Page 8 of The Darkest Chase

“I’m familiar with your work,” he snaps. “I make it my business to be familiar with everything that happens in Redhaven. You don’t need to sell yourself. You only need to tell me if you’ll take the job.”

He glares at me.

“…can I have a day or two to think it over? I’ll bring this back to my grandfather, of course, and we’ll see what we can do.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from down a wind tunnel. “We just need to figure out if we can do this, realistically. If we’re only going to let you down, it wouldn’t make sense. Ethically, I mean.”

Something odd crosses his face when I say ethically.

Then he sighs with clear irritation, his nostrils flaring as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, yes. Take all the time you need. But I’ll need an answer soon.” He leans over his desk, plucks a business card out of a glossy wooden holder, and passes it over. “My personal number.”

I wonder if my face is weird now at the way he says personal, but I take the card anyway, careful not to touch his fingers.

“Thank you.”

“Miss Grey.” He nods cordially, and that’s when I realize I’ve been dismissed.

Ouch.

Part of me wants to be offended, but I’m happy to escape.

My skin thrums with goosebumps. The air feels ten degrees colder than it should, and I think it’s just my nerves but maybe it’s him.

Do I really want to deal with this? Spending years working in close collaboration with a man who makes me so uneasy?

But there’s big money on the line.

There’s Grandpa’s health.

I can do it for him. I think.

“Thank you again, Mr. Arrendell,” I say hollowly, grabbing my purse and speedwalking away.

When I open the door, I almost shriek.

The valet who escorted me before materializes like a phantom. He gives me the same dry look, his dark eyes knowing, right before he reaches past me to close the door.

“Miss Grey,” he says politely—a bit shamefaced, and I don’t understand why until he continues, “I’m afraid I have some bad news about your truck.”

I stand at the foot of the tall stairs outside the mansion, staring at my truck in dismay.

Yes, it’s still in the same spot where I left it. But now the second valet, who looked so offended at having to drive it, just looks apologetic as he offers me my keys.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with stick shifts,” he says stiffly. “I’ll inform the young master, and I’m certain he’ll cover all repairs.”

“In the meantime,” the first valet says, “I’ll have a car brought around immediately to return you to your shop.”

“What? No,” I say too quickly, my stomach sinking. I don’t want much to do with anything Arrendell right now. I definitely don’t want the looks I’ll get for showing up at home in one of their cars.

That’ll send the small-town rumor mill spinning, especially when everyone’s probably hungry for more salacious gossip about the last Arrendell son left at home. I don’t want people thinking I’m his new fling or situationship or whatever.

Groaning, I thank God I wore short, sensible heels today. “It’s fine, guys. I’ll walk. And I’ll send Mort up with a tow truck when I can. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Miss Grey,” they say simultaneously.

This place is so surreal.

And just like that, I’m on my own again.

Sighing, I set out for the road.