From Boardroom to Bedroom

“That, too, sir.”

Sophie was still reeling from the girlfriend comment when Nigel took her hand and led her up the stone steps to the front entrance. The architecture alone was drool-worthy and Sophie couldn’t wait to see the interior. She could only imagine the videos she could shoot from here...if she were actually here as herself and had the opportunity to do such things.

She missed her design shoots, but since going undercover, she’d had to back off just a bit. She still replied to comments and answered her DMs on her social media accounts, but she was itching to get back to new material...and Shrewsbury Hall was the absolute perfect backdrop.

Too bad she wasn’t here as Sophie Blackwood, interior designer.

Hell, she wasn’t even here as Roslyn Andrews, consultant. She was here as an imposter of an imposter. Good grief. It would be a miracle if she didn’t need therapy after this entire ordeal.

And after the hit to her mental state—and, inevitably, to her heart—she had better find some seriously juicy dirt on Miranda once she returned to New York.

“From what you’ve said before, I wouldn’t have taken your grandmother for the bourbon type,” Sophie muttered as they reached the door. “I assumed tea and cookies, or biscuits as you call them.”

Nigel laughed. “Don’t try to stereotype her. You’ll never find a box that fits the personality of Dame Claire Worthington.”

Sophie didn’t know

before she could decide, Nigel

lungs as Sophie took in the magnificent foyer that extended up to the second floor. Straight

fresh floral arrangements at the base of each staircase were perfectly placed in large marble

could have easily been ripped out of a fairy tale and Roslyn wished

“There’s my city boy.”

cut. The silver-haired lady had on a pair of jeans and a bright green sweater paired with

her arms around him before easing back and turning her focus, and affection, to Sophie. She found herself enveloped in a

she greeted, pulling away

to meet you, Dame Worthington. I’m

are so archaic. Call me Claire. And while you’re at it, tell me how you managed to capture my workaholic grandson’s attention to get him to

at least take our coats off and get settled before you start grilling her?” Nigel asked. “And you

ever listen to me,” Claire muttered. “You’ve never brought a woman here in your

coat and handed it to a man who seemed to appear out of nowhere, along with two others, to take their