At last he sits back in his seat, nodding thoughtfully. "The Bellamy recommended you as the staff member with the most potential," he says. "I think I have to agree."
I feel a flicker of pride at his words, my chest swelling slightly. "I'm honored that they think so highly of me. If I might ask, Mr. Castellani—what happened to the former employee in this role?"
Julian does not answer for a moment, still smiling that smile as he stares at me. "He died," he says at last. "Heart attack. But let's not dwell on that; let's look to the future.Yourfuture, Darian Thornfield-Hayes. Have you given it much thought?"
All through the interview, whenever he'd said my name, he said the whole thing, just like that. And it's becoming unnerving, given that I added in the Thornfield myself.
Darian Hayes was too plain for the future I envisioned. The first day I moved to LA, I double-barreled myself, made my name sound just a little more chic than plain old Darian Hayes. Many people in LA change their names, vying to become the person they want to be when they visualize success.
So why shouldn't I?
"I have a five-year career plan," I tell Julian Castellani. And then, somehow, I find myself sharing exactly what it is—my dream to own my own establishment, and exactly how I plan to get there.
"Very good," Julian says at last. "I like ambitious people. But I must warn you," he adds, "we'll have to run some background checks. Would you be comfortable with that?"
For the first time, I hesitate, though not about the check itself. The Bellamy conducted similar background assessments when I began working for them. "Would…Mr. DeLuca be running them?"
"You object?" Julian asks with interest.
"Oh, no," I say hurriedly. "Of course not. I'd be delighted to provide my details. I just wondered if it would be…Mr. DeLuca personally…" I give up. That sentence is going nowhere good.
Julian tilts his head to one side. "I see," he says. And I feel, uncomfortably, that he does—that he sees much more than I want him to see, in fact. "As it happens, I've already had those checks run."
My eyebrows shoot up. "But how did you?—"
"The Bellamy was very accommodating. And of course, we have access to all sorts of information here at Redwood. I was very satisfied with the results. I wouldn't have interviewed you otherwise."
"I'm glad they met with your approval?" I say, but it comes out sounding like a question.
Julian leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies me intently. "So what do you think, Darian Thornfield-Hayes?" he asks, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Do you believe you have what it takes to excel here at Redwood Manor?"
CHAPTER 2
RAFFI
I leanagainst the wall just outside the grand salon, trying to listen in as the interview goes on. My eyes are fixed on the closed, ornate double doors, as if I could see through them and into the room by sheer force of will.
But I can't see anything. Can't hear anything, either. They're talking too damn soft.
Darian Thornfield-Hayes. Intriguing guy. Andfine. Honey-blond hair, lean build, elegant features… I've always had a soft spot for those smaller, slender types. The minute I looked into the car, my pulse picked up. The wide, frightened eyes…the way he accepted my reassurance straight away…and that timeless look that oozes sophistication. His suit hugged him perfectly, both classy and sexy as hell.
I wanted to peel it off him right there in the driveway, had to watch myself during the pat down. I made it as pro as possible. Didn't want him thinking I was just pawing at him for the sake of it. But those eyes of his watched every move I made as I checked him for weapons and wires, warm amber eyes that I could get lost in...
But I'm already worried about him.
He's pretty damn naive. Oblivious, even, to the nature of the Castellani Family. And hell, why wouldn't he be? To the outside world, the Castellanis have an impeccable front. Generous philanthropists, art connoisseurs, high society darlings—and yeah, some film industry involvement, like Darian thought.
As for the blood, bribes and broken kneecaps propping up their empire? Well, in LA, people look the other way.
But if Julian hasn't let on about things by the time the interview's done, I'll…well, I'll have to do something about it.
Footsteps approach and I straighten up, recognizing the distinct gait. Max Pedretti ambles down the long corridor from Sandro Castellani's study. I catch his gaze and hiss quietly, "Hey, Pedretti. You got a sec?"
He alters course and comes over to me, one salt-and-pepper brow lifting. "What is it, DeLuca?"
I jerk my head toward the grand salon. "That potential new butler, Darian, he's in there with Julian."
Pedretti's gaze flicks to the closed doors, then back to me. "What's the problem? Julian told me the background checks Jack ran were fine."
