Don't Let Go Page 2

  Lila

  The morning air in Philadelphia can be at times, stale. Suffocating, even. The sounds of other people are constant, along with car horns and yelling for cabbies. My street, in particular, is busy as it’s just beyond the more crowded shopping districts.

  This is nothing like that.

  I inhale deeply, taking a moment to sway back and forth on the porch swing. Time seems slower here. The toe of my boot drags back and forth as I stare forward, waiting for the car that’s coming to pick me up. It’s not a cab; they don’t have those here. Ada’s cousin is happy to see me to the Kulls’ estate though. Last night the captain of the ship, Drew, drove me here last night.

  I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should tip him. Obviously I should. I didn’t tip Drew though, he seemed offended I offered. I shake off the memory of the way he looked at me and take a look around.

  I’m definitely not in Philadelphia anymore.

  The sound of a critter rustling in the dry leaves behind me makes me pop up and off the swing in an instant. I turn around just in time to watch something run off, my hand on my chest and the chill of the morning breeze traveling through the gap in my jacket. A deer, maybe? I’m not sure. But I let out a small huff of a laugh at how absurd I am. Of course there are animals here. Online it said the population of black bears here is higher than the number of humans.

  Just as I turn back to face the gravel dirt road that leads to the cabin, Ada steps out onto the porch. At the same time, an old Chevy pickup truck pulls into the driveway. I watch Ada’s face as she cocks a brow in surprise and purses her lips.

  The truck comes to a stop, and the sputtering sounds of the engine are silenced. Her cousin, I think she said his name was Brant, opens the faded red door as she walks out to meet him.

  I clear my throat, feeling the tension between them as she asks him, “You couldn’t bring the car?” in a voice that makes damn sure to display her irritation.

  I bend down to pick up my purse; it’s heavy as hell, and the thin straps dig into my shoulder. It feels like I’ve stuffed it with bricks, but it’s only my laptop that has it feeling so damn heavy.

  I walk slowly down the steps, moving closer to the truck with a smile plastered on my face. I couldn’t care less what car we drive in so long as I get to my appointment on time.

  The two of them turn to me, stopping mid-conversation which only makes me self-conscious. Maybe I should have stayed on the porch.

  “It’s so pretty out today.” I barely get the words out, the strength in my voice diminished by them staring at me. I clear my throat as I feel my smile falter.

  Brant looks up and nods his head, patting his keys on his jeans. The plaid coat he’s wearing appears rumpled as he shoots me a smile. “Not so bad today. It’s gray a lot here, so you got lucky I suppose,” he answers in a deep voice.

  “You’ve got everything you want to take?” Ada asks me, but the same look in her eyes from last night is back. All morning things were smooth and easygoing. I thought last night must’ve been my mistake. That maybe it hadn’t been as awkward as I thought it was. But right now, clear as day with a full cup of coffee in me, I can feel something’s off.

  “I’ve got everything,” I say and nod once, feeling my body tense and my expression change. She must see it too, because the other version of her comes back.

  “Have a good trip,” she says cheerily and starts to walk back to the porch. “Oh, and interview,” she adds with a nod, although her voice is lower and more subdued.

  I watch her over my shoulder, shuffling the straps of my bag slightly until Brant slaps his hand down on his truck and asks, “You ready?”

  It’s awkward. We're sitting in silence. Well, the radio is playing softly, but ever since I got in the cramped back seat of the truck, no small talk has been made. The front seat has no seatbelt, so I’m tucked away in the back, safe and sound. I suppose I could comment on the weather… again.

  My purse is next to me, leaning against a toolbox that’s definitely seen better days. My boots kick a pair of cleats sitting in the back of the truck as we drive over a hole in the road.

  “How long do you think it’ll be?” I raise my voice to ask Brant, and his eyes find mine in the rearview.

  “Another half hour or so,” he answers me. He turns down the radio and glances at me in the rearview again. “What’s the interview about?”

