And if I failed, if I messed up, if I guessed wrong…
Jacob would lose everything.
My chest tightened until it hurt.
I hadn’t known I was capable of hating Ben Stonewood… not until that very moment.
“Now.” Henry lifted his glass, suddenly the picture of polite, cheerful hospitality. “Eat. Drink. Observe. Tonight is about acclimating to the house and to one another. Your first challenge will be announced tomorrow.”
He sat.
Staff appeared from side doors, moving with quiet efficiency, setting plates in front of us, salad first, something intricate and leafy and drizzled with dressing I couldn’t name.
My stomach tied itself in one big, painful knot of anxiety. I took a bite anyway and tried to ignore how shaky the fork was in my hand. I chewed and swallowed without tasting a damn thing.
Jacob poured more water into my glass before I could reach for the pitcher. His sleeve brushed my arm.
I felt the brief contact like an electric jolt.
“Careful,” he leaned forward and murmured low enough that only I could hear him. “You’re holding the fork like it offended you.”
I looked down. The metal was bending just a little under my grip. I loosened my fingers and huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered back. “Yes. I don’t know.”
His leg brushed mine underneath the table, and the touch had to be deliberate because we were seated across from each other and there was plenty of space between my side of the table and his. I pressed my lips together to keep from gasping, but the warmth of him radiating through the silk of my dress anchored me in a way I wasn’t prepared to examine.
“Shoulders back,” he said quietly. “Chin up. Don’t let them see you rattled.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one on probation.
But he could lose his entire livelihood over this, idiot. He’s trying to be supportive, and he’s on the chopping block, too. Count your lucky stars you got a kind partner and move on.
Down the table a bit, one of the women, Number Twelve, if the pendant around her neck was anything to go by, was watching us like a hawk. She had glossy dark brown hair and a smile that looked sharp if you caught it from the wrong angle.
She speared a bite of salad, then turned her attention to me fully.
“So,” she said, bright and faux-pleasant. “How does one get blessed with a staff member who could potentially pass along inside knowledge as a partner? Asking for a friend.”
Number ten snorted into her wine.
Heat prickled at the back of my neck.
“I didn’t ‘get blessed’ with anything,” I said. “My original partner broke a rule. Henry eliminated him. Jacob volunteered so that I wouldn’t be automatically kicked out before we even started. End of story.”
“You say ‘Jacob’ like that’s not a violation,” Twelve said, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Isn’t he supposed to be ‘Number Seven’ now?”
I bit back my first response.
“He was introduced to me as Jacob,” I said evenly. “He helped me when my tire blew on the access road. I was late. He fixed it. He didn’t have to. It’s hard to boil all that kindness down into a designation like number seven.”
“He’s staff,” she said. “That’s kind of his job.”
The words dropped sourly between us.
Her partner, Number One, judging by his lapel pin — leaned forward, his mask catching the candlelight.
