Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
And nearly slam into someone.
Victoria.
Because of course.
She stands in the doorway wearing a thin cardigan over that silk dress, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her hair is damp, like she just got out of the pool.
“Well.” She greets me with a nonchalant grin. “If it isn’t the mysterious staff boy.”
I grit my teeth, adjusting my grip on the ice so the cold touches less of my back. “I’m busy.”
“Doing what? Ice delivery?” Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Very impressive.”
“Move.”
She does not move.
She steps closer.
The cold air shifts between us.
She stops the door with her back just centimeters before it closes on us. “You didn’t tell me your name earlier.”
“Still not going to.”
She studies me with interest. Genuine interest. Like she’s flipping through a book she can’t put down.
“Most people tell me their names before I even have to ask.”
Truly, it’s a wonder how no one has read this bored rich girl like the open book that she is. Prim and proper, my ass.
I finally set down the ice bags, resigned to this conversation, lest I lay hands on this heiress and physically move her myself. “It must be tiring avoiding all the bent spines sprawled around your feet.”
It occurs to me that this is precisely the behavior my mother begged me not to engage in. Giving attitude to the bosses’ precious daughter. Yet my instinct tells me that Victoria Danforth isn’t a narc. Or rather, she enjoys toying with me, just like I don’t exactly hate snarking back at her.
She bites back a smile. “You’re really committed to this whole ‘I don’t care’ act, aren’t you?”
“It’s not an act.”
“Hmm.” She tilts her head. “Feels like one.”
I hike the bags back over my shoulder and move past her, forcing her to step aside with the frosted edge of an icy cold bag. She inhales sharply, surprised—not by my rudeness, but by the fact that I didn’t pause, didn’t give her the reverence she’s used to.
“Are you always like this?” she calls as I walk away.
“Only with people who don’t listen,” I toss over my shoulder.
Her laugh is so soft I barely hear it. “You’re interesting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I don’t look back.
But I feel her gaze burning between my shoulder blades like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
And I hate how aware of her I suddenly am.
Her scent—something faint like citrus and saltwater.
Her voice—smooth but edged with rebellion.
Her presence—impossible to ignore.
This is exactly why my mother warned me.
Exactly why I keep walls higher than this mansion’s ceilings.
Girls like Victoria Danforth don’t get tired.
They get what they want.
And me?
I can’t afford to be anything anyone wants.
By the time I return to the kitchen, Chef Arthur is screaming about something else, and the cooks are pretending not to hear him. My mother mouths thank you to me, and I nod, pretending the encounter with Victoria hasn’t rattled me.
It has.
More than I’d like.
Meryl returns to the kitchen in time to curl her nose at the sight of me drenched in sweat from the trek with forty pounds of ice.
She nods at a roll of paper towels, the unspoken order clear, and pivots to my mom. “You’ll be given a weekly menu from Mrs. Danforth. Breakfast at seven. Lunch at one. Dinner at eight sharp. You prep, plate, and disappear. Any deviation and I hear about it.”
Mom nods. “Understood.”
Meryl turns to Elise. “Assign the boy the pantry and prep. Nothing to do with knives, though.”
Elise smirks at me, whispering under her breath so only I can hear, “Aw. They don’t trust you with sharp objects?”
“Not unsupervised.” I grin. “I wouldn't either.”
And I mean that. I’ve always been a little dark. The thrill I get from violence has danced beneath my skin for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried to ignore it, but apparently not hard enough. Seeing as it’s the reason Mom had to take this job.
Stabbing someone will do that.
Granted, only the families involved know, and I’m lucky enough not to be shipped off to juvie or now that I’m eighteen . . . jail, but Mom’s scared my luck will run out, so we moved. No forwarding address, just got up and left, and here we are.
Kind of dramatic if you ask me.
With a shake of my head, I try to pay attention to what everyone is talking about. Whatever I miss, I’m sure my mother will fill me in on, so I’m not that concerned.
After the lunch rush, I escape to the staff hallway, lean against the wall, and let out a heavy breath I’ve been holding in the pit of my stomach. The entire time in the kitchen, the staff kept going on and on about Victoria. It’s clear how much everyone here adores the girl.
I should avoid her.
No, you dumb fuck, you will avoid her.
The Danforth girl is a silky storm.
The kind that destroys everything in its path.