Chapter Five
Chapter
Five
Elle Thompson is standing in my office looking windswept and cautious, and all I’m able to do is stare at her. I keep expecting the door to open again, for Xander to follow her inside, but she apparently came alone.
“Pippa’s calendar is open. She can speak with you now.” Dea appears suddenly at my side, and though mind reading isn’t a thing, I can tell what my office manager is thinking. Rare magic—like the haunting Elle is after—means big money.
And the business desperately needs some of that.
Elle studies me, her expression daring me to disagree and kick her out of the office. I can almost hear the speech she’s undoubtedly prepared ahead of time. All her arguments against whatever dismissal I can conjure. It shivers in the air between us. So I surprise us both. I smile.
“It would be my pleasure. Join me in my office?” I gesture to the open door behind me. “Dea, can you call Zack Ryan for me? See if you can get him back on board for Thursday.”
“On it, boss.”
“Actually,” Elle says when I turn toward the office. “Could we go somewhere else? Somewhere…neutral.”
Her tone grates against my nerves. I’m offended on my office’s behalf. On my own behalf. I picked out everything in this space. I personally cleansed and spelled every bit of it. “What’s wrong with my office?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Elle insists, a tinge of pink blooming beneath her freckles, which is…interesting. “Last time we met on my turf, and that conversation ended on less-than-ideal terms. A neutral location might be better.”
“You think being here gives me the upper hand?”
She scowls. “That’s not what I said.”
“Pippa, why don’t you take our potential client out to Bellflower Bistro.” Dea shoots me a meaningful look before smiling fully at Elle. “They have the best lunch service in the city. It’s on us. Right, Pippa?”
I breathe in deep and invite magic to flow through me, tracing a calming sigil against my thigh.
When I exhale, I’m able to smile without grimacing.
“I’ll grab my things, and we can go.” I scowl when Elle nods—I don’t need her permission to do anything—and promptly realize I’m being ridiculous.
I trace another calming sigil along the inside of my palm as I escape into my office to grab my wallet.
My phone buzzes with a text from Dea.
Keep an open mind. We need this contract.
I won’t compromise my morals for a payday.
Behind me, I can hear Dea snort before she responds.
No one’s asking you to. Use that clever brain of yours to find a solution that works for everyone.
I hate you.
You love me.
Dea does a great job hiding the smug edge to her grin when I shut the door to my private office and rejoin her and Elle in the waiting area.
Elle looks wary, but she doesn’t avoid my gaze.
I swallow my objections and lead her to the door.
“The Bellflower is just around the corner. We’ll want to hurry before the lunch rush gets there. ”
Elle follows me out the front door. “I appreciate you making the time.”
I shrug. “Girl’s gotta eat.” At the sight of her pursed-lip frown, I let out a sigh. “Also, I may have overreacted on Saturday.”
“So, you’ll do it?” The hope in her voice takes me by surprise, different from the challenge and skepticism I first encountered. Today, she’s eager and warm and inviting.
“I owe it to Xander to hear you out,” I clarify. “I still have significant concerns.”
“And I’m sure I’ve already considered them all.”
“We’ll see.”
A minute later, we round the corner and Bellflower Bistro comes into view.
There’s no line out the door, which is a relief, but it is busy inside.
We’re seated quickly at a four-person table, the rustic wood gleaming with polish.
The table is surrounded by other diners, and the rumble of conversation presses in on all sides.
Rather than sitting across from me, Elle takes the chair to my right.
“I’m not going to shout across the table,” she says as she sinks into her chair. “I don’t want to be accused of yelling when I’m just trying to be heard.”
Her tone is matter-of-fact. I get the sense this is something that’s happened before, and she’s cautious to avoid it now.
We peruse the menu, but I’ve eaten here often enough that I’m not actually reading anything. Instead, I study this woman who wants me to haunt a bed-and-breakfast. Xander said the concept was hers, and I try to determine what about Elle made this idea so compelling to her.
Is she a thrill seeker?
Did she watch ghost-hunting shows growing up?
Or is it as simple as finding a hole in the market she can exploit?
Once the server has taken our order—a chicken Caesar wrap for me, a rustic BLT on honey wheat for her—I decide to find out.
“Xander says the idea to haunt the B&B was yours?” I keep my voice light.
Curious. All I get in response is a nod while she sips her lemon water. Okay then. “What inspired the idea?”
“Ms. Ainsley, I’m not here to divulge the source of my business ideas for you to belittle.”
“Then what are you doing, Ms. Thompson?” I snap back, matching her formality.
“Midnight Manor will open on Halloween, and it will be haunted. Alex is adamant that you’re the right witch for the job.” Elle swirls her straw through her water, the ice clicking against the glass. “I don’t care who we hire, but I promised Alex that I’d try you again before I moved on.”
“Fine.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Let’s hear it. What’s your big vision for your haunted attraction?”
“No.”
Irritation quickens my pulse. “No?”
“You’re the one being interviewed, Ms. Ainsley. Not me.” Her lips twitch into the approximation of a smirk, and it’s criminal how someone so frustrating can be so damn attractive. “Pretend for a second you want this job. Convince me you’re the right hire.”
I consider storming out of the restaurant, but three things keep me in my chair. The absurdly delicious wrap being prepared for me in the kitchen. My long-standing friendship with Xander. And Dea’s voice, ringing in my ear: Do I need to start looking for a new job?
“Fine. If you were a prospective client, we’d start this conversation with a hard truth.
” I lean forward, arms pressed against the table, until there’s only a few inches between our faces.
“I’m not sure that what you want is possible.
At least not in a way that’s both ethical to the spirits and safe for your living clients. ”
Elle holds my gaze, but she doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with those pale green eyes.
