Page 44 of Hate to Love You

My brows pull down as I slide my thumb over the screen bringing it to my ear.

“Hello, is that Abigail Wayne?” A polite female voice says through the speaker.

“Speaking,” I state, my brain racing to recognize the voice.

“It’s Lucy Roberts, calling from Nikotech investments. We have just reviewed your application and would love to invite you to an interview with Mr. Antonov on Monday at nine, sharp. Would that work for you?” she says.

A smile pulls across my face, “Yes absolutely, is there anything you wish for me to bring?” I ask.

“No, we have everything we need. Be at reception at eight forty-five, someone will come down to retrieve you. Dress business casual, and don’t be late.”

“Thank you, Lucy, I look forward to it.”

I shake the cat treats to tempt Lily back into the house, I have work to do, and I can’t have her free roaming in the garden near the greenhouse. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s five-thirty in the morning. I’ve always thought that it’s best to work in the greenhouse before the sun rises, less people awake to bother me then.

Lily chirps as she runs down the cobbled path toward the door, my breath clouds out in front of me drawing my attention to the temperature.

Fuck its cold.

“Come here sweet thing, let’s get you warm,” I whisper, bending down to scoop her up in my arms. Her little frame is cold to the touch, and her little paws are damp from the morning dew.

I walk toward her bowls, placing her down in front of them. As I sprinkle her treats on top of her kibble, I run my fingers through her soft fur, giving her tail a little wiggle as I reach it.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Lilibug.” I say, before quickly walking out of the kitchen, straight into the garden.

My greenhouse stands proudly at the end of the garden, the warm mist inside clinging to the walls and ceiling. The frame might be steel, but the rest of the structure is made of solid glass. It was the most expensive option, as it all needed to be custom fitted, but after doing an extensive amount of research, I felt it was the only material strong enough to provide protection for my collection.

At least it will be warm in there.

The lights flicker on as I open the greenhouse door, the warmth of the moist air hitting my skin.My shoulders relax as the floral scent wraps around me in a comforting embrace, and I gently pull the door closed.

The greenhouse is organized meticulously, there are four rows of plant beds. On the two outer rows I have fruits, vegetables and normal herbs, as well as many species of flowers in a wide array of colors. The two inner rows are where my Oleander, Deadly Nightshade, Strychnine, Henbane, Lily of the Valley and Foxglove are planted.

I decided that it was best to bed them in the middle to provide a level of protection to them.

While my neighbors don’t tend to bother me much, if any of them decided to get nosey, my arrangement means that they wouldn’t see the deadly plants first. If they peaked through the windows, they would only see the tomatoes and berries.

And, as an added protection, I deliberately planted comfrey around my Foxglove, knowing I could always say I enjoy brewing it into my tea.

As I walk through the greenhouse, I run my finger over the plant bed, feeling the dirt rub against my fingertip. My eyes scan the rows of marigolds and pansies, admiring how they reach for the sun that is yet to break the clouds.

I head toward the center where the workstation is located, which has a storage cupboard below, filled with all the supplies I could possibly need. I grasp the handle, pulling the door open to reach inside for a pair of latex gloves, the disposable pill capsules and my mortar and pestle.

Gently, placing them down onto the work bench, and using my foot to kick the door closed. I grab a pair of gloves before walking over to the back of the greenhouse to the small freezer.

Yesterday, I prepared my leaves to freeze dry them, delicately plucking them off the stems and placing them on a cooking tray before slotting them into the freezer. I flick my wrist to check the time. I have just over an hour before my sprinkler system kicks in.

Time to get to work.

I put on my gloves, hearing the satisfying snap against the skin of my wrist. I pull the tray out and head back to the work bench, placing the tray down with a resolute clang. I toss the leaves into the marble mortar, using the pestle to grind them down into a fine powder.

I’ve got this process down to a routine, but in the beginning it was hard. When I first started my arms ached, and my shoulders were full of knots. But now, I just zone out using my heartbeat as the rhythm to work in sync with. Once the leaves become powder, I use a small set of scales to weigh out the correct dosages, and then fill in the dissolvable capsules.

Originally, I thought I could just drop the capsules into a mark’s drink, but I didn’t do my research properly. While the powder dissolves quickly, the capsules themselves can take up to twenty minutes.

And twenty minutes is too long for a capsule to float in a drink undetected.

So, I use them now mostly just to store the powder in the correct doses and hide them in an old herb vitamin container.