  “The island mostly,” I reply. Sharon Hartfield, my boss and the editor of The Morning Reads, was adamant I interview Mr. Kulls. But the typical synopsis and agenda were missing. Sharon didn’t give me anything to go on other than, “Whatever you can get from him.” It makes me nervous. She’s been giving me more and more responsibility, but this interview is different from the usual protocol.

  “The island,” Brant repeats easily, nodding his head and looking over to the left as we come to a red light.

  “The views here are amazing,” I speak without thinking as my breath is taken away. The small town is old and not quite updated yet, but it doesn’t feel as though it’s needed. There’s an undeniable charm to the aged buildings and traditional touches. What’s striking is how it’s intermingled with nature, which is also untouched.

  I watch a small stream of water flow down the foreboding mountain on my left. Utterly gorgeous. “What about the island?” Brant breaks me from my thoughts as the truck moves forward, bringing us back to the interview. To work.

  I clear my throat and pull at my seatbelt. “Well, the island is mostly self-sustaining and I’ve heard it’s due to traditions and in a good part because of the Kulls?” I say although it’s really a question. More of a hunch I’ve gathered.

  Brant nods his head slowly, but doesn’t speak. Just as my hope of gaining a little intel dies, he says, “The brothers brought back more jobs, a better economy I suppose.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  His hands twist on the wheel as if debating on telling me something. I almost have to press, but after a moment he sighs and says, “His father was different is all.”

  “Have the Kulls always…” I don’t know how to end my question, but I don’t have to.

  “Everyone here descends from ancient clans. Mostly two. And we followed those traditions, but Alec’s father did not. It was more about money than anything else.” He huffs in obvious disapproval, but continues. “They already had it all. They’re the wealthiest and determine most of what goes on around here.”

  I reach into my purse as I ask, “What traditions did their father stray from exactly?”

  Brant’s eyes find mine in the mirror as he answers, “All of them.”

  My pen clicks in the quiet air as I get out my small notebook. It’s leather-bound and filled with scribbled notes. I turn to a clean page and ask, “So the new generation of Kulls, they’re bringing back the old traditions?”

  When he doesn't answer me, I look up to see Brant smirking as he says, “Not quite.”

  He doesn’t continue, and the look on his face is as though he knows something I don’t.

  “Could you elaborate?” I ask him.

  I watch as his jaw clenches and the truck makes a wide turn onto a cobblestone road. It looks new and clean; unlike the others I’ve seen so far.

  “Some traditions died a long time ago, and their father wanted them all to go. He wanted industry here, and that caused a lot of tension.”

  “Political tension?’ I ask.

  Brant clucks his tongue and says, “You could say that.”

  “I don’t see much industry here,” I point out. It’s true. Everything looks like small mom and pop stores.

  “There’s some, but not much. In the last couple of decades, the town’s focus has been on sustainability and self-reliance.”

  “Since the sons took over?” I ask him to clarify.

  Again he shrugs and says, “It was happening regardless of the Kulls. They have the wealth, but their father’s disregard of our ways shook their foothold in the law.” I
jot down all of these gems of history. Brant continues telling me about their water supplies and electrical systems, although most of that info I saw online. The history of the Kulls that’s not exposed yet is more of what I want.

  “What happened to his father?” I ask.

  He shrugs and the truck turns down a path that’s shaded by trees, obviously a driveway. “He grew old,” he finally answers, but the sight of the estate takes my immediate attention.

  It’s grand and intimidating. Old money would best describe it. The once copper roof now has a rich patina in a beautiful shade of pale green. It's the perfect accent for the cream stone and manicured dark green ivy along the side of the house, as if they knew all those years ago when it was built that it would look stunning at this very moment. Besides the ivy, there’s no shrubbery in sight, only the pine trees on either side.

  “Oh,” I manage to get out only that single word as the truck stops in front of the estate. The loud rumbling of the engine seems so out of place here. I glance down at myself, smoothing out my cream silk blouse and taking a steadying breath as I reach for my purse. The second my back is turned, my door opens.

