Page 37 of Doomed
Michelle heads to my door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “If you want answers, there’s only one person who can give them to you.” She gives me a significant look. “You need to find Knox Blackwood and ask him directly. Tell him you are considering attending, but that you have reservations, and see if he puts your mind at ease. What’s the worst thing that can happen? He refuses to tell you. If he does, then you know where you stand. I can’t believe he’s been so interested in you only to leave you terrified and hating him.”
I stare down at his signature on the invitation. She’s right. If I want to know what I’m being invited into, I need to hear it from the source.
I stare at the invitation in my hands, the silver lettering mocking me as it gleams against the jet black cardstock. Finding Knox is the last thing I want to do. Every interaction with him feels like stepping into quicksand—the more I struggle, the deeper I sink into whatever this is between us.
“I can’t appear at Purgatory demanding answers,” I argue.
Michelle crosses her arms. “Why not? He’s pursuing you. If he wants you at this Hunt thing, he should be willing to explain it.” She taps the NDA. “That’s way too much paperwork to sign without knowing what you’re getting into.”
“I know, I know.” I rub my temples, feeling a headache begin to form. She’s right, and I hate it. “I just...”
“You just what?” Michelle’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you worried about seeming too eager after last night? Because trust me, showing up with questions about this—” she jabs a finger at the invitation, “—is completely different than whatever you were trying to accomplish with that dress and those other guys.”
My cheeks heat. “Fine. You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” She yanks my comforter off me. “So get the hell up and go to Purgatory. Find him. Get answers.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. When else?” Michelle heads to my closet and starts flipping through hangers. “Wear an outfit that says ‘I’m here for business, not your bullshit.’“
Forty minutes later, I’m showered and dressed in a fitted black pair of jeans and a crisp white button-down, the invitation and its accompanying paperwork tucked safely in my leather portfolio. My hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, and I’ve applied just enough makeup to look polished without trying too hard to impress anyone.
I grab a coffee from the café downstairs—liquid courage in the form of an extra-large americano—and call an Uber. As I slide into the backseat, my stomach tightens, dread and anticipation fighting for dominance, only making me feel nauseous in the process.
“Purgatory,” I tell the driver, who raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment.
The ride gives me time to rehearse what I’ll say. I need to be direct. Professional. I need answers before I even consider signing anything with the name Blackwood on it. No matter how much a part of me wants to know what happens at this mysterious Hunt.
13
KNOX
I’m reviewing inventory spreadsheets in the back office of Purgatory, fighting the urge to stab myself in the eye with a pen out of sheer boredom. Numbers have never been my thing—that’s what we have accountants for—but Xavier insists we all understand the business inside and out.
“Mr. Blackwood?” One of the new bartenders pokes her head in. “There’s someone here to see you.”
I glance up, annoyed at the interruption. “Who?”
“She says her name is Bianca Hayes.”
My mood instantly shifts. I toss the pen onto the desk and lean back in my chair, a grin spreading across my face. “Send her in.”
I don’t bother hiding my smirk when Bianca walks through the door, all buttoned up in a crisp white shirt like she’s here for a job interview. The professional look doesn’t hide the fire in her eyes or the tension in her shoulders.
“Twice in twenty-four hours?” I spread my arms wide. “Clearly, you can’t stay away from me.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not?—”
“Last night you were throwing glances my way all fucking night while pretending to be interested in those other guys.”I stand, circling the desk to lean against the front of it. “And now you’re back. Were you trying to make me jealous, princess? Because I’ve gotta say, it was a cute attempt.”
“I wasn’ttryingto make you anything,” she says, her cheeks flushing beautifully. “And that’s not why I’m here.”
“No? Then please, enlighten me.” I cross my arms, enjoying the way her eyes briefly drop to my forearms before snapping back up to my face.
She pulls an envelope from her leather portfolio—the black envelope with red trim. My invitation to the Hollow’s Hunt.
“I’m here because of this,” she says. “Care to explain exactly what I’d be signing up for?”
