Page 41 of Artifice
But she offered a polite nod instead and took a sip of the wine that had been poured for her. It was, indeed, exceptional.
“No presumption at all. I’m looking forward to experiencing the best this town has to offer.” She glanced around at the other diners—a mix of well-dressed couples clearly celebrating special occasions along with what appeared to be local aristocracy.“Though I’m curious—a restaurant of this caliber seems unusual for a town this size.”
“The Harborlight is our pride and joy,” he acknowledged. “During summer, it’s impossible to get a reservation without booking weeks in advance. Seasonal residents and tourists keep it afloat, and those of us who live here year-round reap the benefits during the quieter months.”
He paused, swirling his wine.
“Much like Lighthouse Harbor itself, The Harborlight represents the perfect blend of tradition and innovation,” he continued. “We honor our past while evolving to meet changing expectations.”
Olive recognized the segue for what it was—a return to his sales pitch about the youth facility.
As their oysters arrived, glistening on a bed of crushed ice, she prepared to navigate both the carefully orchestrated meal and the conversation that Michael clearly had planned with equal precision.
When Olive had done her research online about Michael Denarau, she’d been able to see the basic facts about him. But nothing had indicated just how charismatic he was.
He was the type of man who could wine and dine anyone.
Well . . . almost anyone.
“We’re absolutely thrilled to have you here with us,” he continued.
“How long have you been at Lighthouse Harbor?” Olive asked.
“I’m coming up on my third year.”
“And what did you do before this?” Olive took a sip of her drink. She knew the answer to the question but wanted to hear it in his own words.
“Before this, I was a teacher for three years. I discovered being in the classroom wasn’t for me. Instead, I became the director of a retreat center about four hours from here.”
“Excuse me if I’m being blunt, but I have to say, for someone so well put together, I’m surprised the school is so rundown. It doesn’t match to me.”
Surprise—but not offense—flashed through his gaze. “No, I appreciate your honesty. And I understand you have a lot of things you need to consider before you make any donations. Please don’t feel as if any questions are off limits.”
If he only knew exactly what questions Olive wanted to ask, then he probably wouldn’t have said that.
“As far as my outfit,” he glanced down at his suit, brushing off a stray crumb, “I’m the face of the school, so I always try to put my best foot forward. I’m not going to lie—my parents aren’t wealthy like yours, but they are well off. That allows me to take care of myself more than I’d be able to on the salary the school offers.”
Olive supposed that made sense.
“And as far as the state of the school, we’re more concerned about making structural repairs rather than cosmetic.”
Good answer.
She fastened her gaze on him. “When I was in the gazebo today, the structure was definitely a safety issue.”
More surprise flashed in his gaze, but he handled the comment well. “Unfortunately, every time Mr. Thorne puts up caution tape, someone removes it.”
“A student?”
“I can only assume.”
She remembered the face of the boy who’d trapped her in the gazebo. Ethan.
When she remembered the cold look in his eyes, another shiver raced down her spine.
What if the evil at the school wasn’t coming from the staff?
What if it was coming from the students?
