Page 12 of Wanted

The Count went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Silent, he poured himself a glass, and it was the most viscous wine I'd ever seen.

Then, he leaned against the granite island to study me as he sipped from his glass, crimson staining his lips and giving him a macabre look.

I finished my sandwich under his steady gaze, and it was totally not awkward at all. Ha!

"You don't drink? And why is that?" he asked when I was done.

I shot him a look. "That," I said, "is actually none of your business."

He raised an eyebrow at that. But I didn't lie to him, so he really couldn't complain I'd broken one of his precious rules. Not yet, anyways.

He fell silent then, but he still watched my every move.

Finally, I asked, “Why did you hire me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" His dark eyes glittered.

"Because I have no experience, no references, and no… polish," I said, for lack of a better word.

He quietly regarded me for several long moments. "You have an interesting assessment of yourself. Curious." He took another sip of wine. "As to why I hired you… I suppose it is in part because you remind me of someone."

I drew back. "This isn't going to be one of those creepy situations where I look like your mother and so you want to kill me and bury me in your garden, is it?"

Amusement flashed over his face. “I assure you. You do not look like my mother.”

I narrowed my eyes. "I was actually more concerned with the part where I end up in pieces, fertilizing your roses."

"It is highly unlikely you will meet your end as a result of working for me," he answered calmly.

"Said that way, it's less reassuring than you might think."

"Anyone expecting reassurance from the likes of me will spend their lives disappointed," he said as he drained his glass of the last drop, rinsed it out, and then put it away. "Good night, Miss Kassandra. You might run into… guests I have from time to time. Please don't be concerned. They shouldn't be a bother to you."

And with that, he left the kitchen.

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding and then following his example, washed my plate, returned it to the cupboard, and headed back to my bedroom.

Guests? I could only assume he meant women. That shouldn't bother me. After all, I'm just the hired help. But oddly, it did. I couldn’t deny the flare of jealousy or the arousal at the thought of just what he might be doing with all these guests.

I shook my head, attempting to clear it of the Count, and threw myself onto my bed.

Only, no matter how I tried, I couldn't stop thinking of him.

Even in my dreams—when I finally managed to fall asleep for a few hours—he haunted me. His dark eyes followed me everywhere, and his mesmerizing charisma drew me deeper into his web of games.

After a restless sleep and despite my best intentions to switch my schedule, I rose with the sun, dressed quickly, then headed downstairs for a much-needed cup of coffee.

To my surprise, all the alcohol in the kitchen from the night before had been removed.

Huh?

Why was that consideration so ridiculously touching? Catching my thoughts straying back to the captivating Count, I reminded myself that I have no room in my life for sentiment. Or kindness.

Not if I want to survive.

I drank my coffee in an unnaturally quiet kitchen and considered my plans for the day. First things first, I had to check on Jeremy. Then, I needed to return what I’d stolen from the store, all before my shift started in the evening. Doable, even with the drive back to town.

As I left the front door, purse in hand, I suddenly realized I was leaving without my phone or even an inkling of an idea of how to get it back. A quick check of the Count’s office door revealed it locked, so retrieving my phone myself was clearly a no go. It also meant figuring out the combination to the safe wasn’t the only one step in my plan. I’d need the key to the door as well.

---