giving a photoshopped thumbs-up.
The second I stepped inside, heat wrapped around me.
The air smelled like pine and detergent.
It was like stepping from winter straight into early summer.
I kicked off my slippers and looked around.
The whole room was black, white, and gray.
Nothing on the walls, no clutter, no mess.
Every edge was clean. Not a single personal object in sight. it was like a high-end corporate suite pretending to be a bedroom.
Geoffrey hadn’t lied-this room really had been built differently,
The en suite was just as stark.
Black tiles, dark counters, a glass shower that looked like it had never been used.
I flicked on the lights and winced at the harsh glare I washed quickly and padded out in pajamas.
I threw myself onto his bed and rolled from side to side.
“God, this thing’s way softer than mine.”
The bed was massive.
I flopped around like an idiot and still couldn’t quite reach the edge.
The room was pitch black. No street noise, no light bleeding through the curtains.
It was stuffy, but not unpleasant.
I thought I’d be too wired to sleep in someone else’s bed.
I was wrong.
The second my head hit the pillow, I was out.
I slept deeper than I had in weeks.
When I opened my eyes, it was already close to nine.
I went downstairs barefoot, chewing a piece of toast, and nearly walked into a pair of workers carrying a metal toolbox.
Drills buzzed somewhere in the house.
Wires hung from the ceiling in clumps.
Someone shouted for a wrench from inside the boiler room.
I found Geoffrey by the stairs.
“Think they’ll fix it today?”
“Hard to say. This house isn’t standard construction. Every pipe’s custom. If one thing breaks, it turns into a whole operation. No guarantees.”
I muttered, “Great,” around a mouthful of bread.
That night, Geoffrey told me the heating still wasn’t working in my room.
So I went straight back to Sebastian’s.
Every day after that, it was the same routine.
I’d ask if things were fixed.
Geoffrey would frown and talk about structural complexity.
I’d nod, thank the workers, and climb into Sebastian’s bed again.
After a few more days, I stopped asking.
I didn’t even bother checking my room anymore,
This morning, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I felt heat pressing against my back.
The sheets were warmer than usual.