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I’m a Molotov, and we’ve never done something as prosaic as the right thing.
Drumming my fingers on my desk, I come to a decision.
Chloe Emmons might be too troubled to allow near my son, but I still want to meet her.
I want to feel that ray of sunlight on my skin.
3
Chloe
The twelve-foot-tall metal gate slides apart as I drive up, my Toyota’s motor whining at the steep incline of the unpaved road leading up the mountain to the estate. Gripping the wheel tightly, I drive through the open gate, my nervousness intensifying with each second.
I still can’t believe I’m here. I was almost certain I would have nothing in my inbox when I went to the library this morning. It was way too soon to expect a response. Just in case, though, I wanted to check my email and then spend a few hours looking online for other gigs within a half-tank’s driving distance. But the email was already there when I logged in; it had arrived at ten p.m. yesterday.
They want to interview me.
At noon today.
My palms are slippery with sweat, so I wipe first one hand, then the other on my jeans. I have nothing resembling an interview-appropriate outfit, so I’m wearing my only pair of clean jeans and a plain long-sleeved T-shirt—I need the sleeves to cover the scratches and scabs the glass shards left on my arm. Hopefully, my potential employers won’t hold the casual attire against me; after all, I’m interviewing for a tutor position in the middle of nowhere.
Please let me get the job. Please let me get it.
The sleek metal gate I just drove through is part of a metal wall of the same height that extends into the rugged mountain forest on each side of the road. I wonder if that means the wall loops around the entire estate. It’s hard to imagine—according to the librarian who gave me directions, the property consists of over a thousand acres of wild mountainous terrain—but I couldn’t see where the wall ended, so it’s possible. And since the gate opened on its own at my approach, there must be cameras in place as well—which, while somewhat alarming, is also reassuring.
I have no idea why these people need so much security, but if I get this job, I’ll be safe inside their compound as well.
The winding dirt road I’m on seems to go on forever, but finally, after about a mile, the forest on the sides begins to thin and the terrain flattens out. I must be approaching the peak of the mountain.
Sure enough, as I round the next bend, the sleek two-story mansion comes into view.
An ultra-modern marvel of glass and steel, it should stand out like a sore thumb among all this untamed nature, but instead, it’s skillfully integrated into its surroundings, with a portion of the house built into a rocky outcropping. As I pull up in front of it, I see an all-glass terrace wrapping around the back and realize that the house is perched on a cliff overlooking a deep ravine.
The views inside must be to kill for.
Deep breath, Chloe. You can do it.
Turning off the car, I smooth my sweaty palms over my jeans, straighten my shirt, make sure my hair is still in a neat bun, and grab the resume I printed out at the library. I usually interview well, but I’ve never had so much at stake before. Every nerve in my body is on edge, my heart pounding so fast I feel dizzy. Of course, I could also be dizzy because all I’ve had to eat today is the banana, but I don’t want to think about that and the fact that if I don’t get the job, hunger may be the least of my problems.
Resume in hand, I step out of the car. I’m about a half hour early, which is better than being late but not optimal. I was afraid I’d get lost without a GPS, so I left the library and headed over here as soon as the librarian explained where to go and gave me a local map. I didn’t get lost, though, so now all I need is to walk over to that sleek, futuristic-looking front door and ring the doorbell.
Steeling my spine, I prepare to do exactly that when the door swings open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in a pair of dark jeans and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Hi,” I say, putting on a bright smile as I walk toward him. “I’m Chloe Emmons, here to interview for the…” I stop, my breath catching in my lungs as he steps out into the light and a pair of stunning hazel eyes meets mine.
Except “hazel” is too generic a term for them. I’ve never seen eyes like that. A rich, dark amber mixed with forest green, they’re surrounded by thick black lashes and glitter with a peculiar fierceness, an intensity that wouldn’t look out of place on a jungle predator. Tiger eyes, belonging to a man who himself is power and danger personified—a man so cruelly handsome my already-elevated heart rate goes supersonic.
