Page 88 of Wretched Soul
“What did she say?”
I push the bowl away, my stomach churning. “Nothing. I left it in her hands, told her to phone me if she wanted to take me on, and not speak to me again if she doesn’t. She hasn’t.”
“Mace, it’s been a week. She might just need time.”
“I restored her dating apps, and she’s been looking. That feels like a decision to me.”
Maddie’s quiet for a moment. “Has she messaged anyone? Set up any dates?”
“Not yet, just lots of swipes left. But it’s inevitable.”
“Maybe,” Maddie says, which is the last thing I want to hear. “Or perhaps it’s just a way for her to express some autonomy. If she knows you’ve been messing with her apps, she knows you’ll be monitoring her activity. Is she the kind of person that would let you take control of her life without some pushback?”
A shudder runs down my spine. “Please don’t, Maddie,” I say, choking the words out. “Don’t give me hope.”
Chapter 30
Lily
Ikeep my palm over the top of my soda water as I wait at the bar. It’s deserted except for a scattering of office workers in no rush to head home. I try not to freak out at the memories that flicker across my consciousness. All I get are snatches of a man’s face, and the smell of stale breath on my skin.
I remind myself that I’m not in a sleazy club. This is the Excelsis, one of the Moncrief’s top hotels, and if the staff have been trained half as well as the ones in Heatrush, I’m not going to have my drink spiked again. I check my cell. He’s late and there’s no message to explain the delay.
I’d come straight from work and my reflection in the mirror behind the bar is of a professional young woman. I’m worthy of something better. Someone better. That’s why I’m here. I just hope my nerves don’t let me down.
As I take a sip of soda water, I look longingly at the bottles of liquor that might settle my nerves. My gaze drifts to the various whiskeys. It’s not my drink, but I know someone who likes it almost as much as he liked licking Cointreau off my lips. I blow out a breath, not letting my mind go there. I’m about to turn away when a label catches my attention.
“Excuse me,” I say to the bartender.
“Yes, ma’am?”
I point to a row of bottles. “Would you mind if I took a closer look at one of those whiskeys? I promise I won’t steal it,” I say, attempting a smile. They’re hard to come by these days.
“Sure,” he says.
He leaves me to read the bottle, and wanders to the other end of the bar, in no hurry to take it back. Which is good, because I’m transfixed by the image that covers the entire label. It’s an outline of a creature with an eagle’s head and a lion’s body, but it’s the wings that capture my attention. The pose of the griffin is different to the one I’m thinking of, but the layering of feathers is almost identical.
Damn. Have I just found my first lead? I’m avidly reading the information on the back of the label when someone speaks.
“You’re a fan of the Griffins?” he asks.
I turn to find Calder Moncrief watching me curiously. I’ve never met the man, but I’ve seen plenty of photos, even before my prep for this meeting. The papers describe him as a Celtic warrior, and they’re not wrong. His russet hair is wild and he’s even more intimidating than I was prepared for. He wears a dark suit and black tie as if he’s just come from a funeral.
“You have this whiskey in your club too,” I say. What I don’t add is that it’s also the whiskey he stocks in his mountain lodge. Would he know I’d been there?
Calder repositions the barstool next to me, creating extra space between us before sitting down. My palm covers my soda water again, but if he notices, he gives nothing away. “We have a close working arrangement with our suppliers. You’ll find Griffin whiskey in all of our establishments. Is that why you wanted to talk to me, Miss Kendrick?”
“No, I wanted to know if you had any openings for a qualified accountant,” I say, setting down the bottle. It’s a blatant lie. I am looking for a new job, and working for the Moncriefs would bea good move, but in truth, I just wanted to see if Calder would show up. And he has. Such is the power of my association with Shade.
Calder sucks air through his teeth. “Not what I was expecting you to ask, but I could give it some thought.”
“What were you expecting me to ask?”
Calder reaches behind the bar and takes two glasses. Lifting the bottle of whiskey, he pours out two measures and slides a glass towards me.
“Thanks, but I won’t,” I say firmly. I’m never accepting another drink from a stranger.
“Ah, of course. Sorry. I wouldn’t either after what you’ve been through.”
