Page 5 of A Secret In The Garden

I didn’t need to hear more. I knew exactly what she was about. Botanists—gardeners—whatever you called them—had been sniffing around here for years, looking for ways to revive what had been dead for so long. I had no interest in any of it. Not even for oddly intriguing ones like her.

I leaned back in my chair, studying her as she stood across from me, arms crossed as if she were already claiming a victory she hadn’t earned. “I have no interest in restoring that place. You can tell your team to look elsewhere.”

She didn’t flinch from my words, though I had noticed the slight flicker earlier when I had raised my hand to silence her. Someone had obviously been physical with her at some point. Now, her posture stiffened, and the light in her eyes grew sharper. There was something spurring her determination on that caught my attention.

The woman was, at first look, ordinary: mousy brownish-blond hair and plain, common features with a soft and short body that was as easy to overlook as an undecorated wall. But upon further inspection, it was almost as if her blandness was intentional. Behind her oddly blue eyes was an intelligent, intriguingly beautiful woman who didn’t wish to be noticed. Despite my best efforts, I found myself filled with questions about this random woman and her strange determination.

“I think you’ll reconsider,” she said, setting another folder on the desk and sliding it toward me. “My team and I are more than capable of bringing the conservatory back to life. The plants there are rare, and it could be a valuable asset to the property.”

I didn’t touch the folder. Instead, I stared at her, wondering how anyone could be so damn persistent and so…so quiet all at once. Perhaps she was used to getting her way, used to having people bending to her sad eyes. But I’d had enough of people manipulating me for a lifetime. I’d had enough of people in general, in fact.

“I don’t want your team or anyone else on this property,” I said, my voice as sharp as the blade of a knife. “I told you. I don’t care about the plants. I don’t care about the conservatory. I’ve let it rot for a reason.”

Her gaze faltered for a fraction of a second, but only for a second. I could see the calculation in her eyes, the way she assessed me, trying to figure out what I would do next. She wasn’t backing down even though I could tell she was a bit uncomfortable being so tenacious. That, at least, I respected—though I found it annoying.

“You’re missing the point,” she pressed, her voice shaking but determined. “This isn’t just about plants. It’s about history, about what your mother created here, and what you’ve allowed to wither away. You can’t just let it all rot, Mr. Blackwood.”

I clenched my jaw, every mention of my mother cutting into me like nicks from a penknife. I had been very clear about my feelings on that conservatory. My mother had tended to it, yes. But that was long before everything fell apart. Before she was gone—before I was left with nothing but guilt and hatred.

“I don’t care about history,” I snapped. “And again, I don’t need some team of strangers coming in and poking around where they don’t belong.”

I watched her face for a moment, seeing the way her expression hardened. Desperation of some sort had driven her to this point. It suddenly clicked. Her job at the botanical garden must be on the line. I’d seen their numbers. I was no doubt a last resort before the garden went under and they all lost their jobs.

I had no intention of giving her what she wanted. Though she had sparked some weird interest in me—I found myself wanting to push and toy with her, see how far this woman would go for a dilapidated glass building that meant nothing to me.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I raised a hand, cutting her off and moving from my desk out the door, guiding her out with me. She recoiled from my touch as if I’d tased her.

If she wanted to restore this goddamn conservatory so badly, then she should see the fucking state of it up close and personal.

“Where are we going?” she asked, following behind me as I quickly strode down the corridor until I was at the disused hallway of the manor that led to the conservatory’s indoor entrance.

I remained silent until we made it to the double glass doors to the garden. Unease prickled at my nerves. I hated even being in the hallway that led to it. Pain and guilt pulled and ripped at me like a dozen wild bears ripping off my flesh. I suppose that’s what I deserved.

I opened the door and was instantly hit with the scent of musty soil and humidity so strong it made my eyes water.

Her eyes were the size of plates as she stepped inside—only as far as the reaching vines and weeds would allow.

“Let me be clear,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, warning tone. “You won’t bring your team here. I don’t want them on my property, and I won’t allow it.” Fascinated, I watched her chest fill with air as if she was going to argue further. My mouth quirked with an idea. “You’ll do it alone.”

Her eyes widened for a brief moment. I saw the flicker of surprise, but it was quickly replaced with something harder, sharper. “I’m not interested in hearing how teamwork is essential for the job,” I challenged. “I don’t want anyone else touching these plants or taking up space on my property.” I wanted to push her over her cliff of determination and watch as she fell to the bottom. “It’ll be you—only you—who works here. No one else. That’s my offer.” I leaned back on my heels and watched smugly as she took in the large conservatory and all its ruin, obviously far too much work for one woman.

For a moment, she was silent. I could see the frustration building in her, and I relished it, even as I fought to ignore the strange tug of something else—a tension I couldn’t quite place, a spark that made my pulse quicken. It wasn’t just irritation I felt but something dangerous.

She looked at me, eyes narrowing, as she weighed her options. She had none and she knew it. I’d thrown out an impossible offer, and we both knew it.

“You can’t be serious,” she finally said, her voice tight. “You want me to do this alone? I’m a botanist, not a landscaper. I’m not a contractor. You’re asking me to rebuild an entire conservatory with no help?”

I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest, allowing the silence to hang between us for a moment. I could feel the heat of her gaze on me. “You wanted the job,” I said coolly. “This is the deal. You work alone. No one else comes near this property.” She hadn’t folded as quickly as I’d anticipated, so I upped the ante. “Also, you’ll need to stay here. Full-time. I’m not about to have you discussing my business with people not approved to be on my property. I don’t trust you won’t just steal whatever plants you find. I also don’t trust you to be discreet in your comings and goings. If I sign your contract, you and the botanical garden will sign an NDA, obviously.”

She froze, the challenge in her eyes faltering slightly. I could see the internal conflict raging in the pale blue. She didn’t like being told what to do—or maybe she just didn’t like being underestimated. But she was desperate. Even had she not outright admitted it, I could smell it on her—the way her fingers tangled with each other, the slight tightening of her lips, the way she held herself back, probably from telling me to fuck off. It was admittedly the most fun I’d had in a while.

“You want me to stay here? At Blackwood Manor?” she asked, the disbelief in her voice tainted with fear—so she had heard about me. I had started to wonder, what with her being so adamant about getting this job. “Stay on your property for the entire restoration?”

My brows rose and my voice filled with challenge. “Three months is more than a generous amount of time, don’t you agree?”

I watched her like a hunter watches a doe, taking note of the way she resisted the impulse to snap, how she was barely holding on to her composure. I knew I had pushed her just enough that she was struggling, and god was I enjoying it—until the realization struck that I was doing something I rarely did: making myself vulnerable. If she agreed to this absurd idea, it would mean having her here for three months. I couldn’t deny the unsettling tug of curiosity I felt at the thought.

Eliza Arnold seemed different. But she was still a stranger, one of them. I didn’t want her here. I could hardly stand the thought of anyone in my space physically or any other sort of way.