Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,36

conservatory will do, thank you.”

He bowed.

When the butler was out of earshot, I squared my shoulders. All seven of my crew were here.

I met each of their gazes. “I’m about to invite you into my home because you’re my friends,” I said. “As Vissimo currently in debt, I expect you to respect that what happens on this property is none of Kyros’s nor King Julius’s business. Aside from vague reports or attacks, what happens here on this estate remains confidential, always. That puts each of you in a tricky spot, I know, but that’s the only way I’ll accept Kyros’s presence on my property, no matter how I feel for each of you personally.”

Their smiles drooped.

Jillian glanced at Laurel, who surveyed me without emotion.

I held her regard without flinching. “If you can’t accept my terms, stay outside. I will understand if you feel incapable of meeting my terms. For those who stay, I’ll meet you in the conservatory presently.” I scanned their ranks once more and turned to enter the house.

Fuck it all, I had to warn Tommy. If the Indebted were here for the foreseeable future, my friend would have some serious acting to do.

I hurried up the stairs to leave her a note on the bedside table.

“Miss Le Spyre.”

My hand shot for my throat as I choked on a scream. “Shit.”

His face was stricken. “I apologise, miss.”

My heart pounded in my chest. Freakin’ butler standing in the pitch black. I just birthed kittens. “Are you okay?”

“I am well, thank you. I did have a separate matter I wished to discuss with you. Just regarding estate affairs. Is tomorrow morning convenient to meet?”

He wanted to speak about this right now?

I suppose it was past time I took the reins back. Running the estate wasn’t even his job. “Of course. Thank you for being patient as I…”

He smiled. “No need to thank me, Miss Le Spyre. I’d do anything for your family. You know that.”

“I appreciate that endlessly,” I replied, my heart settling. “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at nine.”

His gaze shadowed. “Tomorrow at nine, Basilia.”

I jerked, staring at his retreating back.

Did Fred just call me Basilia?

My jaw bobbed. He did!

Never—not in nearly twenty-two years of being in this man’s presence had he called me anything other than Miss or Miss Le Spyre. Even when I tried to trick him into it for a full month at fourteen years old.

I skimmed over our conversation again, wondering if I’d missed something—because there was no way in hell a butler trained by my grandmother just slipped up.

Fred had something big to tell me.

8

“Miss Le Spyre, how did you sleep?” Fred asked as he entered my grandmother’s office.

Just fucking peachy after his Basilia bomb. I spent half the night furiously scribbling notes to Tommy who’d taken the news that seven vampires were sleeping on the first floor about as well as expected. That she’d already spent a night in Laurel’s company, albeit in complete ignorance, helped not at all in calming her down.

“Good. And yourself?” I replied from behind the heavy mahogany desk.

The last person to sit here was my grandmother.

Fred closed the door. “As well as ever.”

I gestured to the neatly stacked papers before me, setting my glasses down. “What’s the go? I’ve flicked through our financial team’s latest report—nothing seems amiss. Are there proposed investments that require attention? Staff matters? Issues with one of our major companies?” Fifty-five percent of the Le Spyre fortune originated from one of five companies. We were major shareholders in a further twenty-nine international companies.

When Grandmother insisted I learn how to run the estate, it was no skin off my back—even if my agreement to learn was really to better my understanding of how corporations ripped people off. What I found during that training only made me proud of my ancestors. The research Grandmother had done into the ethics and environmental impact on our investments was extensive. She—and those before her—had always upheld such a code—even in times when most of the world hadn’t cared or known about such things.

“Not quite, miss,” he said. Reaching up to the third shelf of the bookcase wall, he pressed a button.

My ears popped. “Whoa, what was that?”

“Noise-cancelling technology,” he answered, turning back to me. “This is a conversation best conducted in a soundproofed room.”

Soundproofed room.

With those two words, I knew.

My mouth dried as I contemplated the estate butler. Fred faced me as straight-backed and militant as he’d always been—impeccable manners beaten into an ex-army man. Now, I studied the