Getting Mom situated at home proved easier than I anticipated, the events of the day wearing her out.
“I did not cause that accident,” she insisted, and even though I had eyewitnesses and a big, glowering man who said otherwise, I merely placated her and urged her to go take a nap while I prepared dinner. She finally did, and I pulled out veggies and started chopping, as Melody joined me in the kitchen.
“Annabelle, this is crazy,” she said, her voice low. Neither of us wanted to disturb Mom, and we definitely did not need her in on our conversation.
“What?” I said, pulling out a can of tomato sauce. I cracked the lid with the can opener and set it on the counter, chopping up onions to make a pasta sauce. I turned around to face her, wiping my hands on my apron. She sat at one of the three small chairs that hugged our tiny dining room table. My sister had recently dyed her hair with purple streaks, freaking mom out, but apparently her new boyfriend totally dug it. She twiddled one of the five silver rings on her fingers, and bit her lip.
“You did say Mister Gryffin?”
“Yes,” I said, turning my back to her again.
“The Sawyer Gryffin?” The little hairs on my arms stood on end.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, before I remembered vaguely that Lucy had said something this morning about the guy I’d spilled coffee on.
“That guy hasn’t left his house in like a decade,” she said. “In fact, he’s not even allowed to as far as I knew. I thought he was on house arrest or something.”
A cool sensation tickled the back of my neck. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice dropping as I tried to stay nonchalant, stirring the sauce on the stove.
My breath grew shorter, a horrible sense of foreboding overcoming me as I turned to look at her.
“He killed his fiancée, Annabelle. Years ago. They were never able to prove it, but he became a recluse, and yeah, he wasn’t arrested, but that man is a murderer.”
Murderer.
The words echoed in my mind’s eye. I could picture him in front of me, the dark eyes beneath heavy brows, the chiseled jaw, his enormous stature, hands so large they could snap me in two with ease. He dwarfed the small hospital bed.
But did he have the eyes of a killer?
Was that something you could see on a person?
And if he really was a killer, why wasn’t he in jail?
“Well, whatever, Melody,” I said with false bravado. “He’s not in jail or anything now, and maybe you’re confusing him with someone else.”
“Just be careful, Annabelle. Please,” she implored. “Seriously, sis, Sawyer Gryffin is bad news and I’m not crazy about you going up to his house.”
I closed my eyes, a headache forming at my temples. I rubbed my fingers over my forehead, trying to stave off the pain. Hoping to wash this whole damn day away.
I turned back to the stove and shrugged. A part of me was curious. Not only did I want to see where he lived, but I couldn’t deny the fact that the man affected me. The way his deep voice scolded, his dark eyes never looking away. The expression on his face, harsh but…I couldn’t put my finger on it. There was something about the man that attracted me. I swallowed.
“Mel, do you realize that the car of his Mom totaled cost over $200,000?”
I jumped as her hand slapped the table behind me. Turning around, I wasn’t surprised to see her scowling. “What kind of dumbass buys a $200,000 car? Huh? And then expects someone who makes hardly anything to pay him back? Doesn’t he have insurance that would cover it?”
“I’m sure he does, and I asked him that very question,” I said. “But…well, I hate to admit it, but I spilled coffee all over his suit and ruined it.” I swallowed, squinting one eye as I looked at her sheepishly. “And he says the suit alone cost three thousand dollars.”
Mel’s jaw dropped. “Did you, like, walk around all day trying to find ways to ruin Sawyer Gryffin’s life?” Her eyes twinkled though.
I barked a laugh. “It seems like it, huh?” I turned back to the stove, and shook some salt into the sauce. I had to approach this topic carefully, as my younger sister’s protective instincts were clearly on overdrive. I covered the sauce and cracked the lid a bit, allowing it to simmer, then came to sit beside her. The table was bare except for a small set of ceramic salt and pepper shakers I’d made in a summer art class years ago, back before my father died. I traced the edge of one, a clumsy, clunky blue piece my mom refused to get rid of. “You know, it isn’t just about the money, Melody. Really.” I turned the shaker in my hand. I remembered making it in a ceramics class we took at school once, how proud I was to bring it home, and how my dad had always said his food tasted better when seasoned with salt from this little shaker. “But I was afraid that if I didn’t cooperate with a guy as wealthy and influential as Mister Gryffin, that if he began to pry, and found out how few assets we have…”
It was a gross understatement. We did not have any “assets.” We lived in a tiny house, and on a shoestring budget. Melody made hardly anything sacking groceries at the local store in between classes at the community college, and I wouldn’t take her money for bills anyway. My salary barely made ends meet, and Mom had medical expenses that ate away at my meager income. We made our food from scratch, shopped at thrift stores, shared the one car, and made do with as little as we could.
