Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“I admit this isn’t my area of expertise, so no. I’m open to suggestions.” He glances at his watch, pulling the sleeve of his expensive suit back before sweeping a hand out, gesturing toward the stairs. Just like that, with an almost mocking bow, the smug asshole returns. “If you’ll allow me—we’re pressed for time. You should see the outbuildings.”
Pressed for time? Why?
But I keep the question to myself as I follow him downstairs.
He leads me through a complex maze of corridors, sections that look mostly like servants’ areas, the kind of behind-the-scenes halls that let them get around easily—until one opens to the midday sun and pathways leading out into expansive grounds.
Much larger than I expected, honestly.
The massive labyrinthine grounds feel like they must have their own dimension apart from Redhaven to be able to fit on the backside of the hill where the mansion perches.
Xavier shows me stables, gardeners’ sheds, the pool and pool house, a hedge maze, storage buildings, and long fields for riding around and playing cricket.
I keep snapping photos, partly with an eye for work and partly looking for anything that could help Micah.
So far, I haven’t spotted anything useful. But maybe Micah’s experienced eye will catch something in the photos I overlooked as mundane.
What’s definitely not mundane, though, is the sudden shift in tone as Xavier leads me between two hedgerows into a quiet clearing in the middle of a grove of willows. There’s a flower-lined pond on one side and a small table in the center, draped in white fabric and set up for two.
A man in Arrendell livery stands at attention beside a cart piled high with covered dishes, right next to an ice bucket and a gleaming champagne bottle.
My brain stops cold.
I blink at the table, then at Xavier.
He smiles indulgently, like he’s expecting me to be impressed.
“I thought we could discuss the contract and quotes over lunch,” he says. “I had it prepared in advance.”
“O-oh. Oh, wow. Very thoughtful.”
That’s why he was checking his watch?
So he could spring this on me?
I try not to frown.
Now this entire consultation feels like a ruse to get me into this date-like situation, but no. I can’t flatter myself that way.
No one—not even an Arrendell—would go through this much trouble to get a girl like me in an uncomfortable situation for very little payout besides getting to watch me squirm. Right?
So I just brush it off with a smile.
“Thanks,” I clip. “I had a light breakfast, so I’m starving.”
He almost looks disappointed I’m not gushing all over him.
But he moves to pull my chair out.
Yes, it takes all my willpower to grit my teeth and keep smiling as I settle down and set my folio and bag against the chair.
I hate the creepy-crawly feeling that darts through me as he leans over, pushing my chair in.
His body heat, yikes.
I catch a whiff of an odd smell wafting off him—like burning rubber mixed with nail polish remover? If that’s his aftershave, he should really look into changing it, and there goes my appetite, too.
So when the servant sets plates in front of us with everything from egg salad sandwiches to shrimp cocktails, custard cups, and some sort of savory thin-sliced beef dish drizzled in gravy, I’m ready to gag.
Across from me, Xavier looks at me mildly.
“Are you well, Talia? You look a little pale.”
“I—oh. I sat down too fast, that’s all. It’s a side effect of my asthma, orthostatic hypotension. Sometimes if I move too fast, my blood pressure drops.” I’m babbling now. There goes the cool, calm spy lady with her smile etched in stone. But I’d rather reveal that little vulnerability about myself than tell him that his body odor or cologne or whatever nauseated me that much. I force a shaky smile. “Just give me a second and it’ll simmer down.”
“Miss, this may help,” the valet standing by says, pouring a glass of ice water before setting it close to my plates.
There’s something almost knowing about the way he says it, deferential but understanding. I flash him a grateful smile and pick up the glass in both hands, taking a deep sip.
“Thank you,” I say over the rim.
He’s right, the cold water helps settle my nausea pretty fast.
Xavier looks weirdly displeased, and he flicks his fingers at the servant.
“You may go,” he snaps.
The man bows briefly, and I don’t think I’m imagining that he bows a little deeper to me than he does to Xavier before he excuses himself without a word, disappearing between the tall hedge paths.
Leaving me alone with Xavier Arrendell.
Crud.
I can’t help looking for exits, trying to remember the way we came through.
The man just watches me, that cold, canny look back in his eyes. I feel like he’s trying to figure out how to—how to break me?
I don’t even know, but it’s nothing good.