Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“How are you doing, Sarge?” Channing doesn’t make eye contact.
I don’t bother answering. I just stand inside the open refrigerator door, hoping it might teleport me to some other existence. One where I can have Adele and keep her safe.
“Any word on Dieter?” I demand.
“He’s in the wind,” Lance reports. “He’s left Utah but no telling where he is now. Fucker has houses all over the world.”
I try to get my shit together. To act like the alpha I’m supposed to be. “I think he’s going to make his move soon,” I hear myself say, but it’s an out of body experience. Like I’m standing back watching myself say the words. “He let Adele go–which tells us he no longer believes she’s his mate.”
“Yeah because what sort of shifter would let their mate go?” Channing asks, then winces.
I let her go.
Fuck. I did. I was an idiot.
“Would you please explain to me why Adele is not here, as your claimed mate, under this roof where we can protect her at all times?” Lance demands. “Because the way I see it, you left her hanging in the wind back there, and it makes no fucking sense to me.”
A yawning horror threatens to engulf me.
My mate requires my protection, and I abandoned her. My need to have my loved ones safe made me blind to the most obvious truth–she isn’t safer apart from me. There’s no disassociating myself from her–not when she’s my fated mate. No one can change fate. Not even a controlling asshole like me.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, shoving my hand in my pocket for my keys.
“Where are you going?” Lance calls after me.
“To claim my mate,” I shout over my shoulder. “If I can make her forgive me.”
Adele
Step one to getting over Rafe: find a new job. And it turns out it’s the easiest thing on my list to check off because when I check my charged phone, a message is waiting for me. I don't recognize the number, but it’s a Taos area code. The man speaking has a British accent.
“Good day, Madame Fabre. I am Mr. Button and I’m calling to inform you of a private chef position that’s just opened up in my household. We haven’t advertised, but we received a reference saying we must hire you. If you are available today, I’d like to interview you at the following address…”
I hit redial before the message finishes and confirm the appointment to Mr. Button’s voicemail. “It just so happens I’m free today.”
Finally, something is going my way. I dress and get dolled up quickly. No amount of makeup can hide the fact that after my friends went home, I was up all night crying, but I do my best.
The address is easy to find, and I know the job’s legit because the home is a mansion set on several acres, near Julia Roberts’ Taos home.
“Right this way, madame,” the man says with a crisp British accent. He’s dressed in a suit with coattails, answering the door in the middle of the day. Either he’s a butler or Downtown Abbey is filming in this house.
I follow him through the house, marveling at the giant gilt framed works of art and oriental rugs covering the floor. This place is bigger than the Park City mansion and decorated like a museum. It screams old money. Another good sign.
The butler leads me to a study of sorts, with a heavy wooden bookshelf full of bound books reaching the ceiling on one side, and a wall of windows overlooking a several story drop into a ravine on the other.
“Please, make yourself at home.” The butler gestures to one of several leather bound chairs in front of a desk. “The master will be with you soon. Shall I bring you some tea?”
“Please.” I smooth the front of my dress. “Although I do have a few questions about the job.”
“The master can answer them all,” the butler says with an air of finality.
“One thing,” I say before he can exit. “The family I’ll be working for, are they the Buttons?”
“Oh no, ma’am, that's my surname. Your employer will be Mr. Gabriel Dieter.”
The door closes behind him with a thud as I gasp. Oh no.
Gabriel Dieter–again?
What is going on?
Whatever it is, I don't want to be in the middle of it.
I stride to the door and try the handle.
It’s locked.
“Hey!” I shout, slamming my fist against the polished wood. The door is so old and heavy, I wouldn’t be surprised if my shrieks are muffled. The only one who’s going to hear is the butler, and he just locked me in.
There might not be anyone else in the house, either.
I can’t believe I fucking fell for this again. Fuck Gabriel Dieter.
I race to the window. I can throw a chair through it, but then I’ll be jumping out of the second story of a mansion. Plus, this room overlooks a ravine. Beautiful, but those sage brush and rocks at the bottom will break me before they break my fall.