My voice dropped to a whisper. “What if he pried about Mom, Mel? What if he told someone she ought to be in a home or something? I think I can at least hear his plan out, see what he has to say, and maybe we can avoid owing him money for the rest of our lives. Maybe he’ll let me off easy.”
She frowned. “Listen, back in my freshman year I had to research local legends, and he was one of them. I honestly forgot all about him because he never comes around. I thought he moved or died or something, until you mentioned his name. Big guy, right? Like, huge?”
I snorted. “Enormous.” My stomach dipped a bit as I remembered standing toe-to-toe with him.
“Yeah, so the Incredible Hulk had a famous fiancée, some rich chick from overseas whose dad owned a clothing company. They were engaged. Rich meets rich, they get richer, and everyone lives happily ever after, right?”
I shook my head, still laughing. “Right. Not exactly in my line of experience, but okay.”
“And they had like this huge, epic fight, and people say that he pushed her off a cliff near his home.”
I suddenly didn’t find the story very funny, as I imagined those huge hands of his and those dark, angry eyes. I swallowed. “Oh?”
“Yeah. He claimed it was an accident, and with the kind of money that guy makes, you know he’s got top-notch lawyers on his payroll. So to make a long story short, he wasn’t convicted of murder Accidental death. But the townspeople never believed him. So he’s been locked away up there in his ginormous mansion for like an eon. Word is that he has two servants who work for him, but they never talk to anyone about anything ever.” She looked me square in the eye. “I seriously don’t like the idea of you being anywhere near him.”
I got to my feet then, and headed back to the stove, lifting the lid and stirring the sauce. “Hey, I don’t like it either. But I highly doubt this guy is going to push me off a cliff or anything.” Though I was trying to make light of the situation, I shivered. It was an eerie thought, and one I did not relish. “Anyway, like I said, I have good reason to go, Mel. I can’t stand the thought of anyone taking advantage of Mom, or, God forbid,” I turned to face her and dropped my voice. “Making her go to a home or something. You’re going to have to stay here and watch her tonight while I meet with Mr. Gryffin, and then we’ll have to make sure she’s supervised. Got it?”
Melody shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”
At this point, my stomach was tied in knots at the thought of meeting Sawyer Gryffin, and it aggravated me. “I actually didn’t ask you to like it,” I said, meeting her gaze squarely. I was, after all, the big sister.
Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded with pursed lips. “Fine. Just be careful, dammit.”
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, nodding to her. “Yep. No long, romantic walks along cliffs. Check.”
I frowned at the phone, not recognizing the number at first. I’m sending a driver to pick you up at 8 o’clock on the nose. Do not keep him waiting. I’ll be checking back.
I swallowed, turning my back to Melody so she wouldn’t see my hands shaking as I stirred the sauce.
I would not be late.
I stared at the pile of clothes on my bed and glanced at the time. What exactly did one wear when meeting a huge, filthy rich, supposed murderer for…what? Dinner? A bargaining arrangement? I had no idea what to expect from Sawyer Gryffin. I finally settled on a sensible outfit, a simple skirt and pink top with a pair of ballet flats, and ran a brush through my long, wavy brown hair, the one feature of mine I actually liked. It hung down nearly to my waist, though I never wore it like that, always braiding it or tucking it into a bun. I glanced quickly at the time, wondering if I had time to put the clothes away before I left. I hated leaving messes behind.
Damn. Two minutes to spare. Two minutes? Where had the time gone?
Do not keep him waiting. I could practically hear the man’s deep, growly voice admonishing me to get my shit together and get downstairs. I quickly slapped some lip gloss on and ran a mascara brush through my lashes, when it dawned on me. Why was I rushing around like a madwoman to do what this guy told me? He wasn’t my boss. I planned on meeting him to discuss ways to compensate him for damages. He was not going to fire me. And he could breathe fire all he wanted, but he was not in charge of me. Shaking my head, I put away my make-up in my bag, and grabbed some hangers. I was going to hang my clothes up, and damn him and his driver.
I paused, a little summer dress in one hand, a hanger in the other. “Well I’m not going to go running like I’m Cinderella and my clock strikes at midnight,” I muttered to myself.
