Chapter One

 

Layla Evangeline looked up at the monogrammed gates and swallowed heavily. The stylized H seemed to taunt her, as if telling her what she already knew. She had no place there. This sprawling estate might reside in the same city she’d grown up in, but the gates may as well have been the portal to another dimension. She could tell just from looking that she didn’t belong.

But she had an appointment.

Like it or not.

Layla drew a breath, smoothed a hand down the front of her blouse, and moved the final steps up to the intercom box. She pressed the buzzer beside the speaker, glanced up at the camera mounted along the fence, and waited.

“State your name and business,” a male voice instructed after a brief moment of crackling.

Layla licked her suddenly dry lips. “Layla. Evangeline. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Harker.” If she survived that long. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

More crackling. “Please look directly at the camera.”

Um … okay? Layla lifted her gaze to the camera, this time deliberately aiming her face and holding still. She assumed they were verifying her identity with some ID photo they already had on file and told herself not to question it. She would be thorough, too, if she had so much worth protecting. Probably.

The crackling sounded again. “Please follow the drive up to the main door. Raymond will be waiting for you.” As the voice spoke, one of the two emblazoned gates swung open with barely a sound.

“Thank you,” Layla said, though she wasn’t sure the guy on the other end was still listening. She also had no idea who Raymond was, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. Instead, she held a little tighter to the strap of her cheap off-brand purse and started forward.

The grounds of the estate were beautiful. Lush green grass grew on either side of the softly curved driveway, with blooming flower bushes running along the length of the perimeter fence. Trees granted shade, and an elaborate stone water fountain, an actual water fountain, added to the ambiance.

Layla lingered for a moment beside the fountain, which seemed to be used as a divider in the driveway, and ran her fingers along the stone. Perfectly smooth and impossibly clean. The water was crystal clear. She had the strongest urge to dig out a penny, toss it in, and make a wish.

“The fountain was a gift,” an older, formal male voice said from behind her. “From Mr. Harker’s grandfather to his wife, for their fifth wedding anniversary.”

Layla jumped, her hand falling back to her side, and turned around to face the speaker.

He was a couple of inches taller than Layla’s own five-foot-seven and looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies. His hair was silver and thinning, and he watched her with faded blue eyes.

“Um, sorry,” Layla said, feeling awkward. “It was just … pretty.” Oh, God. How lame can you sound?

“We take great pride in it,” he replied, deadpan. “I am Raymond. It’s my job to escort you to your interview. Please come with me, Ms. Evangeline.”

“Right. Sure.” Layla moved forward and made sure to stay at least one step behind him as he led her up the handful of stairs and into the manor. So much for making a good first impression. Maybe some part of her had decided to sabotage this interview after all.

They didn’t linger in the foyer and Raymond moved pretty quick for his age, so Layla didn’t get much opportunity to look around. That was probably on purpose. She couldn’t blame him for that. The fact that the interview was even happening in Mr. Harker’s private home was a little astounding to her.

Raymond led her down a hallway and into a cozy little sitting room. He gestured to the cushy chaise and said, “Please have a seat. The master will be with you momentarily.”

The master? Was that how all the staff was instructed to refer to Mr. Harker? Or was Raymond just old-fashioned? Better question, does it really matter?

Layla obligingly moved to the indicated piece of furniture and sat down. She perched near the edge, afraid to let herself get too comfortable, and smiled up at the older man. “Thank you, Raymond.”

Raymond inclined his head, turned in place, and exited the room. Leaving her alone.

Layla released a heavy breath and carefully shifted her purse to set it beside her. This is just an interview. I can do this. Honestly, she’d interviewed for harder jobs. At least in theory. Except she hadn’t wanted this job in the first place. This interview hadn’t even been her idea. If she somehow managed to get the job—well, there was no point stressing over that just yet.

Layla closed her eyes, and the memory of her uncle’s visit washed over her.

“A little birdie told me you’ve been looking for a new job.” Harold Poleski followed the statement with a smile. The same smile he always wore when he was working on pulling someone into his trap. In this case, apparently, that someone was Layla.

Layla pursed her lips and looked her uncle in the eye. “It’s not a secret.” She knew better. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll find something.” No way was she asking Uncle Harold for help. They were family, but nothing was free. Family had taught her that.

Harold chuckled and walked around her, claiming a seat on her worn-down sofa. “As a matter of fact, Layla, that’s why I’m here.”

No. She was not getting dragged into her family’s nightmare. She pivoted where she stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need help, Uncle Harold.”

“But you need a job,” he said, one eyebrow lifted slightly. After a brief, deliberate pause, his face smoothed back to neutral. “And as fate would have it, I know of a position that’s recently come open. Excellent pay, full benefits. The kind of job people would kill for in this economy.”

A pit began to form in Layla’s stomach. “We both know I’m not qualified to work for you. I didn’t even finish college.” She neglected to point out that her dropping out of college hadn’t been her choice.