  A gasp slips from my lips as my grip tightens on my purse straps. The man staring back at me is as breathtaking as the scenery. His eyes are a pale blue and at complete odds with his dark brown hair. It's so dark, it’s nearly black.

  “Miss Travers,” the man says with a deep voice that echoes through my body and heats my blood. For a moment, I’m stunned from the intensity of his gaze but also from the way he said my name. Like he already knew me. Like he owns me.

  It’s only when he takes a step back that I regain my composure and slowly slip out of the truck. It’s high up off the ground and when I look down, the man offers me his hand.

  I slip my small palm against his and his fingers wrap around my hand as I take the large step down. The heat between us travels through me instantly. Embarrassingly so.

  I quickly retrieve my hand and hold the straps of my purse with both hands, taking a step back, my ass bumping against the truck.

  In the confines of the truck, I thought maybe this man was staff or a butler, I’m not sure who, but I didn’t expect Alec to be the one opening the truck door for me.

  Standing on the edge of the long driveway, staring straight at him, I’m sure it’s him. His high cheekbones and the rough stubble along his jaw are just as they were in the photographs online. Alec Kulls. The pictures didn’t do him justice in the least.

  “Mr. Kulls,” I finally get a grip and offer my hand out for a handshake. He takes a moment to look at it, leaving my hand dangling in the cold air before accepting it. And again, the instant he touches me, electricity rips through my body, making my thighs clench and my nipples pebble.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says, and his low voice makes my heart stutter.

  I don’t know what’s come over me. I rip my hand away again, trying to ignore the tingling prickle at the back of my neck. It’s not until Mr. Kulls shakes Brant’s hand and the two share a glance that I snap out of it.

  “Her bags?” he asks Brant, and the trace of a smile on Alec’s lips falls when Brant shakes his head.

  Mr. Kulls’ eyes narrow and Brant merely shrugs his shoulders, but there’s a smirk on Brant's lips that makes me think there’s something else between them.

  “Thank you so much for having me and agreeing to this interview,” I say to Alec with more strength than I realized I had left. As my senses slip back into place, I turn to Brant. “Oh, and thank you so much for the ride,” I start to say while I dig for my wallet.

  “Don’t you dare,” Alec says and the tone of his voice makes my blood chill. I hear the slap of two hands meeting and look up to see Brant palming folded up cash.

  “My pleasure, Miss Travers.” The way Brant says my name seems to be in a mocking tone. But not to me, its focus is on Alec.

  “Thank you,” I mutter in a small voice, feeling as if there’s a joke I’m not aware of, yet somehow a part of.

  I watch Brant walk around to the other side of the truck before taking a glance at Alec. “Thank you, I could have paid-”

  “Not a problem at all,” he cuts me off and when his eyes reach mine again, the corners of his lips seem to tug up slightly.

  “Why don’t you come in?” The way the words fall from Alec’s lips is tempting and seductive in a way I hadn’t expected. It’s not that he’s flirtatious in the least… it’s something else.

  I take a few steps, following him, my eyes taking in the details of his tailored and clearly expensive suit until he peeks over his shoulder. I feel the heat of a blush rise up my cheeks as he smirks at me, clearly catching me in the act. I part my lips to utter an apology or explanation, but all sense of professionalism seems to have left me. Luckily I’m saved by Mr. Kulls as he opens his door and says, “Let’s get this interview started.”

  Lila

  “I trust you had a sound flight and travels?” Mr. Kulls asks me as he closes the tall front door. Like the rest of the house, it has history; the dark rich walnut was obviously carved by hand.

  “I did,” I answer politely. “Thank you for asking.” I try to remain professional as I take in the the estate. The high ceilings and intricate architecture are magnificent. “And again, thank you for the interview, Mr. Kulls.”

