Page 60 of The Darkest Chase

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.”