Chapter Five
Eden
The rest of Wolfe Manor was dead. Nothing but the sigh of radiators, the distant tick of a grandfather clock, and the echo of my own pulse in my ears. The air outside my comforter was icy, the kind of cold that made you believe in ghosts. Like, one was sitting on my bed right now, messing with me.
I bundled myself in a hoodie, sweats, and the world’s most adorable penguin socks, then crept out of my room, careful to stay quiet to not wake anyone else.
My phone glowed in my pocket, the only warm thing about me, except for the low-grade furnace burn of embarrassment from yesterday’s double-header.
First, almost making out with the boss’s mahogany desk with my chest, and then, getting rescued from a staircase face-plant by the man himself.
Gareth Wolfe. I could still feel the imprint of his hands at my ribs, right where they’d steadied me.
I could still see the look in his eyes, sharp, blue, clinical, but also…
something else. Something that made my insides fizz and my outsides sweat, despite the cold.
I padded down the hall, past locked doors and scowling portraits, until I reached my destination, the conservatory.
It was a glass dome tacked onto the east side of the house, humid as a jungle and probably as expensive as the rest of the mansion put together.
The light in there was always different, softer, filtered through mist and green leaves, less judgmental than the fluorescents of the main halls. More forgiving.
And given how early it was, there was less of a chance to bump into Leo. I hoped, anyway.
I pressed my palm to the old brass handle, half expecting an alarm or at least a disapproving worker to materialize, but there was nothing.
Just the squeak of the door as it yielded and the whoosh of tropical air as it hit my face.
Instantly, my skin beaded with sweat. Every surface dripped with condensation.
The smell was wet earth and orchids, sweet and a little spicy, in a way that made your lungs ache.
The conservatory was empty, as I’d hoped.
The gardeners wouldn’t arrive for hours.
I navigated the winding brick path, ducked under the arching fronds of some prehistoric palm, and settled onto the wrought-iron bench that faced the koi pond.
The koi were still, pale slashes and orange streaks under the water.
The only movement was the occasional drip from a leaf overhead, plunking into the glassy surface.
I pulled out my phone and unlocked it, thumb hovering over the chat with my best friend. She’s likely be awake at this hour, most likely eating stale vending machine Pop-Tarts and diagnosing me from a thousand miles away. I typed:
Are you up? Please say yes, I’m having a crisis.
She responded before I could finish second-guessing myself:
Always. What’s the emergency, is it haunted? Did they make you clean a bathroom with your tongue?
No tongue cleaning. At least, not yet. But I did almost die on the main staircase and the boss CAUGHT ME. I want to lick his chest clean.
There was a pause, then:
Did he cradle you in his arms like a Victorian damsel or just let you bounce?
Option A, I think. There was hand-to-rib contact. Like, a lot.
Her response was instant: OMG. You are living my favorite fanfic.
That is NOT helping. He’s my boss. It was mortifying. Also, he is so far out of my league, he might not even be human.
He’s totally human. Did you check for a tail?
I giggled. No, but I did check for fangs. He has none, but he does have this vein on his neck that pops when he’s angry? Or maybe aroused? Unclear.
Please elaborate on “aroused.”
With a snort, I responded, Not in a million years.
I blushed furiously, even though there was no one around to witness it. Except maybe the koi. I looked at my reflection in the pond, flushed, hair everywhere, hoodie pulled up like a terrible burglar, and considered how much worse this could get before breakfast.
I wanted to elaborate, a little bit at least. I’m being professional. Very. But he keeps… looking at me.
Looking how? Like, “I want to promote you,” or “I want to eat you for breakfast”?
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. More like “I want to do both at the same time and then set you on fire for good measure.”
Hot. I could hear her voice saying the word out loud as if she were here, and that made my heart squeeze. I missed her.
NO. That is the opposite of hot. That is dangerous.
You always did like dangerous.
I would swear she was missing the point on purpose. Please, for the love of god, distract me. How’s your night? Any vampires?
One guy tried to bite me but he was just high on ketamine. Please tell me more about your boss’s hands.
I set the phone down on the bench and covered my face. This was pointless. If I told her about how his fingers had curled around my ribs, thumbs a kiss of space below my breasts, or how he’d looked at my mouth in the library, I would never hear the end of it.
