Recommended Soundtrack: Midnight City / M83
KLAUS POV
"That piece was supposed to be shipped out from Paris three days ago. Are you telling me it has yet to be removed from it's hook?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mikaelson. I- I was certain it had been sent out," the man on the other end of the line replied in a thick French accent.
"Well your definition of certain does not seem to match mine. That particular artwork happens to be the centerpiece of an exposition that is due to be opening in less than a week. Do you know what that means?"
"I- Well, it-"
"It means that if it isn't here within two days, when it is supposed to arrive, you will find yourself out of a job."
Silence on the other end of the line. A second later, the man responded.
"I'll have it shipped through express mail this afternoon, Mr. Mikaelson."
"This afternoon?" Was he serious?
"Uh- now. It'll be shipped now." Much better.
"Good," I said and pressed the end call button. "Fucking French and their leisure."
Two more paintings and one sculpture still needed to be accounted for. I needed to call the museum to make sure that they had checked in all of the paintings and sculptures. If all went well, in two days this job would be done on my end.
I checked the time on my laptop screen- 2:57 a.m. All the other calls that needed to be made would be rather rude at this late hour. Dammit.
I stood and stretched, logging off of my laptop and shutting off the desk lamp.
There were hardly any sounds in the house at night. Just like every other house, I assume.
My throat was dry from talking so I head into the kitchen to grab a glass of milk. Honestly, I needed alcohol more than anything but I would be going to bed soon so what was the point.
I grabbed the gallon of milk out of the fridge and poured a decent amount into a tall glass. Not feeling very tired yet, I decided to walk through the house. I was barefoot, and the floor was cool.
It's a little drafty in here. Why is that painting crooked?
I stopped, setting my glass down on a nearby table and adjusted the Rembrandt replica. Damned maids.
I grabbed my glass and continued to walk towards the back of the house. There were curtains drawn over the glass doors and I stopped to pull them back to look over the gardens.
They were pristine. The grass was manicured, the hedges were trimmed, and the flowers accentuated the scenery. There were lights strung through the trees, and lanterns lighting that paths that curved through the gardens. It was a rather mystical sight.
She would have loved this...
Wait.
The lights weren't supposed to be on. They were only turned on when there were evening guests or when there was a party. If they were left on every night, that would be a ridiculous amount of energy and money wasted.
The lights were controlled from the side shed. The gardener probably tripped on the switch or something. Was it really this hard to find good help these days?
"If you want something done right..." I started, setting my half finished glass of milk on a nearby table and pulling one of the glass doors open. Thoughts of going to France myself to pick up that painting crossed my mind. Should've just taken it when I went scouting…
I had forgotten that I didn't have shoes on, so I was walking through the dewy grass barefoot, and then into the loose gravel by the side of the house. Fantastic.
To add to my growing irritation, the shed door had been left ajar. And the light on.
Note to self: Fire the gardener.
I pushed open the door and was stepping in when I stopped, staring down at the ground.
A pair of clear green eyes flashed to mine.
"What the bloody hell?" It turned out louder than I intended.
The blonde who had been laying on the ground holding a book above her face shot up, standing ramrod straight.
"Whoa," she started, holding her hands out, palms facing me, her eyes wide. "Calm down."
Her legs were bare. I blinked twice, still staring at her legs. Yeah, no pants. Holy fuck.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my shed?"
She stared for a second as if not expecting the question. Then she blinked and her face softened a little and she held out her hand.
"I'm Caroline," she said. I looked down at her small hand. Her nails were painted blue.
I slipped my hand into hers. She was warm, and her hand was soft.
I looked back up at Caroline, who was staring at me questioningly.
"What?"
"Well," she said, her eyebrows slightly raised.
"What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Your name?"
"Nik," I said, and then swallowed. What the hell was that? I never introduced myself as Nik. How did that slip?
A large smile spread over Caroline's face and her eyes lit up.
"Nice to meet you," she said, sounding genuinely kind and earnest. She let go of my hand.
Silence.
Why was I here again? Light, right. Wait, a stranger in my shed is the priority right now.