Harold smirked, just a little, and a chill stole down Layla’s spine. “You’re very right about that,” he said. “I’m not offering a job, specifically. I’m letting you in on a little-known opportunity, so you can capitalize.”

Now Layla was confused. The job wasn’t under him? That was an improvement, but also sent a giant red flag of warning waving in her head. “I don’t understand,” she said.

Harold let out a breath and leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa. “My boss is looking for a new pet-sitter.” He paused. “I think he termed it ‘caretaker’. Anyway, he’s not advertising the job in the traditional manner. You won’t find it on Craigslist. But I’m sure you can convince him you’re right for it. You like animals, don’t you?”

Layla uncrossed her arms and moved over to her chair, needing to sit. She knew how much her uncle didn’t like his younger boss, and she didn’t like where this might be going. “I do,” she said slowly. “But … why would you volunteer me to work for him?” She needed to get to the bottom of her uncle’s scheme in order to properly get out of it.

“Simple,” Harold began, “you work for him, you spend time with him, you get to know him. The more you get to know him, the more he lets his guard down. It’ll take time, and you’ll have to put in some effort, but I’m sure you can find something.” Harold leaned forward again, rested his elbows on his knees, and locked his brown eyes on Layla’s. “He can’t possibly be as clean as he pretends. Your job is to find something I can use to destroy him.”

There it was. The dastardly plot she’d known was lurking beneath the surface.

Layla shook her head. “No. No way. I don’t want anything to do with that.” She swallowed past the lump of nerves building in her throat and narrowed her eyes at her uncle. “Can’t you find someone else? Why does it have to be me?” She knew as little as possible about her uncle’s dirty business, but surely he knew someone else he could ask. Or force.

Harold’s lips twitched, as if he were fighting a smirk, as he studied her. “Everyone else in my … circle is a little less—” He paused and looked her over blatantly. “Inconspicuous than you, Layla.”

A cold chill washed over her, raising goosebumps on her skin. Layla fought to ignore them, and the growing, uneasy feeling. “Dad always said to leave me out of your messes, remember?” Harold wasn’t going to listen to her, but maybe he’d respect his own brother.

Harold rolled his eyes and straightened. “Rod was always soft with you. And he’s not exactly here right now, is he?”

Layla struggled to keep from glaring. Soft? What part of her childhood had been soft? “No. But he’ll be back.” It was best not to acknowledge the other statement.

“And you’ll be fine,” Harold said. He stood, automatically smoothing out his beige suit coat. “More importantly, it’s already done. You have an interview this afternoon. So get this little rebellion out of your system, clean up, and try to be a little more convincing the next time someone asks if you love animals.” He paused, standing parallel with her chair now. “Oh, and remember, Layla. You don’t know me.”

Layla could only gape in stomach-churning silence as her uncle strode out of the apartment.

It’d been nearly four hours since that conversation and some part of her still felt like she was sitting in her old recliner, gaping in stupefied silence after her uncle. But she didn’t know why. Uncle Harold had always been like that. Scheming and manipulative, but as hands-off as possible. That was how he got away with things. Things Layla was sure she didn’t know the half of. Didn’t want to know the half of.

“You were four minutes late.”

The declaration, and the voice, startled Layla, and she whipped her head around in time to see a man in an expensive suit striding into the room. He was tall, over six-foot at least, and broad shouldered, with a head of thick, dark hair and a strong jaw. Her appraisal of him was quickly forgotten when she looked into his sharp, almost mystical amber eyes. She’d never seen eyes like that in real life.

“There was … traffic,” she said, struggling to find her voice. She’d never salivated over a man before. At least not without the filter of a television screen, and most certainly not in front of him. What were they talking about again?

His eyes narrowed faintly as he settled in the chair across from the chaise, facing her. “You should account for that. Don’t let it happen again.”

Layla swallowed, gathering herself. She’d never in her life seen such a good-looking man. In truth, that description might have even been an understatement. But he was berating her for four minutes, and that kind of took away from his appeal now that her brain had re-engaged. Also, it would probably do to remember why she was there. That was a good way to keep her body in check. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harker, but it was only four minutes. I’ve been sitting here waiting longer than that.”

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?”

Layla fought to keep from letting her mouth drop open. He’d made her wait on purpose!

He crossed one knee over the other, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, and said, “Now that you understand my expectations on timeliness, I’ll introduce myself. My name is Damian Harker. This is my home, and if I hire you, this is where you will work. Provided we get along, once you pass the probationary period, you will move into this house. By then I’m sure you’ll agree that will make your job much easier. Do you understand so far?”

I’ll have to live here? She had definitely not seen that coming. She was not in any way prepared to give up her small, cheap apartment. It was her only slice of freedom. But it wasn’t like she’d been hired yet, and Mr. Harker had said she’d need to survive the probationary period—however long that was—so she didn’t need to panic. Not yet, anyway. “Yes.”

“Good,” Damian Harker said. “Then let me ask you, Ms. Evangeline. Do you like animals?”