Page 34 of The Cursed Chalice
I feel like running far away from it all. Briskly, I walk back into my office.
I ease down behind my desk and power up my laptop. I read some emails and replied to too many.
Hours later, the afternoon light dims to gold across my office wall. My desk is buried under open files and unanswered emails. There are so many things to be addressed. I need to find out how the girls got into my shipping container. Who took them?
There is a knock at my door. I close my eyes because I can already smell her.
“Come in.”
The door opens.
“Close the door behind you,” I command. I sit back and watch as her hand trembles when she pushes the door.
She turns and walks to the chair.
“How can I help you?” I take up my gold pen and flick it slowly between my fingers.
She licks her lips nervously. I wonder if it turns pink or red when she nibbles on it.
“She is breathtaking.” Ares peers from the windowpane.
“Please sit.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk. She moves like water; her movements flow. Her hair is wrapped in a low messy bun. The large, dark blue T-shirt and tan coat hide her figure well.
When she lifts her gaze to meet mine, my heart does a triple beat.
Her heart-shaped face, small nose, and perfectly arched brow are all set in her dark brown skin. She is perfection.
“Cate said to come in here so you can interview me.”
Interview her? I almost groaned out loud. I should send her away, but she drank from the chalice. We are bound, whether I like it or not.
“What did you do for work before this career choice?” I ask. I lean back in the chair, dropping the pen and clasping my hands over my diaphragm.
I can see that she is deciding how much she wants to tell me. Rightly so. I found her in a motel that deserves to be demolished.
“I am an art conservator.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “Really? Which museum did you work at?”
Her chest rises and falls. “I prefer not to answer that question.”
I can feel my eyebrows pushing together, and I frown. “How am I supposed to hire you? With just word of mouth?”
Her lips tighten like I was causing her distress. “No. By trust.”
“Trust, hmm?” I nod, accepting her response. “What is the most valuable piece of art you’ve ever handled?”
Her face brightens. “Two years ago, I got to help restore a painting in the oldest church in Ethiopia. I even got to see the first Bible.”
“Do you work better in a group or alone?”
She looks up to the side, then her gaze holds mine. “Both.”
“Ask her if she’s married.”
“Are you married?” I ask. Her pause irritates me. The thought of her being attached to a man bothers me.
Her face falls, and she grips the arm of the chair. “No. I broke off the marriage.”
