Page 7 of The Darkest Chase
“Yes, well…” He looks away sharply, his eyes glassy as they fix on the window. “That’s why I called you here, isn’t it?” He’s a bit more crisp and businesslike as he turns his back on me, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite his desk before folding his hands behind his back. “Please, Miss Grey. Take a seat.”
“I don’t understand.” Frowning, I sink down into the chair and put my purse on the floor, clutching the portfolio in my lap.
“This manor has been trapped in time for generations,” Xavier says. “It hasn’t changed a bit since before I was born. Decades of dead lives and dead people entombed in these halls. Shadows and shades haunting the place. Wretched fucking memories. The kind that chased my parents away and make living here a pain I can’t describe.”
Oof.
Without seeing his hyena face, it’s hard not to feel the pain in his voice.
I really should have some compassion.
He’s probably a victim of the same nightmare plaguing the family after his brothers turned out to be such monsters. I’m sure he’s struggling with the full horror of what Ulysses and Aleksander did while still grieving them as lost brothers.
“So you’d like to change something in the house?” I venture.
“I want you to change the manor,” he growls. “Every piece of furniture, every tapestry, every statue, every pedestal, every drape, every fixture—I want them all replaced. A full interior redesign from the ground up.”
Holy shit.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
My vision clouds with black stars before I catch myself with a gasp.
“The whole house?” I whisper, wondering if I even heard him right. My voice sounds tiny. “But we’re a small business. My grandfather and I are only two people, and this house—I’m sorry, but it must have like fifty rooms?”
“Sixty-eight when you include servants’ quarters, as well as outbuildings like the stables and gardener’s cottage,” Xavier says sharply. “I want the Grey touch on all of them.”
My mind spins.
“That would take years for just the two of us. Not to mention the colors, the draperies—we’re not interior designers. We bring in consultants for that sort of thing. We’re really just furniture people. We don’t—”
My throat closes off.
Xavier pivots to face me again, fixing me with a penetrating stare. “Then it takes years, Miss Grey. Consider it a lasting partnership. I’ll consult you on every detail. We’ll be working very closely together.” He arches one sharp, mocking blond brow. “Is that why you’re so ruffled? Since being alone with me makes you so uncomfortable.”
“What? No, it’s not that at all!” Like I said, I’m such a bad liar. It’s mostly that for sure. “You just caught me a little off guard. We’ve never had a project this large before. We’ll have to finish out our current client orders, put off any new ones, possibly hire contractors, not to mention the expense…”
“Spare none,” he barks back. “I’m prepared to spend seven figures on this, Miss Grey.” He smiles his cold, thin jackal’s smile. “I know you’ve grown up in this town. Surely, you know that money is no obstacle for an Arrendell.”
Am I dreaming?
That’s almost enough money to send me reeling again.
Seven. Flipping. Figures.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
I’ll need to do a real tour of the mansion. Get a feel for things and what he wants if I’m going to prepare a cost estimate without laughing myself silly.
Seven figures, though—even if it’s the lowest end—would leave more than enough to help Grandpa.
Nerves war with dizzy hope until my chest flutters.
“Are you sure you want us?” I raise my leatherbound folio. “I brought our project portfolio—”
He waves one long hand—and that’s when I notice his fingernails are surprisingly thick and yellow, maybe a bit too long. Is his hand shaking, too?
Grief, maybe?