The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

First of all, I gave her the short version of what I’d learned from Mr. McDonnell about my father and the mysterious clock I was now supposed to search for.

“Do you even know what the clock looks like?” said Rachel.

I was currently sitting outside, my cup of coffee having already gone cold from the chill wind blowing off of the water. “Um, I have no idea. It’s a clock. I’m assuming it has two hands and numbers on it.”

Rachel snorted. “Well, duh. But what’s it made of? What century is it from? Is it super fancy and gold-plated, or wooden, or…?”

“I really doubt it matters.”

“Well, the more information you have on this clock, the more information you could possibly get to find your da.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “That sounds very logical and smart, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t think of it first.”

“That’s why you’re friends with me.” I could hear the smugness in her voice, the jerk.

“But why would my da, who’s pretty much hidden himself away from his family for twenty-plus years now, suddenly want his da to know he still exists? Although I guess he failed, considering that my grandda was already dead by the time those papers were mailed.”

I could hear Rachel moving around in her apartment. “Tuna, stop!” she yelled in the background. “Will you stop chewing on the stupid blinds?” She sighed into the phone. “This cat, I swear.”

“I think he’s just mad you named him something he loves to eat.”

“He doesn’t even like tuna! But he’s obsessed with eating popcorn. It makes no sense.”

I not so subtly forced Rachel back to the subject at hand. “What’s your theory on my da’s motives?”

“Either he knew your grandfather was already dead and wanted to keep his identity secret or he wanted your grandfather to know he’d gotten that clock,” she said.

I frowned. “It doesn’t make much sense that my da wanted to conceal his identity by using an identity that’s directly linked to him.”

“Hey, I never said it was a good idea.”

We discussed the strange circumstances a while longer, but neither of us really had any idea where I was going to start looking for my da, beyond finding out more information about this clock. There hadn’t been much identifying information about the antique in the paperwork Mr. McDonnell had given me, but admittedly, I’d only skimmed it. Perhaps there was some nugget of information—a brand name? serial number?—that could provide a clue.

After we’d exhausted the clock conversation, I recounted my strange encounter in the library the night before.

“Are you sure you heard someone walking around? Maybe it was just the house making noises,” said Rachel.

“I’m pretty sure creaky old house noises are way different than footsteps.” Irritation crept into my voice. “Besides, I heard a door close.”

She made a humming noise. “Fair enough. I mean, it could’ve been an intruder, but at the same time, lots of people work there.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Kinda, but not really?”

“It was almost three AM!”

“True, but you were there, too. So someone else had the same idea as you. It sounds like a weird coincidence, that’s all.”

I sighed. “But wouldn’t they have said something? Why act shady if you aren’t, in fact, doing something shady?”

I could practically hear Rachel shrugging. An econ major, Rachel preferred to live her life according to logic and numbers. Sometimes it felt like she didn’t care, but I’d known her long enough now to know that she did care. She just showed it differently. When she worked through the logic of your situation, it meant she wanted to find the answer to help you.

But sometimes I wished she’d be more emotional. Sometimes you just needed somebody to tell you that your feelings were valid, you know? Then again, it wasn’t like Rachel was my therapist. I couldn’t exactly expect her to act like one.

“Well, I think this means you need to go back there tonight to see if the person returns,” Rachel said finally.

“I don’t really want to wait up all night.” I snorted at the image. “Sitting in some huge armchair, rifle in hand, waiting for some unsuspecting random to wander in—”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about a gun.”

“And turns it out it was just poor Roger, caught sleepwalking again.”

Rachel chuckled. “Don’t shoot the butler. Pretty sure you’ll get seven years of bad luck for that one.”

We chatted for a bit longer, Rachel telling me about the classes she planned to take when she began her grad program in the fall at NYU. Her girlfriend Maddie was in her second year of medical school at Columbia. Yes, both of these women were ridiculously impressive, and, yes, I often felt like a big weird loser compared to them both.

“Oh, Maddie, say hi to Niamh,” said Rachel.

“Hi, Niamh,” I heard Maddie call from the background. “Don’t forget to bring back some Guinness for me!”

“I won’t forget,” I said with a laugh before we said our goodbyes.

I realized only after I’d hung up that I hadn’t told her about the obnoxious golden-haired man I’d met. It’d only been a few days, yet it felt like that had happened an eternity ago.

What if the library intruder was Golden Man? my brain asked me. But he was a gardener. There was no reason he’d be lurking around the estate late at night.

Well, unless he was looking for something. Or he just really wanted to borrow some books and didn’t feel like asking for permission. But why do it in the middle of the night?

“It probably was a ghost,” I muttered to myself as I made my way back inside, the cold making me shiver. “Or you just imagined it.”

Even as I said the words aloud, I knew I didn’t believe them. I also knew that the library was probably the best way for me to find more information about this stupid clock, so I’d need to return there tonight. Although not at three AM. I’d go there at a reasonable hour, so at the