For some reason, the very thought of the growly Gryffin being Prince Charming made me laugh. I shook my head, and continued hanging clothes up in the closet.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I picked it up, feeling a strange surge of power as I glanced at the screen.
My driver has been waiting. Do you want to negate our arrangement this early, Annabelle?
Negate our arrangement? What the hell? I only wanted to knock him off his high horse a bit.
I shoved my phone in my bag, and left my room. Melody was waiting by the door, her arms crossed on her chest, shaking her head. I ignored her reminder that she didn’t approve.
“Okay, I’m outta here. If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, call the police.” Though I was totally joking, her eyes grew concerned and widened.
“Annabelle—”
“Oh my God, I’m joking,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Be good.” And with that, I left our tiny bedroom, and walked downstairs, my heart tripping in my chest. What did the night hold for me? Did he expect an answer to his bossy text? I huffed, opening the door, expecting to see some kinda Mercedes or something waiting for me. My jaw dropped when I saw a huge, gleaming black limousine waiting out front, with a well-dressed, stocky man leaning up against the door. His arms were crossed, and he bowed when saw me.
Was this the little town of Whitby? Or had I somehow transported to an alternate reality? It was bizarre, this elaborate limo out front with this driver waiting for me on my tiny street in front of my broken-down rental, while I stood there in a pair of scuffed ballet flats I’d bought at a thrift store for a job interview four years earlier. I swallowed, mustering all my bravado, and walked toward the limo driver. He had a bushy moustache and severe brows over stern brown eyes. “Mister Gryffin told me to be here at eight o’clock,” he admonished. “I’ve been waiting.”
Were all these guys like this? “Nice to meet you,” I replied sarcastically, climbing into the luxurious, leather-scented interior. He shut the door, and opened his, sliding open the little screen between the back and front of the limo.
“Nice to meet you, too, Annabelle,” he said. “But I do think it only fair warning to tell you that Mister Gryffin expects his instructions to be followed to the letter. He does not like to be left waiting. Please, for your own good, don’t do it again.” And without another word, he slammed the screen shut.
I frowned, but suspected that there’d be video cameras or something inside this ridiculous car, and even though I did not regret intentionally coming late, I didn’t want to give Mister Gryffin, or whoever he was, any more fodder for his anger.
With a heavy sigh, I leaned back and observed my surroundings.
It was amazing. The floor was carpeted, the interior in complete black with silver accents. The seats were covered in a leather, and across from where I sat, a gleaming counter housed a small bar. He had a bar in his limo. Was he some sort of alcoholic? Who had an actual bar in their limo? A flat-screen TV flanked one door, but it was off, and no remote in sight. A pile of magazines stood up against one arm rest, but with titles like Wall Street Today and The Enterprising Entrepreneur, I took a pass. Not my thing. In moments, the nose of the car dipped upward and I tipped sideways. We were ascending a steep hill. I tried to look out the windows, but they were so heavily tinted it was hard to see much of anything, as night had fallen on Whitby.
I started when a voice came over a little speaker. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” the driver said. “I prefer to keep my hands on the wheel and not use the screen when driving. May I get you anything, Miss Symphony?”
I shivered a little, unsettled being called by name by a complete stranger. I looked around the interior, unsure how to respond. Did I just speak into the air?
“Uh…” I began, looking around.
“Hit the button under your arm rest. The silver circle.”
My cheeks hot, I pushed the button. “I am all set, thank you.”
“Very well. We will arrive shortly.”
I took the opportunity to press my face up against the window and cup my hand over my eyes, doing my best to look out the window. This helped, and I could now see a bit beyond the car. When I did, I gasped.
Waves crashed against enormous, craggy rocks, seemingly right on the other side of my window. God, how narrow was the road? The waves pounded with such ferocity I could almost hear the roar piercing the night air. In a panic, I pushed the button again.
“Yes? May I help you?”
“Oh my God, how close are we to the edge of the cliff?” I asked, my voice high-pitched and no longer even under pretense of having any decorum.
A responding chuckle did not alleviate my fears. “Far enough away, Miss. We’re pulling up to the estate now.”
I blinked. Lot of help he was. But my thoughts quickly shifted as I peered through the tinted window and saw a huge, black wrought-iron gate in front of us, as the driver’s window lowered. He punched in a code, and the gates opened to the biggest, most majestic, terrifying home I’d ever laid eyes on.