Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
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.
Hopefully, this will just be a normal client consultation. I’ll follow him through the house, take notes on everything, write down his ideas, take photos, and make a few sketches if anything strikes me on the spot.
It’ll give me a chance to really see the place and keep an eye out for anything useful to Micah. I mean, I doubt Xavier leaves bricks of cocaine lying around, but there might be something.
Trays with leftover residue.
Paperwork related to illegal shipments.
Even something coded and scribbled in a calendar—or like a diazepam kit.
I Googled that last night, and I’m a little proud of myself for it. Diazepam treats a cocaine overdose, so if Xavier’s got himself a habit, he’d probably keep some around just in case he went a little too wild and needed treatment without anyone else finding out.
Who knows, I might just turn out to be good at this spy thing.
I’m feeling awkward again when I climb the steps to the mansion and realize I’ve still got my crumpled muffin wrapper and an empty coffee bottle.
I hold them tightly as the valet from before greets me with a muted “Miss Grey” and opens the doors for me. I look around for a trash can, but there’s nothing.
Jeeves lets out a patient sigh and holds out his hands for my trash.
“Sorry!” I mutter. I hand them over and follow the stone-faced man to Xavier’s office.
The mansion’s a little less intimidating the second time around, but I get that same feeling of unease when the valet brings me into Xavier’s space. He’s settled behind his desk, seemingly engrossed in a thick leatherbound hardcover book, but as I step inside he lifts his head with a charming, surface-level smile that doesn’t reach his lidded green eyes.
“Talia Grey,” he says.
I fight a shudder.
I haven’t asked him to call me anything besides Miss Grey, and he makes my name sound oily and oddly possessive.
But I force a smile, trying to keep it natural, though I can’t stop how my hands clench on the strap of my bag.
“Mr. Arrendell,” I say. “Good morning. I hope I’m not late for our walk-through?”
“Not late enough to matter.” He rises smoothly and sets the book down with a decisive thump, closing it without marking his page.
What kind of weirdo does that?
He rounds the desk, reaching for me with both hands—but I slip out of the way, trying to make it look like I’m just moving to keep from blocking the doorway as we step into the hall.
Xavier gives me a long look and smiles again, showing just a hint of teeth.
“You look eager today,” he rumbles.
“I’ve never taken on a project this large before,” I deflect. “I’m a bit excited, yes. I love to really flex my imagination.”