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)
“Certainly, miss. All is well.”
Is it?
“I’m not trying to pry,” I say quickly, lurching forward to walk next to him. “I just feel a little like I upset you when I asked about Cora Lafayette. You’re obviously still grieving and that’s okay. It must be hard working in the house where she died.”
Where this rotten family killed her, I want to say, but I don’t dare.
There’s a subtle stiffness to Joseph’s posture as he glances at me, folding his hands behind his back.
“I appreciate your concern, Miss Grey,” he says neutrally. “Fortunately, I am managing as well as I can.”
Dang.
He’s a tough nut to crack.
I guess he’d have to be, working here.
The things he sees, the secrets he keeps—like those late-night drives into the woods—I almost shudder to imagine.
He’d have to be a human fortress just to stay sane.
Rather than push him and make it too obvious, I just smile silently, letting him lead me along. Right next door to the office, there’s another door slightly cracked.
I can just make out a long, glossy conference table and a large monitor with someone’s face on it. There’s a shadow passing back and forth through the slit, a hint of Xavier’s tall silhouette, the shoulder of his well-tailored suit and the glint of his blond hair.
“—don’t care if you have to build a fucking bridge across the Atlantic. Just get the damn ship into port!” I can hear him snarling—cold, furious words so different from the icy calm way he speaks to me. “When did I start paying you to make excuses?”
Joseph clears his throat pointedly.
“Miss Grey.” He pushes the door to Xavier’s office open.
Crap.
I shouldn’t be so obvious with my eavesdropping.
“Thanks,” I murmur, ducking past Joseph and into the empty room.
It doesn’t feel as stifling without Xavier inside.
The golden light through the curtains actually feels a little welcoming as the sun pours over smooth varnished wood like honey.
“Would you care for a refreshment while you wait?” Joseph asks. “Tea, soda, water, coffee. We also have a small selection of pastries on hand. I could potentially scare the kitchen into putting together a light brunch, if you’re feeling hungry.”
“Oh, wow. I ate before I left, but thanks. A bottled water would be lovely,” I say. He’s starting to leave, and I take another chance, turning to face him. “Mr. Peters! Um, are you sure you’re all right?” Time to be direct. I need him to know this is important. “You just seem tired. Too many late-night drives?”
Joseph freezes in the doorway.
His face goes pale.
He looks over his shoulder sharply, then steps inside and shuts the door quickly behind him. I’ve never seen his eyes so unsettled.
Ouch.
Even with the door closed, I can still hear Xavier’s angry voice, though I can’t make out what he’s saying when it’s muffled by the walls.
But it’s Joseph who steals my focus as he hisses, “What do you know?”
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Okay.
So, that worked, but it doesn’t mean I know how to handle this. I haven’t leveled up my spy points that much.
I fumble for a moment, licking my lips.
“I know it must be hell cleaning the mud out of the town car’s tires in the morning. It’s not really made for old logging trails, is it?”
His eyes widen, glinting with fear.
His hands are still clutched on the doorknob behind him, and now they tighten until his gloves squeak as they rub the brass.
“Miss Grey,” he says gruffly. “I need you to be very clear what you’re implying right now.”
“I can’t be. You know I can’t. Not any more than you can be open about what we’re discussing,” I say. “But if you want to get out of this and not be implicated as an accomplice, I know someone you should talk to.”
His jaw juts out. “Respectfully, you know exactly what happens to people with loose lips in this household, Miss Grey.”
“That’s exactly why you should. Because of what happened to her.”
Cora, I mean. There’s no need to say her name to his face.
I step closer.
I’ve never seen a man his height flinch back from someone as small as I am, but he winces like he thinks I could hurt him.
“Mr. Peters… Joseph, doesn’t it ever eat you up inside, doing their dirty work and staying quiet for the folks who killed someone you cared so much about?”
“…that was Aleksander. And frankly, the little bastard got what was coming.” His voice turns bitter, hard with sorrow. He averts his eyes. “Miss Grey, please don’t press this matter. I’ve made peace with my demons. I suggest you work on yours before you wind up involved with something over your head. I’m warning you for your own good.”
Fear knifes through me.
“I…” I lose it, feeling like a door’s just been slammed in my face. I hope Micah won’t be disappointed that I possibly screwed this up. I look away, fretting my hands against the strap of my bag. “Mr. Peters, I’m sorry. Please just don’t mention this to the Arrendells?”