Page 57 of The Darkest Chase
Since there’s no salvaging my skirt and I don’t have another pair of pantyhose, I go for my nicest jeans and strappy sandals, paired with a loose, fluttery blouse in pale shell pink. Depending how I move it, I can skew it to one side and turn it into an off-the-shoulder blouse or rise up enough to become a crop top, even if it only shows an inch of flesh. I finish off the look with a patterned scarf in light-rose shades, knotted loosely against my neck so that the ends trail to one side and fall down my chest and back.
Casual. A little flirty, but not too much.
Stylish enough to pass for casual-professional chic even if it doesn’t dress up enough for real business casual.
Since Xavier’s giving me a tour today, I can say I dressed for the job. That house is fricking enormous, and I’d be ready to collapse trying to handle that hike in a pencil skirt and pumps.
I look cute, though.
And I kind of wish it wasn’t Xavier I was getting dressed up for.
No.
No way.
I’m still riding that high, romanticizing Micah as my very own vampire man.
Really, I’m just a useful tool to him. An unlikely partner, if I’m being generous.
All of that growly business by text about protecting me, coming for me, that’s just him guarding his investment in this weird little spy mission.
So I take a deep breath, check myself over one more time, and peek inside my folio to make sure I’ve got my work stuff before tumbling out of my room with my damp hair swaying against my shoulders. It’ll finish drying on the walk up the hill.
I’m not risking the truck stalling out at the big house again, and the walk will help clear my head.
When I step into the kitchen, my grandfather’s sitting at the kitchen table, lingering over an almost empty mug of tea. He glances up and offers me a smile.
“Heading up to the Arrendell place?”
“Mm-hmm.” I bend and kiss his wrinkled cheek. “Going to take the tour, get some photos, discuss what Xavier needs, and start sketching.”
I start to pull away, but he catches my wrist gently.
His fingers are long and tough despite the arthritis. His touch always makes me think of home when those hands have guided mine as he taught me over so many patient hours and months and years how to work miracles with wood.
They’re careful, sensitive hands, full of love. But the way he holds my wrist so delicately captivates me as he looks at me with blue eyes full of that same love—and concern.
“Tally,” he whispers. “You’re not pushing yourself too hard?”
One reason I love Grandpa is that he always lets me set my own limits.
He always asks what I can handle, instead of telling me.
Smiling, I gently pull my wrist free so I can lean over him and hug him tight, resting my chin on his head.
“I’m not,” I promise. “I’ll let you know if I am or if I need help. We’re going to have to hire some outsiders for this project anyway. It wouldn’t be so bad to have a few apprentices around.”
He curls his hand against my arm and leans against me, his bristly grey hair scratching my cheek.
“Think you’re ready to teach some young’uns?” He chuckles. “You’ve got a good eye for it.”
His praise brightens my spirits. By the time I snag a muffin and a bottled coffee from the fridge and head out, I’m feeling much lighter.
Also, far more ready to stare down Xavier Arrendell with a smile, never giving away that underneath the grin I’m actually Talia Grey, sexy spy girl extraordinaire.
I have a vivid imagination.
My brain dreams up several scenarios with Xavier as I make my way uphill, enjoying the brisk morning walk while nibbling my muffin.