With a sigh, I stared into the pond. I was supposed to be here to work, to get my life together, to finally be someone who didn’t flinch at every authority figure with a haircut. Instead, I was journaling about my crush in a tropical greenhouse and sweating through my pajamas.
I picked up the phone and typed.
I’m going to die of shame.
At least you’ll die in a mansion. Don’t forget to write me into your will.
If I die, avenge me. And delete my browser history. And throw away my rose.
Consider it done… can I keep the rose?
I groaned in disgust and her next message popped up.
Just kidding! Did I gross you out and distract you?
Actually, she had, for a moment. I’m writing you out of my will.
Comon baby, don’t be like that.
And I’m going to tell your mom.
She’d think it’s hilarious. She gets my humor. Now go have some fun with Mr. Hot Boss.
I shook my head. Don’t call him that, please.
No promises! Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
The koi began to move, sluggish orange and white, moving under the surface.
One nudged the lily pad nearest me, sending a shiver of ripples out toward the center of the pond.
A glass panel above my head caught a shaft of early sunlight, refracting it into rainbows that danced across the tile.
For a second, I imagined what it would be like to be someone else; someone who belonged here, who didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, or getting fired, or making a fool of herself in front of the world’s most terrifying boss.
I could almost see her; elegant, unruffled, hair pinned instead of wild, perfectly in control of her own face and limbs. She would know what to do with a man like Gareth Wolfe. She would not, under any circumstances, let him see her blush.
I snorted. As if.
Curious, I touched a finger to the pond water, and yanked my hand back.
There was a rattle from the far end of the conservatory; a watering can, maybe, or a pot shifting on its base.
I jolted upright, heart in my mouth, but it was nothing.
The silence rolled back in. I checked the time.
Still an hour before I was technically supposed to be awake.
I pocketed my phone, dusted off my knees, and stood.
I drifted to the far side of the dome, drawn to the scent of roses wafting in through the open ventilation panel.
The rose garden was Eden ha! compared to the conservatory; neat rows, every bloom trimmed and perfect, the beds freshly turned.
But the best part was the privacy. Out here, you could scream and no one would hear you over the wind and the bees.
So I walked between the rows, trailing my fingers over the petals, careful not to snag a thorn. Morning dew clung to the leaves, glimmering like tiny jewels, and the air was so cold it burned my lungs. The contrast with the hot, wet breath of the conservatory made me shiver all the way through.
I stopped at the white roses, my grandmother’s favorite, and took a photo. I tossed it in my conversation with my bestie.
Thought you’d like these.
OMG, so pretty. Are you going to steal some seeds and start your own goth garden?
I laughed. Only if I can breed a variety called “Anxiety Queen.”
I would buy it in bulk.
A rush of happiness shot through me. I could always trust Ruby to have my back.
My hands were numb from the cold and my hair stuck to my forehead in damp ringlets, but I felt lighter than I had in days.
A crow landed on the edge of the fountain, eyed me, then cawed once before flying off. I half expected it to leave behind a tiny scroll with my next assignment from the boss. Stop making a spectacle of yourself and get back to work.
But there was no one here. Just me, the roses, and the knowledge that somewhere inside, Gareth Wolfe was probably already awake, probably reviewing his schedule, probably plotting a way to make my day even more memorable than the last.
I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with cold, rose-scented air, and reminded myself that I could handle this. I could handle anything. Even a boss who looked at me like I was both the problem and the solution.
My phone buzzed again.
You got this. He doesn’t stand a chance.
Thanks. Also, if I disappear, check the koi pond. I’m probably feeding the fish.
I lingered a moment longer, watched the sun clear the hill and bathe the garden in gold, then turned and headed back toward the house. My heart still pounded, but the rhythm was steadier now, less panic, more excitement.
Today would be fine. I’d make sure of it.
The walk back to the house should have been a victory lap.
I’d survived the morning’s wanderings, didn’t bump into Leo, and survived my daily crisis hotline check-in.
All that was left was to caffeinate and face the gauntlet of spreadsheets, staff emails, and cryptic post-its from Gareth Wolfe.
Last night’s: “Find the draft NDA and burn it. Not kidding.” Signed, “G.”