“Ew, nope. Too much dirt.” I screw up my face. “But I had this professor I adored. Professor Lewicki. She wasbrilliant, but she was hopelessly disorganised, always late to class and losing her phone or important pieces of paper. I won a summer scholarship to work as her research assistant, and nearly had a heart attack when I stepped into her office on the first day. It was a complete shambles, with papers and books everywhere. She couldn’t find a thing.”
I shudder, remembering the piles of paperwork in Professor Lewicki’s office and other, much taller piles that had taken over my mother’s kitchen, and the way the floor sagged and squelched beneath every step from the water damage.
“I knew I couldn’t work the whole summer in that mess, so I offered to organise everything for her. I’ve always liked things to be tidy.” I suck in a breath as the old shame comes flooding back.Just because he saved you last night doesn’t mean he cares about you. He’s merely being polite.“I don’t like owning a lot of stuff. I thought I could help her. I spent the first week of my internship cleaning her office and researching ways to help her stay organised. She was so impressed that she told me I had to meet a friend of hers, Faye, who was starting her own interior design business.
“I dropped out of uni the next week, and I became Faye’s first employee, and then later, when I created the Winnie Wins System, we became business partners. In the early days, we worked out of a pokey front room in Faye’s Fulham flat. Faye’s parents are dignitaries and she has lots of wealthy contacts. I helped the clients organise their designer shoe collections and create Instagram-worthy children’s bedrooms, and Faye did all the design work and schmoozed the clients. A couple of years ago, we did a penthouse design for a celebrity influencer, and she and Faye hit it off and started creating design and organising content together. Now Faye has more followers than that influencer, so she focuses on building our online brand profile while I’m in charge of the design and organising team.”
And everything else.
I shove the accounts out of my head.
“Influencer? Content? Brand profile?” Alaric’s lips twist as he takes another sip of wine. “None of these termsare familiar to me.”
“That’s right, I forgot that you live in an Edgar Allen Poe story and eschew technology.” He rolls his eyes, but laughs all the same. “Influencers are people who make a living posting about a certain topic on the internet. My boss, Faye, makes videos showing people how to organise their designer purse collections or use scheduling software to make sure they don’t miss a single Botox appointment. I bet there are model train influencers on TikTok arguing about who built it best, Stephenson or Brunel.”
“There’s no argument to be had,” Alaric says, not a trace of irony on his stern features. “It’s Brunel, all the way.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Exactly.AndBrunel had the best fashion sense. Why stovepipe hats aren’t still in style, I’ll never know. You know, you could be an influencer yourself, if you ever fancy a career change from brooding, reclusive lord of the manor. You could make videos about your hobbies, like learning how to weave and?—”
Reginald appears suddenly to take my plate. “Reginald, that was delicious. I refuse to believe you simply whipped that up from leftovers you had lying around. Would it be possible to have that hot drink now?”
“Certainly, ma’am. I can offer you coffee, a selection of teas, or hot chocolate made from a recipe my grandmother passed down to me.”
One never passes up an opportunity for fancy chocolate. “I’ll take the hot chocolate.”
Raw pleasure crosses Reginald’s face. “I’m so happy. I hardly get to make Granny’s hot chocolate these days. I’ll be right back.”
Alaric and I settle into a comfortable silence, until Reginald returns with a steaming mug.
“What time would you like to begin tomorrow?” I ask, raising the hot chocolate to my lips. “I’m here to work with you, so I’ll fit into your nocturnal schedule.”
“I usually arise around 5 pm.”
Wow, he wasn’t kidding about being a creature of the night.
“It might take me a few days to adjust to that time.” Especially given my sleep issues. I long to ask Alaric whyhe has chosen those late hours, but he’s my client – it’s none of my business why he does the things he does. I’m paid to indulge his whims.
I sip the hot chocolate. It’samazing.
Before I can stop myself, a small moan of pleasure escapes my lips.
Exactlythe same sound I made at the pub when he kissed me.
Alaric jerks back, his dark eyes flashing. His wine splashes down the front of his old-fashioned shirt. He does not attempt to wipe it. Instead, he glares at me as though I’m some wild creature who has found its way into his castle and he doesn’t know what to do with me.
My cheeks flare with heat. I slam my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The moan hangs in the silence between us.
“Ms Preston,” Alaric says stiffly. “You should retire to bed.”
“I’m not tired!” I insist, taking another sip of hot chocolate. It’s spiced with flavours that I don’t recognise. As I drink it, my eyelids droop. “It’s like battling jet lag. I’ve gotta stay up so that I can reset my body clock …”
Alaric rises from his chair just as my eyes fall completely shut, and the world fades into shadow and slumber.
CHAPTER NINE
ALARIC
Callista: Alaric Valerian, answer your phone! We have important matters to discuss prior to my visit. Word has reached me about a murder in your village – the body has been husked. You may have chosen to shut yourself away from the world, but you represent the Nightshade Court and this is a violation on your watch. If you don’t do something to find this aberration and bring them to justice, I will.