“To consider a case like this,” I continue, channeling everything I’ve learned as a business owner these past few years, sidestepping all the mistakes I’ve made that I don’t care to repeat, “I’d require a fee structure that pays for my time and expertise, even if I’m ultimately unsuccessful.”
“Reasonable.” She leans back, swirling her straw through the glass again. “Continue.”
“I’d also recommend, again, that we pursue other options for creating a haunted environment without involving actual ghosts.”
She scoffs. “Not happening.”
“You haven’t seen what I can do.”
Elle crosses her arms, unimpressed. “It has to be a genuine haunting.”
“But why?” I press. “Mundanes care more about the spooky experience of a haunting than whether it’s actually real.” The way people have flocked to C3’s basic-ass witchcraft is proof of that.
The server returns with starter salads, and Elle digs into hers. For the first time since we sat down, her eyes are downcast, her brow furrowed like she’s battling an internal war with herself. I stab a tomato as she comes to a decision.
“I care that it’s real,” she says at last. “Despite whatever story you’ve concocted for yourself, I’m not in this for a quick buck.
I’m not trying to screw anyone over, including the deceased, and I refuse to put out false advertising.
Secondly, there’s the matter of our primary investor, a witch named Sloane McKinley. ”
My mouth falls open, and I cover my shock by taking a long drink of ice water. “You got Sloane McKinley to invest?”
I’ve never met Sloane in person, but they’re well-known in the witching world.
Growing up, I mostly heard about them through my mother’s furious rants about Sloane’s efforts to make magic more accessible to mundanes.
If Sloane had come from a less respected family—or weren’t so beloved by the mundane community—NACOW would have shut down their work long ago.
These days, Sloane is a highly sought-after teacher, in part because they don’t discriminate based on someone’s innate magical ability. Or lack thereof.
A victorious smirk tugs at Elle’s lips. “Sloane is growing their training program for witches and mundanes who want to improve spiritual communication. They want to use the B&B to host their quarterly retreats, which means we need actual ghosts in residence.”
I don’t want to be impressed, but I am. A little. Yet something doesn’t add up. “If Sloane’s already involved, why do you need me?”
“They’re too busy preparing for the next retreat to handle the actual haunting process.
” Elle cocks her head to one side, her hair sliding in shining rivulets across her shoulders.
“And given your insistence that it can’t be done…
it’s also possible they don’t know how to haunt the place.
If they did, they wouldn’t need our location for their retreats. ”
I pop the tomato in my mouth and give myself time to think while I chew.
If I pull this off, impressing an eccentric investor like Sloane could open new opportunities for me.
Even if Sloane didn’t want to invest in my business directly, their endorsement could make a major difference.
It could bring in higher-end clientele, including other witches.
To be a witch that other witches turn to for help? The thrill of that kind of validation prickles along my skin. My mind whirls with possibilities. Risking NACOW’s attention by attempting something so ripe for disaster would be worth it with Sloane involved.
“We’d need a way to compensate the spirits who haunt the B&B,” I say as my brainstorming shifts from internal to external.
“And you’d have to give them the option to pass beyond the veil when they’re ready.
Then there’s the matter of possession prevention.
That’s a liability nightmare, even if you have guests sign a waiver.
And you’ll want designated ghost-free zones.
I imagine guests will want privacy in their bedrooms. They don’t need ghosts watching them change or playing voyeur if they indulge in vacation sex. ”
Elle sputters mid-drink and collapses into a coughing fit, her face going pink all the way to the tips of her ears. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.
“You good, Ms. Thompson?” I reach out to pat her back, but she waves me away.
“Elle is fine.” She presses a hand to her throat and breathes deep, settling the last of the coughing fit. “I’m sorry I pulled the overly formal thing. It’s something I learned during my MBA, but it always feels stiff and weird. Can I call you Pippa?”
“It is my name.”
This time, when she smirks, there’s a warmth to her eyes.
“Well then, Pippa, I have to say, I am impressed. I’ve always imagined that, if we could pull this off, it would be a win for everyone involved—the guests, the ghosts, Alex and me.
The investors. And if you can get us across the finish line, I want it to be a win for you, too. ”
Hesitation creeps up my spine. “Like I said, I don’t know if it is possible.”
“And I appreciate that you don’t make false promises. But…you’re willing to try?”
Her question hangs in the air between us, heavy with want that feels deeper than business.
I load my fork with salad to buy time. There are so many moving parts to something like this, but the creative thrill of it, the challenge it would pose…
it’s like lightning down my spine in the best possible way.
“What timelines are we working with?”
“We need the place haunted by our grand opening on Halloween, otherwise Sloane will pull their funding.”
I do the math in my head. Thirty-three days.
Thirty-three days to safely haunt a B&B.
I’d have to move around the few recurring appointments on my books, see if I could get them knocked out before I go or put them off until after Halloween.
Dea could handle the office while I’m gone.
Hell, she’ll probably enjoy having time alone to start all those organization projects she’s been talking about.
“Here’s what I propose.” Elle slips a business card across the table to me.
On the back, she’s scribbled two very large numbers.
“Come stay with us at the B&B. If you work on this until the grand opening, we’ll pay you that no matter the results.
” She points to the first number, a fee that would more than make up for the cancellation this week and refill some of my emergency fund.
“And if I succeed?” I ask, unwilling to believe the second number on her card is real. It’s a mind-boggling amount.
Victory flashes in Elle’s eyes, and the easy smile on her face is like staring into the sun. “If you impress Sloane and they fully invest in Midnight Manor, that bonus is yours.” She holds out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
I slip my hand into hers and ignore the way her touch elicits goose bumps along my arm. “Deal.”