His face lights up, the heavy wrinkles lifting for a moment. “Why, thank you for noticing.”
“And this is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
He inclines his head and heads to the pantry but then pivots. “I will have a word with the other staff and let them know they are allowed to exchange pleasantries with you.”
“Ah, thank you again.” I leave my phone in the box and get to work. But I can’t help wondering what Leo meant by someone in my position. I shake it off—I’ve got supplies tobuy with Kieren’s black card. I hold it up to the light. I’ve only heard about things like this in movies. What does it even mean, being a black card?
When the internet and I are done with our little chat and I pick up my jaw from my desk—a black card is definitely a real thing, a real thing with no credit limit—I get to ordering. Shelving, conservation materials, premade software for collections that’s better than the spreadsheet I set up. I don’t go overboard. I’m really not sure how I feel about a certain one of the gentlemen, but I’m not going to take it out on his credit card. Or am I? I mean, it’s not like I’m buying a bottle of Cristal and caviar or diamonds. It’s materials to keep his collection from rot and destruction.
I throw in a few things that I don’t need and stare at the cart. I remove a bunch of it and then stare more. I see his massive claws coming at me, feel my heart racing, sticking in my throat. I put it all back and hit purchase before I chicken out. I jump from the seat and take a few steps back like an alarm is going to ring, blasting through the castle.
“Miss Fischer.”
I flinch.
“Oh, forgive me. I’m so used to the gentlemen hearing me when I enter a room. Would you like to have lunch now?”
“Holy crap, how did it get to be that late? Yes, thank you.”
“Do you know how to get to the garden?”
“Where the maze is?” I hold my voice firm.
“No, the other side. There’s a terrace on the opposite side from the car park. I can walk you there.”
“Um, no, that’s okay. I’ll find it on my own.”
“If you’re sure?”
I nod and smile, grabbing my notebook and the bag my phone came in before heading out.
I follow the hallway past the bathroom I found yesterday. There’s more staff wandering the halls here. I smile when they see me. I’m clearly the new girl. Everyone’s friendly, but no one stops to chat. They all seem to have somewhere to be.
“This way to the eastern patio?” I ask a man around my age wearing a gardening hat.
“Yes, you’re on the right track.” He waves at me as I pass.
Sunshine streaks in down the hall. I speed up because otherwise I’m going to end up a recluse who never wants to go outside again. Face your fears. Wren’s talked to me about plenty of people who let themselves become paralyzed because of their fear of flying. I’m not going to let myself become afraid of the beautiful gardens or moonlit nights. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with a healthy dose of fear of two-ton, flying, fire-breathing, claw-wielding dragons.
Not helping, not helping.
What is helping is pushing through the door to the outside. It’s not boiling today. On top of that, it’s beyond gorgeous out here. The brick patio has a formal portico above it, with weeping wisteria vines hanging over the edges.
On a metal table is a tray containing a plate with a silver cloche over it. Honestly, I usually skip lunch, but after last night, I figure I need to make the most of my day. I’m still contemplating fleeing. But I need the job. I need it not only for the money but because it will build my resumé. It’s going to change everything. At least, that’s the mantra I keep repeating.
Before I start eating, I remove the phone from its boxand turn it on. There’s one of those indestructible cases on it and a screen shield. When it powers on, the screensaver is a picture of me and Wren, but not the one with my last cup of coffee I made at the café, like it was on my old phone yesterday. Again, I’m wondering about the personal boundaries of these guys.
There’s a couple of messages from Wren. I send her a picture of the garden and another of my perfect sandwich. I inhale it and allow myself a good ten minutes of doomscrolling. I unfriend and unfollow Jeff on every platform I use and a few I haven’t opened in ages.Always use all the time you’re given for lunch—another Wren-ism. I have another ten minutes, so I open my favorite art news site. The headline reads: Largest collection of Monets sold to an unnamed buyer overnight in a private sale. Details from a reliable source who asks to remain anonymous.
No. It’s not . . .
20
RAINE
Ishut down the computer and stand in front of the alcove. I’ve made progress today. Not that anyone would be able to tell by walking in. But tomorrow, I’m going to start shifting things around, getting ready for the shelves. I’ve been busy all day. Which has kept me from thinking about last night or what I overheard the night before. Or the kiss with Evander and the way Roark hugged me. I keep wondering what I would do if I didn’t feel I needed this job for the money and prestige. I’d be gone, right?
You don’t have your boss almost carry you off like Godzilla and then... I’m not sure what Evander is to Kieren. Roark’s the head of security, but the more days I spend here, the more that feels like a crock. How can you be the head of security when there’s no other security people around?
