to taste on my tongue. I caught my reflection in the mirror. The pulsing dilation of my eyes told the true story. I was famished. Unfortunately, I had work to do first.
After changing and dropping my soiled clothes into the hamper, I entered my office. I inhaled. No lemons here. Just perfect, quiet, nothingness. I set the iPod, and spread the day’s newspapers across my desk, flipping through the pages, looking for the details on the murder I’d heard about in the news today. The police didn’t have much—only a body and some lame theories. Their favorite being the ridiculously misinformed ’animal attack’.
The kill made the third murder in six weeks. It was more than what we normally had around here in a year, and the kind of crime that brought unwanted attention to this part of the country. I frowned down at the papers, unhappy with the news. This type of situation was bad for business. That was something I couldn’t risk.
I marked the pages I needed and arranged the paper with the others. I considered calling Elijah, asking for his opinion, but a fierce twinge of hunger forced me from my seat.
So much for getting anything accomplished tonight. I stood and walked back into the dressing room and again caught that same delectable smell. No wonder I was hungry; Genevieve’s perfume triggered an intense physical reaction. Like chocolate for someone with a sweet tooth.
My research would have to wait, because my sudden, ravenous hunger could not.
Chapter 3
Amelia
Graduation came and went with the usual caps and gowns, tassels and photos. My mom and dad came up for the weekend from Atlanta. In an instant, my college career was over and my new job as a personal assistant would start. The library job had been completed and I'd spent the last two weeks training with Genevieve. I felt pretty confident I could manage Mr. Palmer’s affairs, despite Genevieve’s constant reminders of his quirky, hard to predict behavior.
“How is he hard to predict?” I asked one day as she introduced me to his computer system. “If he’s so OCD then it seems like it would make it easier.”
She shrugged her petite shoulders and simply said, “You’ll see.”
I never encountered Mr. Palmer during my training period. Genevieve said he spent much of his time at meetings in Raleigh or even flying to other cities, raising or allotting funds for the Foundation. We’d have to meet at some point. It did seem weird to take on a job and never have a formal introduction to your boss, but again, beggars can’t be choosers.
Rain fell in sheets on my first day of working solo. I tried to pretend it was good luck, but it only proved to be a huge pain in the ass. I drove up to the building and parked on the street, wishing I’d been given a spot in the spacious underground garage. After a brief fight with my umbrella I managed to make it to the house fairly dry and let myself in with the key that I'd been given by Genevieve. The foyer carried the silence of an empty building, and after hanging up my coat and umbrella, I went straight to my desk.
My desk .
I took a second to sit in the chair and relish the moment. My first real job and my very own desk. Pushing aside the daunting realization I was now a real grown up, I took out my phone and snapped a picture, thinking I’d post it on Instagram later. Genevieve had removed all of her personal items and the desk was clean and free of any clutter. I’d brought a few trinkets from home but reconsidered when I saw the flat, spotless surface. I liked the sense of opportunity.
Just as I’d been told, I found the list written by Mr. Palmer. For weeks now I’d been fascinated with his handwriting. He had the most elaborate, distinct script I'd ever seen. It had a very old-fashioned style. A preciseness, like it had been printed off a computer and not by hand. I was jealous of the smooth lines and curves of his letters and immediately hoped I never had to write something for
After changing and dropping my soiled clothes into the hamper, I entered my office. I inhaled. No lemons here. Just perfect, quiet, nothingness. I set the iPod, and spread the day’s newspapers across my desk, flipping through the pages, looking for the details on the murder I’d heard about in the news today. The police didn’t have much—only a body and some lame theories. Their favorite being the ridiculously misinformed ’animal attack’.
The kill made the third murder in six weeks. It was more than what we normally had around here in a year, and the kind of crime that brought unwanted attention to this part of the country. I frowned down at the papers, unhappy with the news. This type of situation was bad for business. That was something I couldn’t risk.
I marked the pages I needed and arranged the paper with the others. I considered calling Elijah, asking for his opinion, but a fierce twinge of hunger forced me from my seat.
So much for getting anything accomplished tonight. I stood and walked back into the dressing room and again caught that same delectable smell. No wonder I was hungry; Genevieve’s perfume triggered an intense physical reaction. Like chocolate for someone with a sweet tooth.
My research would have to wait, because my sudden, ravenous hunger could not.
Chapter 3
Amelia
Graduation came and went with the usual caps and gowns, tassels and photos. My mom and dad came up for the weekend from Atlanta. In an instant, my college career was over and my new job as a personal assistant would start. The library job had been completed and I'd spent the last two weeks training with Genevieve. I felt pretty confident I could manage Mr. Palmer’s affairs, despite Genevieve’s constant reminders of his quirky, hard to predict behavior.
“How is he hard to predict?” I asked one day as she introduced me to his computer system. “If he’s so OCD then it seems like it would make it easier.”
She shrugged her petite shoulders and simply said, “You’ll see.”
I never encountered Mr. Palmer during my training period. Genevieve said he spent much of his time at meetings in Raleigh or even flying to other cities, raising or allotting funds for the Foundation. We’d have to meet at some point. It did seem weird to take on a job and never have a formal introduction to your boss, but again, beggars can’t be choosers.
Rain fell in sheets on my first day of working solo. I tried to pretend it was good luck, but it only proved to be a huge pain in the ass. I drove up to the building and parked on the street, wishing I’d been given a spot in the spacious underground garage. After a brief fight with my umbrella I managed to make it to the house fairly dry and let myself in with the key that I'd been given by Genevieve. The foyer carried the silence of an empty building, and after hanging up my coat and umbrella, I went straight to my desk.
My desk .
I took a second to sit in the chair and relish the moment. My first real job and my very own desk. Pushing aside the daunting realization I was now a real grown up, I took out my phone and snapped a picture, thinking I’d post it on Instagram later. Genevieve had removed all of her personal items and the desk was clean and free of any clutter. I’d brought a few trinkets from home but reconsidered when I saw the flat, spotless surface. I liked the sense of opportunity.
Just as I’d been told, I found the list written by Mr. Palmer. For weeks now I’d been fascinated with his handwriting. He had the most elaborate, distinct script I'd ever seen. It had a very old-fashioned style. A preciseness, like it had been printed off a computer and not by hand. I was jealous of the smooth lines and curves of his letters and immediately hoped I never had to write something for
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