Page 4 of The Darkest Chase

I’ve been working under him my entire life. Learning his trade. One day, this shop and the entire business will be mine.

My stomach churns at the thought. I don’t usually do customer-facing things, and dealing with people like them—

No, you can do it.

He’s worth it.

And he absolutely is.

Fine, whatever.

If the Arrendells really want us, they’ll just have to settle for the lesser Grey.

My bravado’s not holding up as well the following morning.

The very first thing I do is check my purse for my inhaler.

I throw on a smart pink skirt suit—the only nice outfit I really have in my favorite color—and low heels, then pin my hair up before heading out, kissing Grandpa on the cheek as he hovers over his morning coffee in the kitchen of our loft above the shop.

He glances up at me, his eyes bright and clear today. Present.

“Look at you,” he says cheerfully. “What’s with the getup? Big date this early in the morning?”

“Grandpa, no! I’m meeting a potential client.” I drop another kiss on top of his head. “I’ll tell you all about the job when I get back.”

I leave him blinking after me curiously as I escape before he starts asking any real questions. He might not have been there yesterday, but he’s sharp today, and I’m—

I’m not a good liar.

I still feel a little weird not telling Grandpa where I’m going, but I don’t want to get his hopes up in case this doesn’t work out.

I borrow our only vehicle for the uphill drive, a rickety dark-grey delivery truck.

The Arrendell mansion looms over Redhaven like a twisted castle, perched at the peak of the tallest forested hill overlooking the small valley that cups our little colonial village.

There’s only one road leading up, a winding paved lane that passes under bowers of trees bursting with spring growth.

The mansion itself resembles a strange white dragon coiled at the peak, this eerie brooding thing of tall columns and white marble and old Gothic architecture.

My nerves flutter wildly as I pull into the circular roundabout at the foot of the massive, palatial steps leading up to the house. As I park the truck, it coughs out a black cloud of smoke from the tailpipe.

Way to make a good first impression.

I feel like the universe is trying to remind me I don’t belong anywhere in spitting distance of this place.

At least I’m a few minutes early, though.

I sling my purse over my shoulder, tuck the shop’s project portfolio under my arm, and step out, handing the keys to a valet who looks nearly identical to the man who came to the shop yesterday.

Wait. That is him, I think. His nose wrinkles at the bitter smell of exhaust.

“Sorry!” I hate how small my voice sounds. “You, um, you have to pump the clutch a few times. If you don’t want to bother, you can just leave it here.”

“Miss,” he says calmly, sliding behind the driver’s seat.

I watch for a moment with a wince as the truck sputters while he fights the clutch. Then I turn—and nearly jump right out of my skin as the man from yesterday materializes at my elbow.

The actual man from yesterday, I mean, though with their identical haircuts and nondescript faces I can’t be blamed for thinking they’re clones. Especially with those uniforms.