“Ms. Maddox?”
“Yes?”
“Ms. Whitlock is ready for you now.”
My stomach squeezes as I rise, smoothing my hands down my jeans.
“Good luck,” Mandy whispers. “Don’t let her eat you.”
That doesn’t help. At all.
By the time I reach the last door, my hand hovers in front of it, frozen for half a second before I knock.
“Come in.”
Here goes nothing…
I push the door open and step inside, and there she is: the infamous Greer Whitlock, seated at a large desk with papers stacked neatly around her. She flips her curls over her shoulder, her eyes sharp and assessing as they lift to meet mine.
“You must be Sloane,” she says, her words smooth with a thread of subtle Southern drawl.
“I am.” I step forward, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Whitlock.”
She sits up straighter, looking me up and down before glancing toward the chair in front of her. “Well, don’t just stand there looking like I might bite.”
A nervous laugh slips out as I shut the door and drop into the seat, forcing myself not to fidget.
“So…” She crosses her jean-clad legs. “What’d Mandy tell you about me?”
I grimace. “Uh, nothing really.”
Her brow lifts. “Come on. I know people around here talk. Hell, if they stopped, I’d think I was doin’ something wrong.” She leans back as she folds her arms like she’s settling in for entertainment. “Don’t be shy. I wanna hear it. Nobody ever tells me this stuff to my face. Probably think I’ll shoot them or somethin’.”
That’s because you probably would.
I hesitate, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “I don’t want to offend you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” A faint grin tugs at her mouth. “If I got offended that easy, I’d never survive.”
I exhale and glance up at the ceiling before giving in. “Okay. Um…someone once said you have razor blades in your boots and?—”
“Mm…” Her eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”
“And that you skinned a man alive once.” My face stiffens, but I keep going. “That you tied another one to your horse and dragged him until he died. And that down in Texas, you poisoned a woman with your lipstick because she went after your boyfriend, but nobody could ever prove it.”
Silence. She just stares at me, her expression going completely unreadable. My nerves sink the longer she doesn’t say anything.
Okay, so this is the part where I get asked to leave…
Then, out of nowhere, she lets out a sharp bark of laughter, tipping her head back slightly as it rolls out of her.
“Well, damn.” She shakes her head. “People around here got more imagination than folks back home, that’s for sure.” She rests her forearms on the desk, eyes locking on to mine with a wicked glint. “I’ll tell you this much.”
My breath catches.
“Half of that’s true.” Her mouth curves into a slow smile. “I’ll let you decide which half.”
No, thank you. I’d rather not.