"So Caroline," I started. "What are you doing in my shed?"
"This is your shed?" She asked.
Huh? I just… "Um...yes?" Wait, yes, it was my shed. Why did I make that sound like a question?
"So that's your house?" She pointed in the general direction of the house, right behind her.
"That's right," I nodded slowly. Was she… slow, or something?
"This area," she started, making a circular motion with her hand to indicate the area, I assumed. "Is your property?"
"Correct," I confirmed.
"Oh," she said. "Nice place," she added. "Your shed is ritzier than most."
She was looking around then, eyeing the walls and tools as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.
And I was left speechless, staring as she turned in a circle to look around the entire room.
No pants. Right.
She wore a long gray t-shirt that hit her leg above mid thigh. She looked up when her back was to me and her long hair cascaded down her back. It was styled into some sort of twists. Interesting.
She kept turning and I kept ogling, unable to look away. My brain was registering everything at once.
Jesus, if my eyes weren't deceiving me, then she wasn't wearing a bra. And those legs. They were toned and lightly tanned. There were two woven anklets on her left ankle. Her toes were painted blue, too. Cute.
There was a blanket and a large knapsack at her feet. The knapsack was pushing up on the main light switch. Guess I wouldn't have to fire the gardener…
Caroline had finished admiring the shack and looked back at me, smiling softly. She snapped her fingers as if she had remembered something.
"Oh! Why I'm here, right, yes. Well, I needed a place to sleep, so…" She gestured towards her feet where her bed had apparently been made.
"How long have you been here?"
"Um, an hour. Two tops."
"And you were planning on spending the night here?"
"Yes."
"Do you do this often?" I remembered her "ritzier than most" shed comment.
"Eh," she shrugged. "Now and then."
I blinked. "Now and then?"
"Whenever it's necessary."
"When is it ever necessary to sleep in a shed?" I scoffed. She swallowed, the soft smile dropping from her face.
"Alright," she said. "I'm sorry about the intrusion. I'll get out of your hair now."
She slipped her feet into a pair of Chuck Taylors I hadn't seen, stuffed her book into her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder.
She squeezed past me and started down the driveway and was well a ways away when I finally snapped out of whatever trance I'd been in. Her mood swing had thrown me off.
"Wait!" I called.. "Where are you going?"
She swung around but continued to walk backwards. "Places," she answered.
"Do you at least own pants?" First I tell her my name is Nik and now I'm asking her about pants. Yeah, I needed sleep. Soon.
"Of course I do," she snorted, not even looking down at her pant-less state.
"You forgot your blanket!" I called. She was pretty far away now, and I didn't want her to leave. Because wandering off into the night without pants would be a bad thing, not because I particularly wanted her to stick around or anything. And because she left her blanket, too.
"That was in the shed when I got there," she gave a shrug. The shadows falling over her face shifted as she made a face. "You're a pretty lousy shed owner if you don't know what's in your own shed."
Dammit. "Caroline!" I called and she slowed but took another step back. "Will you just...wait," I grumbled loudly but she probably hadn't heard.
I jogged over to her. She was still walking backwards, slower though.
My feet hurt. Right, no shoes.
"You can stay, if you want to that is." I offered.
She frowned a little. "You're letting me stay in your shed?"
"What? No, I meant inside the house." Did she really think I would let her sleep on the cold hard ground?
"Uh," she started, looking up at the mansion. "Gee, I don't know."
I huffed. Why was she being difficult? "Listen, it's past three in the morning. And we're a long walk away from town so you probably won't find another place for at least another one to two hours. You'd probably fall asleep in the forest first."
She shrugged. "It's not that bad."
What? I took a breath and decided that she meant that she had gone camping overnight and had slept in the woods in a tent with other people accompanying her. On the camping trip, not in the tent.
"Okay, well. I have plenty of rooms in the house. You can spend the night and leave tomorrow if you wish."
She looked at me quizzically for a second and I could see that she was thinking about it. It took less than a minute for her to respond.
"Fine," she said, and started walking back towards the house.
Okay, then.
Will anyone actually read this?
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