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Chapter One
Claire
My Chevy pickup looks out of place in front of the sprawling Victorian home, a blemish on an otherwise perfect face. I’d expected a partner at a law firm to have a nice house, but this is beyond what I’d imagined. It’s picture-book perfect, complete with a welcoming front porch and huge grassy yard.
Once I look past the house and yard, my heart beats a little harder. The woods are thick, the trees dense and lush. If the house is something from a storybook, the forest belongs in a fairy tale. It’s pure Grimm’s.
It’s fitting, considering I’m here to be hunted by Shane Underwood, partner at Graves, Underwood & Crowe—the law firm where my ex-husband works. For the next thirty days, I’m no longer Claire, the recently divorced physical education teacher.
I’m prey.
Anticipation thrums through me, mixing with anxiety. I love the woods, and I used to love being hunted by my ex-husband, Keith. But that’s different than being stalked through the forest by a stranger. I’ve met Shane twice, and he was … interesting.
Think about the money.
He’s offered me $30,000, enough money to pay off my student loan debt and get my footing post-divorce. One of Keith’s numerous lies echoes in my head: we’d pay off his loans first, since the interest was higher, then start working on mine.We doubled the monthly payments, even tripling them when we could. Last spring, we made the final payment on his student debt. This spring, I discovered Keith had been sleeping with someone at the firm—a pretty paralegal who can’t be older than twenty-two.
Stop.
Don’t go there.
Forcing myself back to the present, I cross the front porch. My sense of misplacement grows when a beautiful woman opens the door, giving me an appraising look. Her blonde hair is curled, cascading down her back, and her tight black skirt and blouse make her look like a hostess. A very sexy hostess.
My black leggings, hoodie, and sneakers feel lazy beside her skirt and heels. I’d wanted to be prepared. That thought seems silly now. Did I think Shane was going to greet me at the car, smack my ass, and tell me to start running?
Eyeballing the woman, I wonder if she’s prey too. If she sheds her heels and bolts into the thick Maine greenery at his command. How far does she get before he catches her? How far will I get before he catches me? I want to ask how long she can evade him, but that seems rude. It would be fun to have a goal to aim for though, a little healthy competition.
“I’m Margot. You must be Claire.” Her voice is neutral, face unsmiling.
I nod, wanting to turn on the cheerfulness that’s second nature after years as a teacher. My instinct is always to ease the tension, smooth over an awkward situation, make everybody happy. But I’m trying to work on my people-pleasing tendencies. They haven’t done much for me the past thirty-five years. Turns out, never rocking the boat doesn’t mean you’re a great sailor. Only means it takes longer to learn who will toss you overboard at the first sign of rough waters. Probably something I should have learned in my twenties. Better now than never.
“I’m Shane’s assistant. He requested I show you to your room and help you settle in,” with that explanation, she turns, walking further into the house.
“Sounds great,” I say to the back of her head.
Purse over my shoulder, suitcase catching on the doorway, I enter my home for the next month. Despite its intimidating exterior, the house is cozy, with overstuffed leather couches and cherry hardwood floors. Beneath the intentionally casual styling, there’s an element of luxury suggesting Shane won’t go broke paying me. Margot breezes me through the downstairs. Kitchen, dining room, living room, two bathrooms, and a gym. I grow more impressed with each room but try not to show it. Once we’re upstairs, she pauses at the landing.
She gestures to the left. “That’s Mr. Underwood’s room. You’ll be over here, next to the library.”
Gym and a library?
We go right, her high heels clicking. When she pushes open the door to my room, I’m stunned. The room is light and airy, with off-white walls and two glass-paned doors leading to what looks like a balcony. A fluffy cream rug covers the floor, a leather easy chair rests in the corner, and the pine dresser and nightstand have to be antiques.
A black folder lies on the bed. Stark against the quilt’s blue and grey kaleidoscope. Curiosity has me walking across the room, vaguely aware of Margot moving toward the dresser.
“He wanted me to review the process with you if that’s all right.”
For the first time since I’ve gotten here, Margot seems uncertain. A glance in her direction reveals a flush creeping up her neck. Maybe she isn’t prey.
Dropping my luggage, I kick off my shoes and climb on the bed. Settling cross-legged, I give in to my desire to make friends. Just a little bit.
“Sounds good. Sit down. Those heels look killer.”
That coaxes a smile from her. It’s fleeting but feels like a success. If I’m sharing space with Margot for the next month, I’d like things to be cordial enough that it doesn’t feel like I’m asking for a table for ten without a reservation.
Slipping out of her heels, she joins me on the bed. A black smartwatch is in her hands. She catches me looking at it, and her blush deepens.
“This is how he’ll summon you for a hunt. May I have your phone?”
