Chapter 8
Traversing the wide-open office space, where people both socialize and work, Owen leads me to the conference room on the opposite side. He’s walking next to me, closer than necessary, and the hair on my arms stands on end, but not out of fear.
It’s aggravating how much his nearness affects me.
“I need you to take notes,” Owen explains as people eye us with curiosity. “I won’t always be able to attend these meetings, and I want you to be able to facilitate them. This one is with a few of my smaller charities.”
“The unlisted ones?” Suddenly, I’m far more interested in this meeting, and I try to ignore the stares and hushed whispers.
“Yes. You’ll see why they’re unlisted in a moment. Oh, and—”
Owen suddenly halts and grabs my arm, turning me to face him. I tilt my head to meet his eyes.
“My brother runs this division,” he continues. “You’ll have to work with him.”
“Why do you seem so worried about that, Mr. Mills?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
He laughs awkwardly, dropping his hand from my arm and looking away. “My brother can be shameless?”
“Is that a question? Or is he shameless?”
Owen grins. “He’s shameless.”
“So it runs in the family?”
“You are—” he starts, but we’re interrupted by a deep, sultry voice.
“Now, who’s this beautiful thing? Who have you been hiding from me, brother?”
I look over to find a stunning man standing only a few feet away. The similarities in stature and bone structure are obvious, but Parker’s hair is blond, long, and wavy, and his skin is a few shades lighter. His eyes are hazel, not green, and locked on me.
He runs his gaze from my head to my toes. I hate when men do that, but for some reason, I’m not all that upset when Parker Mills does it.
“This is my new charity management assistant, Nora Riley. She’ll be helping with the gala and the charities,” Owen says through gritted teeth, apparently noticing his brother's wandering eyes.
“So we’ll be working closely?” He sounds so thrilled that I almost laugh.
Owen catches my half-snort but quickly switches his attention back to Parker. “Yes. She’ll be owning your ass, little brother.”
He raises a brow, intrigued. “Is that so?”
I scoff, walking past the two men and into the conference room, unsure how they both make me more flustered than I’ve ever felt. I’ve assassinated notorious killers for fucks’ sake.
I’m aware of the eyes tracking me while I stride to an open seat. They aren't the stares I’m expecting, though. These aren’t high-strung execs; these are everyday people. People from all walks of life. Even children.
The next thing I know, a small boy, no more than four years old, squeals with excitement and races to the door, leaping into Owen’s arms. Owen smiles broadly and catches the boy, tugging him close and whispering something in his ear.
The boy laughs and plants a wet kiss on Owen’s cheek before Owen places him back on the ground.
A woman, who appears to be the boy's mother, approaches Owen. She says something I don’t catch, and Owen leans over and embraces her.
Parker observes me with a bemused expression. “Not what you expected, Miss Riley?”
I peel my eyes from the scene to meet a matching dimple on Parker's cheek.
Damn it.
“No,” I say truthfully. “I was expecting tight-ass execs or more arrogant asses like you and your brother.” Without waiting for his reaction, I find my seat, but not before I hear Parker bark out a laugh behind me.
Owen takes the seat to my left. Not a second later, Parker claps his brother on the shoulder, angling his head toward me. “I like her. Mostly because you have no chance.”
I have no idea what that means, but I could guess. I decide not to give it much thought.
Parker winks at me before taking a seat on the opposite side of Owen. Owen glances over, and I pretend to be busy organizing my notes on each charity, not wanting to think about either of the Mills men.
“I know I don’t,” Owen replies so quietly that I’m the only one who hears it.
For unknown reasons, my heart picks up speed.
“Owen!” The young boy races over, providing a needed distraction. “I forgot! I made this for you!”
The boy jumps into Owen’s lap and hands him a homemade card. He proceeds to open it and explain every detail. Owen listens intently, nodding along and asking nonsensical questions that light up the boy's eyes.