  “Alec, please,” he says, reaching his hand out, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s asking for my coat. I’m quick to respond, moving my purse to the floor so I can shrug off the jacket. The cool draft stays with me for a moment, but the home itself is warm and instantly replaces the cold.

  “Thank you… Alec,” I add his first name, feeling the shy blush creep back onto my cheeks. This is quickly becoming unlike any interview I’ve done before. And I’m well aware it’s because I’m attracted to Alec. I have to remind myself that I’m working. That this is a job and I’m a professional, for fuck’s sake.

  He gives me a small smile that slowly widens as he hangs my coat on an iron rack to the left of the grand foyer. As if he can’t contain his mirth, maybe because he senses the attraction, or maybe because I’m obviously flustered. I’m not sure which.

  “This way,” he says and starts walking, the sound of his oxford shoes smacking against the granite echoing off the walls.

  The inside of the estate is just as stunning as the outside with rich red walls and marble stone floors.

  I hurry my steps to catch up to him. “This is your family’s estate?” I ask to get my mind back on track. The little pieces of Kulls history Brant gave me were interesting. I could whip up something interesting about companies that have been passed down through generations and stay within families, easily tying this story to a relevant family company back in Philadelphia.

  I nod my head and sneak a look to my left at him. That could be a good spin. Related, yet interesting to compare. Although I’m much shorter than Alec, my strides are in time with his as I follow him down a long corridor past several closed doors and into an office.

  Or maybe a library. My Lord. Alec stops behind a large oak desk covered with stacks of papers, devoid of a computer or any technology at all. Behind him are a set of three large windows, the towering mountains and pine trees making it seem as though they’re paintings and not a vista of the outdoors. The telling sign that it’s the actual view is the snow that’s started falling and sweeping across the sky in the breeze.

  My purse slowly slips from my shoulder and lands with a thud on the intricate, darkly colored, handwoven rug. The walls to my left and right are lined with bookshelves and what must be thousands of books.

  My lips part, my mouth hanging open, but I don’t even know where to begin.

  “You’re out of your element, Miss Travers?” Alec’s voice caresses my consciousness, and I dare to look him in the eyes.

  “I am,” I tell him honestly. I’ve worked for Sharon for three years now, assigned an interview every other week or so. I’ve been blown away a few times, but noth
ing like this.

  His lips twitch again, although he keeps the smile at bay. “Please, have a seat. Unless you’d like to explore first?” He cocks a brow, waiting for my response and gesturing to the shelves of books.

  I shake my head with a tight smile and pull my blouse down so that it covers the tight black leggings to nearly my knees.

  “Tea first?” Alec offers as I settle into the leather seat, my hands gripping the carved armrests. “No, thank you,” I reply as he pours a cup on the other side of the desk. I watch as the steam rises, and the soft sound of the tea spilling into the cup is soothing. The clink of the porcelain cup hitting the saucer almost makes me wish I’d said yes.

  My brown boots come up mid-thigh and brush against one another as I cross my legs. “May I have a look around once the interview is over? I’m curious to see the estate.”

  Alec nods once and walks around the desk to take the seat next to me, surprising me. I clear my throat and angle the chair to face him just as he does.

  “Of course,” he says, leaning back with his right ankle on his left knee and his hands clasped in his lap. “Whenever you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him as I bend down and pick up my notebook and pen. “I really appreciate it.”

  “No recorder?” he asks and I shake my head. I flip through the pages and find where I left off with Brant, making a clean line and writing Alec’s initials where the break starts. “I prefer this way,” I explain.

  “Alright then… Lila.” He says my name as if it’s a way to tease me. I raise my eyes to him, the pen still on the notepad. “What would you like to know?”

  With his father in mind, I ask a question I hope will put him at ease and allow me to uncover new details about the Kulls. “Your business is family-run from what I’ve read?”

  He nods his head once, running his thumb along the tips of his fingers. “Myself and my two brothers, Marcus and Elliot.”

  I scribble their names down and ask, “And before you three, did your father run it with his siblings or was he an only child?”