A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

to fully restore the house and property. Even though you have a lot to appraise and catalogue I don’t want you stressed out about it. You can set your own hours and at no time will you be obligated to check with me unless you have a question or problem. I’ll have enough to do, working with the contractors and making certain I don’t incur too many cost overruns. I don’t want too many verbal rounds with my brother.”

“Do you have a final budget for the entire project?”

“Not yet. Patrick has been adjusting the budget for the house as needed. He has one for the château, one for the outbuildings, including the cottages, stables and barn, and another for the gardens, golf course, reflecting pools and fountains. Why did you ask?”

“I haven’t seen the entire property, but based on restoration projects I’ve observed in France and Italy I guesstimate it will cost you between ninety and one hundred million dollars.”

“That sounds about right,” Taylor said, neither confirming nor denying the dollar amount.

“Sounds about right, Taylor?”

Taylor knew it was impossible to deceive Sonja. “You’re right. How did you know?”

“I know you’re going to have to hire electricians, plumbers, roofers, carpenters, stonemasons, and landscape architects. Faux bois specialists are necessary to restore the walls in the library and the moldings in the ballrooms. A cleaning crew and exterminators also factor into the cost along with workers needed to haul away debris. Replacement doors and windows will have to be ordered from Italy, and if there’s a need to replace roof tiles, I can give you the name of a Vermont quarry that can ship them to you.”

Taylor wanted to ask Sonja how she knew the doors and windows had come from Italy. Did she only have to glance at an object to ascertain its origin? “You’re going to prove invaluable and an essential member of the restoration team.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so, Sonja—otherwise I never would’ve hired you.”

“I thought you hired me because Viola pressured you to.”

He blinked slowly. “Is that really what you think?”

“I don’t know, Taylor. You tell me. You didn’t believe me when I told you I was an architectural historian?”

“I believed you because Viola, who rarely gives out compliments, said you’re a genius when it comes to identifying antiques. When Patrick asked for letters of recommendation and I told him I would vouch for you, it had nothing to do with Viola singing your praises. I don’t have time to look for another architectural historian so, regardless of what you think or believe, you’re it, Sonja.”

A mysterious smile parted her lips. “Are you saying we’re a good combination?”

“Yeah. Like peanut butter and jelly,” Taylor said teasingly.

“No, Taylor. Like shrimp and grits.”

“Nice. But how about bacon and eggs?”

She scrunched up her nose as she handed him another bag. “I’ve got one better. Chicken and waffles.”

“Hell, yeah! I’ve got a special recipe for chicken and waffles, and one of these days I’m going to make them for you.”

“I usually have chicken and waffles along with mimosas for Sunday brunch.”

Taylor closed the door to the hatch. “I suppose that means I’ll have to come over one Sunday morning and put my money where my mouth is.”

Sonja bit her lip, bringing his gaze to linger on her mouth. “We will see.”

“Yes, we will. If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive Silver Bullet back to the house,” Taylor volunteered.

“I don’t mind since you acknowledged her correctly.”

Cupping Sonja’s elbow, he steered her around to the passenger side, opened the door and assisted her up. Taylor stared up at her. “If you had to name my vehicle, what would it be?”

“Gray Wolf.”

Taylor angled his head. “I like that. Gray Wolf it is. After I help you put everything away, I’m going up to the house to get the trunks and copies I made of the blueprints and floor plans. By the way, the papers are wrapped in oilskin, which has preserved them from moisture and rot, and the floor plans and blueprints have been stored in metal tubes.”

“Bring them by tomorrow. I need to unpack and put everything away.”

“I have morning meetings, so I probably won’t be able to come over until late afternoon,” Taylor said.

“That’ll work. Don’t forget I’m making dinner.”

He wanted to tell Sonja there was no way he would forget. “Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No. I think I have everything I need.”

Taylor drove back to the condo, and he and Sonja made quick work of unloading the bags and carrying them to the kitchen. “Do you need help putting things away?”

Sonja shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“It looks as if you’re really going to be busy, so why don’t we put off sharing dinner for a couple of days.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m going to stay up tonight and finish everything.”

“So, we’re still on for tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Taking a step, Taylor lowered his head and brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He knew he’d shocked her when he heard her hushed gasp.

Turning on his heel, he left the kitchen and walked out to where he’d parked his vehicle.

Chapter Eight

Taylor tapped a button on the steering wheel, increasing the radio’s volume as he sang to Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk.” Knowing he was going to share dinner with Sonja put him in a party mood. It had been impulsive when he’d invited himself to her home and then asked if she would cook for him.

And if he were honest with himself he would have to admit he had been intrigued before Sonja introduced herself to him at The Cellar. When Viola called her from his car, putting their conversation on speaker he’d been mesmerized with the timbre of her voice. And the expression on her face when he opened the garage door to reveal the vehicle he’d leased for her was imprinted on his memory like a permanent tattoo. It was a combination of shock and then pure joy. It had been the