“Charlie, it’s time to come sit,” his mother calls from down the table when it’s clear everyone’s found their seats.
Charlie lets out a humph and refuses to move.
“It’s ok, Charlotte. He can stay,” Owen says then shifts his attention to Charlie. “Though you’ll be super bored. Your mother brought markers. I have no such treasure.”
“And snacks,” his mother chimes in.
That gets him, and Charlie jumps from Owen’s lap and sprints into his mother’s open arms.
With that, Owen begins the meeting. I take notes.
I had no idea what these charities were, but after listening, I understand why my answer to his interview question helped me get the job.
He’s putting the power and money in the hands of small farmers, setting up education and resources to help them transform the land into regenerative arcs that serve as ecological strongholds while also feeding underfunded communities—communities that were previously and notoriously food deserts.
The more I listen, the crazier it gets. The charities don’t have names, so they can’t be traced back to Owen and Regenerative Industries because he doesn’t want the credit.
He only desires to provide the funding and help the communities create the arcs on their own.
He wants the power completely in their hands.
I’m so lost in thought, questioning everything I know about this man and what I’m supposed to be doing here, that I don’t hear his question.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Owen smiles. “I asked, since you’ll be taking over the company's admin work for these charities, if you wanted to visit them?”
Everyone looks at me with unblinking stares, and the answer slips easily from my lips. “I’d love that.”
Charlie claps his hands as if it’s the best news he’s ever heard, and the room fills with laughter.
Leaning to speak Owen, so only he can hear me, I ask, “How come you didn’t tell me about all of this before the meeting?”
The mischievous look on his face, as he half-turns toward me, has my stomach doing flips without my consent. “Because they’re not my charities, Miss Riley.”
I understand his meaning, but I still don’t know why he didn’t tell me about them if I was going to work with them.
He must notice the question in my eyes because he leans even closer, his breath skating along my ear.
“Their voices are the important ones. What they need from you must come from them, not me. This is their community and their project. I am a participant in their community, but I am not their leader. I own none of this, and I control none of it, too.”
Suddenly, my heart is speeding too fast. All the alarm bells are going off in my head, but not the ones I expected.
This siren is one of confusion. One that is telling me that nothing is what it seems, and there is more to this story.
One that is screaming that Owen isn’t who and what he’s accused of—he’s so much more.
But more of what? The bad guy? The hero?
And worst of all: does any of this even matter if he murdered three people?
Before I know it, the room is clearing out, and I’m gathering my things, trying to ignore my thoughts and warring instincts, when Parker sits down on top of the table, next to me. “You’re a bit of a conundrum, Miss Riley.”
I stop and stare at him. “And how’s that, Mr. Mills?”
“My brother never hires attractive women to be his assistants. Don’t get me wrong; you’re perfect for the position.”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask him? All I know is that I’m qualified, and he offered it.”
Rising from my seat, I clutch the information on the charities close to my chest.
Parker also stands, and I find myself too close to him, so I step back, the chair rolling away from my legs.
He smirks. “My brother won’t give up his secrets.”
Intending to drop the subject, I make to leave, but my stupid curiosity gets the better of me. I eye Parker, and he looks as if he’s already expecting the question. I internally curse myself before it slips from my lips. “Why won’t he hire attractive assistants?”
Parker shrugs. “Thought that’d be obvious. He got burned by one.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say to that. I’m about to burn him, too, just not in the same way.
The thought makes me a little sick, for reasons I cannot explain, as the rest of the room clears out. Charlotte and Charlie leave last. The boy hugs Owen again while waving his tiny hand in my direction.
The biggest smile lights up the boy's face, and Owen is practically glowing from that blaze.
There’s no amount of logic to explain what I’m witnessing. The whole situation isn’t one I’m used to. Murder suspects don’t act this way, and they certainly don’t try to give money and power away. I should know. I’ve put away hundreds of murderers.
So, what the hell is going on here?