The building and classrooms are nothing special, even though theyfeelspecial. There are small rooms with a variety of desks, chairs, and school supplies. Each schoolroom is decorated according to the teacher's personality and features various art projects created by the students.
Owen smiles but doesn’t respond as Charlie tugs on my hand and pulls me through large double doors that lead outside, behind the school.
I almost gasp, taking in the scene before me. The kids are spread out among rows and rows of food crops, berry bushes, fruit trees, and beautiful, flowering plants. Some of them sow seeds while others water, though most of them chase each other between the vegetation or steal ripe berries from bushes.
I’m not surprised this is how he spends his money—funding schools makes sense based on what Owen’s trying to do with his charity.
I can’t wrap my head around this man. On paper, he’s a murderer. In reality, it’s much more complicated.
“Something wrong, Miss Riley?” I’m pulled from my stupor by Owen’s deep voice far too close to my ear.
I step to the side, Charlie still clinging to my hand and trying to yank me forward. I laugh at his impatience and shrug at Owen as Charlie once again sweeps me away.
We’re almost running through the strawberry patch when Charlie’s mother, Charlotte, steps in front of him and holds up a hand. Charlie halts, dropping mine.
She looks stern, but her face soon melts into a smile. “Charlie, shouldn’t you be helping?”
Charlie groans and reluctantly obeys. He walks toward the group of young students planting far too many seeds in the small areas of dirt, plops down next to a little blond-haired girl, and starts stealing from her supply.
Charlotte sighs, watching, before returning her attention to me. She scans my body, a frown forming on her lips. “You can’t help in those clothes, Miss Riley.”
“I was not informed I’d be getting my hands dirty, or I would have come better prepared.” I pointedly glare at Own.
Charlotte's gaze lands on him beside me. “You didn’t tell her?”
Owen’s laugh is low, menacing. “I didn’t know if Miss Riley would want to get her hands dirty.”
“And why wouldn’t I want to help?” I cross my arms.
Owen holds up his hands in surrender. “My fault. I apologize, Miss Riley. I’m sure Charlotte can find you something suitable to wear.”
She frowns. “Of course I can, but may I advise that you bring your staff prepared for work next time? I’m not a clothing store, Mr. Mills.” She turns and starts walking back to the building.
I finally meet Owen’s eyes. They are full of amusement as he stares at me. I huff and stomp past him, racing to catch up with Charlotte. We walk in silence until we reach the doors.
She holds it open for me. “He must like you, Miss Riley.”
“Nora. Please call me Nora.”
Charlotte nods and follows me inside. “He doesn’t usually bring anyone from the office.”
“Not even his old assistant?” I ask, my intrigue growing.
She shakes her head.
His words of trust drift into my thoughts, and I can’t help the shiver that snakes down my spine. It should be a win—getting a target to trust me means the assignment is all but in the bag. So then why do I feel like shit?
Charlotte opens a storage closet and pulls out faded, denim overalls that look about the right size. She also grabs a worn pair of men's work boots and holds them up in front of her face. Her brow furrows, and her gaze shoots to my red heels.
“I can go barefoot,” I offer.
She cocks her head to the side. “Are you sure? I’m sure these would do for a short while.”
“I’m sure.”
“There’s a bathroom down the hall. You can hang your clothes in here when you’re done.”
I thank her. She nods, heading back in the direction of the garden.
