Page 3 of A Secret In The Garden

“Then they’ll quickly learn they have nowhere else to go,” I said, cutting off my VP’s argument as my feet pounded down the hallway toward my office.

The small chime alerting me that someone was at the front door poured into the hallway from the surveillance room, grating against my already inflamed nerves like a Taser to the back of my neck. I fucking hated people at my house—hated it. I was meeting with some old fuckwad from a botanical garden or something. Sowerby had always been perturbed by the state of Mother’s old conservatory and had finally nagged me enough that I’d agreed to a meeting when the garden society or whoever the fuck from town came begging to get into it again. I would take the meeting, but I wasn’t allowing them in the conservatory. I’d sooner plow it under than allow anything of hers to be alive in this manor again.

“Jasper, be reasonable,” Easton tried to argue.

“They are lucky I’m offering them any—” The words dropped off as my feet stilled in the hallway. My eyes were dialed in on the driveway’s security camera. “Make the offer,” I said before I hung up my cell phone and turned into the surveillance room.

I noticed it in her eyes instantly and it hit me…uncomfortably. She was beautiful, but that wasn’t what was interesting about her. It was hidden, but once I caught sight of it, it was impossible to ignore. Only those who have felt it could pick up the deep anguish in her eyes. I’d never seen it outside of a reflection in a mirror.

What had caused it in her?

A host of emotions pressed in on me and my steady hatred for life returned. I pulled my gaze away from the camera and continued down the hallway to my office, grabbing the letter from my mother out of my pocket along with the lighter.

Chapter 4

Eliza

My low heels clicked sharply against the gleaming marble floors as I followed a butler—seriously, who has a butler?!—through the expanse of Blackwood Manor. So this was how wealthy killers lived? The grandeur of the place was exquisite but suffocating—tall, darkened windows, heavy curtains that blocked out the sunlight, and portraits of what I assumed were long-dead ancestors stared down at me, judging my every move. I hadn’t been expecting comfort inside, but I hadn’t quite been prepared for the oppressive weight of it all either. The manor seemed to stretch on endlessly, each room more foreboding than the last. The thought of one singular man living in this massive structure was unfathomable when it could have housed two dozen comfortably.

The butler, an older, white-haired gentleman with an air of quiet authority, hadn’t spoken much since he’d opened the doors and led me inside with a deep-set scowl upon his face that pulled at his marionette lines. He hadn’t offered me tea or asked if I’d like to sit down, as was customary in many smaller estates that I’d been to around here.

Alfred, Batman’s butler—that’s who he reminded me of!

I felt an unwelcome smile pull at my mouth, amused at the comparison as my eyes watched the man leading me. He was more sinister looking than Alfred, with that expression on his face. Though he was dressed in a pressed pair of khakis and a fine wool sweater that was appropriate with the cooling weather, there was a rough-hewn air about him, like a sharp-eyed falcon dressed in a cardigan.

“Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. He saw you arrive.” The words felt more like an order than an invitation.

As we passed under a stone archway that led to what appeared to be a drawing room of sorts, my mind raced. Looking at the dark, traditionally modern interior of the manor, I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to face this man the town gossips spoke of with so much fear. He had an infamous scar, and it wasn’t known how he had come to own it. He had seemed handsome in the way that some serial killers were and was rumored to have dated Hollywood sweethearts and models.

I didn’t care if he looked like Damon Salvatore, my focus was the donation and the conservatory.

I had to convince him.

I didn’t realize how tightly my jaw was set until the butler stopped in front of a large shiny black door, and I caught a glimpse of my reflection before he turned the round brass handle with a soft click and our reflection disappeared. He glanced at me once, and then, with a slight bow, stepped aside.

“Mr. Blackwood will see you now.”

I stood for a moment, eyeing the doorway, and then stepped forward. The atmosphere of the room was thick with expectation, like the manor itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what fury I would cause. I desperately wanted to run through a breathing exercise, but I had no time for hesitation—my career was on the line.

The door creaked as I pushed it farther open. The jarring scent of something burning wafted from the room. A small gasp lodged in my throat, and I felt my eyes widen briefly.

Jasper Blackwood sat behind a massive wooden desk that seemed far too large for the room. The office was meticulously organized with neatly shelved books, all with the pages out so you couldn’t read the spines—which seemed psychopathic enough on its own—and the smell of smoke accompanied a strange chill in the air. The chill quickly turned warm and uncomfortable as my eyes fell on the man behind the desk. He was a striking figure—tall, angular, with jet-black hair that seemed impossibly dark in the dim light of the room. His features were sharp, his jawline defined with an almost predatory elegance. He was the kind of man whose presence filled the space, whose silence seemed louder than any spoken word.

For a split second, I wondered why I was there, forgetting about the donation and who the man was entirely. I snapped my attention back to the issue at hand and fought the urge to shake my head to clear it. My eyes flickered to the scar that went from under his right eyebrow, up in a diagonal line, across to the left side and stopping before his hairline. It was thin and jagged but only added to his image. He had such a magnetic pull that it made the photographs I had seen seem almost misleading—or perhaps they weren’t, and the added layer of appeal was more of an aura that seemed to roll off him. It was unfortunately quite easy to see why the man had gotten away with so much over the years; he was absurdly good-looking, and he carried himself in a confident, mysteriously alluring way.

I bristled, loathing him all the more for it—some of us didn’t experience pretty privilege; some of us weren’t just handed millions of dollars or mansions.

His eyes lifted from what looked like a burning envelope as I entered, and for a brief moment, they locked onto mine, at first with a tinge of surprise and then something else as a prickle of electricity danced up my arms and over my shoulders and neck while I felt the full weight of his eyes. Cold. Hard. They seemed to take in every detail of me, as though measuring my worth. Quite familiar with harsh scrutiny, though maybe not from anyone that looked like he did, I stood tall, my spine straight, my breath steady. I had come here for a purpose, and I would not be intimidated by a pair of espresso-brown eyes and whatever current momentarily zapped between us.

He casually dropped the remainder of the burning envelope into a decorative brass bowl on his desk as he held my eyes.

Out of respect I waited for him to speak first, but he merely raised a thick eyebrow, his gaze lingering on me for another beat too long before he motioned to the chair across from him. Just the way he moved, with his air of superiority and overinflated confidence, instantly grated against my nerves. It practically wafted off him that no one ever told him no, probably the last ones who had were his parents…

“Sit,” he said, his voice low and quiet.

I hesitated only for a moment before I crossed the room and lowered myself into the shiny leather chair. His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his attention, as if he were peeling back the layers of my thoughts, searching for weakness.

“Mr. Blackwood,” I began, my voice steady despite the tension that coiled tight in my chest. “Thank you for meeting with me. I know you must be very busy while you are in Pinehurst.”