Sam kept her lips clamped shut during the ride down to the lobby, trying to ignore the amused glances Clara kept sending her. When they finally stepped out of the elevator, Sam shrugged into her pea coat, juggling her briefcase and portfolio.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the other woman. “Look, I’m sorry about how I acted up there. Your brother just tripped my trigger.”

“Pshaw,” Clara dismissed easily, tucking an arm securely through Sam’s, completely preventing the shorter woman from making a clean escape. “Believe me, I lived with Rik for a very long time, so I know just how easily he can piss someone off. You handled him just fine. As a matter of fact, I’d say you passed your first test!”

“Test?” Sam squeaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Test? I thought we were just going to have some coffee, because I really need some coffee, but the rest was just to piss your brother off…”

Sam trailed off as Clara’s tinkling laughter filled the lobby. As Sam gave the taller woman the side eye, she inhaled sharply when she caught the vibrant aura that cloaked the woman like a second skin. It undulated through shades of sunlight and moonglow, glistening with prismatic sparks; an aura brighter and more vivid than any Sam had seen before.

Her breath caught in her throat, only for it to explode free in a hacking cough that had Clara pounding on her back.

Charming, Sam, was her first thought, rapidly followed by, Fuck, she’s not human. And if she’s not human, that means her brother’s inhuman, too.

Sam snorted. More like subhuman, and a total dick. Oh, I bet he’s got a gorgeous dick…no! Bad Sam! No cookie! Bad libido! Down!

♥     ♥     ♥

Clara glanced sidelong at the petite powerhouse she was dragging beside her. Sam seemed to be talking to herself, her animated face giving away far too much, but Clara had caught her brother’s mad dash out of his private office, as well as his reaction upon seeing the curvy redhead.

For the guarantee of amusement at her brother’s expense, that alone would justify hiring Ms. Samantha Kelly. She had initially been surprised when her grandparents had insisted she be present for the interview, but then she had spent the night at her family’s Lyon Pride Hotel downtown and studied up on Ms. Kelly.

The Mortal woman’s resume had been impressive for someone not even thirty yet, and her landscape designs were both brilliant and inspired, combining a whimsical beauty with ruthless functionality and a keen eye for environmental concerns and sustainability. That also warranted serious consideration, regardless of whomever Rik had his eyes on for the position. Clara ran the business side of the Estates, so she had the final decision. The fact Rik had been going behind her back was galling.

The two women made their way to the café located in the building attached to the Wells Fargo Center. There was a small line, and the two women made casual small talk as they waited for their coffees: a soy latte mocha for herself and a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of chocolate and two extra shots of espresso.

Clara had to raise her eyebrows at that order.

“What?” Sam muttered defensively as she returned the look. “I neeeeds my precious after dealing with your brother.” Sam’s low hiss drew a rather inelegant snort of amusement from Clara.

Coffee secured, and society apparently now safe from a tiny, terrifying, redheaded Gollum—and didn’t that mental image send Clara off into another round of muffled, snorting giggles that earned her a glare from said terror—the two women finally sat at a small, private table in the corner, across from one another.

Crossing her legs, Clara regarded the other woman thoughtfully over the lip of her mug as she considered just how to approach this situation. After a few moments of watching Sam sip her own sludge, Clara decided to be direct.

“Look, I’ve already gone over your resume and absolutely drooled all over your portfolio, so you’re definitely qualified for the position.” Clara tapped a manicured nail against her mug. “On paper, anyways, but you know that. Given my brother’s unfortunate choice of nickname, he must have done some research as well and discovered the same information I did.”

Clara ignored how Sam hunched in on herself, trying to make herself smaller. She tried to catch the other woman’s eyes, but Sam’s entire focus was glued to that ghastly concoction she called coffee. With a soft sigh, Clara continued, “But I made a few calls last night, to some of my contacts on the West Coast, as well as to some of your previous clients. They all damn near sung your praises as if you were some Earth goddess given flesh, blood, and a hard hat.”

Sam glanced up in surprise. Not necessarily at Clara’s vaguely blasphemous statements, since Sam’s father was a former sailor, and cursed like a true artist—much to her mother’s eternal consternation—but because Clara had actually reached out to people, even after reading about “The Event.”

“So, why don’t you tell me your side of the story? I have a feeling you were a sacrifice on the altar of public opinion,” Clara said.

Exhaling gustily, Sam put her coffee mug down and pulled off her glasses. Massaging the bridge of her nose, she squinted at Clara for a moment. The dazzling display had her crossing her eyes as the hypnotic patterns danced about Clara’s body. Putting her glasses back on, Sam heaved a sigh of relief as her vision was once more screened against the otherworldly auras possessed by inhumans.

“My fiancé…excuse me, ‘The Ex-Fiancé Forever Now Known as The Bastard,’” Sam rephrased, “and his father owned the firm I was employed with, Wylde Industries. Despite the fact my plans were solid, Daddy Dearest decided to use subpar materials and the cheapest, quickest contractors possible; they cut a few corners in order to get the contract. While I was sent to oversee another project, they implemented the modified designs without my sign off or knowledge. It wasn’t until it was far too late that I had even realized what they had done, and by that point, my name was on everything.”

Sam slumped in her seat. “As far as the courts and the press were concerned, it was my fault, especially with a few leaked details and press releases from Wylde Industries.”

Sam didn’t want to go into how the surrounding media frenzy had driven her to her parents’ house in the wilds of upstate Washington, or that she had spent the last few months haunted by nightmares and guilt as much as she had by the press.

Managing to dredge up a nonchalant shrug, Sam grabbed her coffee and took a noisy slurp before she continued. “After that, well…well, that’s all they wrote. In the matter of one day, I lost my job, my reputation, and my fiancé because I dumped ‘The Bastard’ and hightailed it out of there.”

Meeting Clara’s sympathetic gaze, Sam gave a small grimace. “Last week, I got a call from your grandfather. He’s old friends with my father, apparently. He told me to come out here for an interview. He wired some travel money when I told him I don’t like to fly, and reserved me a room at the Lyon Pride Hotel. I got here yesterday, spent last night getting ready for this morning, got up, met your buttmunch of a brother, and I’m now having coffee with the jerkface’s sister, telling my sob story.”

Clara had remained silent during Sam’s story, studying the other woman intently. Sam barely resisted the urge to squirm under that intense regard. Instead, she firmed her jaw, tilted her chin up, and leveled a stare back, only relaxing when Clara flashed a cheery grin.

“In that case, when can you start?” Clara asked.

Taken aback, Sam blinked in confusion as her mind scrambled to try and catch up. “Um, immediately I guess. I mean, Mr. Leon…your grandfather, Mr. Leon, not your brother, Mr. Leonjerk…told me to pack for two-to-three weeks, since I was driving out here, and emailed me a list of things I should make sure to pack.”

Sam canted her head, brow furrowing as she stared at Clara. “And, uh…not to sound ungrateful, because at this point I’ll be lucky to work ever again, but…what position was I actually interviewing for? Your grandfather was a bit…vague.”

“That sounds like my grandfather,” Clara admitted ruefully. “We’ve been looking for a Landsmaster, or Landsmistress, for the entire Estate. We need someone that can not only manage the current grounds, direct maintenance and the groundskeepers, but can also design and implement improvements and expansions. It’s a lot of management, a bit of landscape design, switching us over to more eco-friendly and sustainable infrastructures, that kind of stuff.”

Considering Sam thoughtfully, who was looking rather shell-shocked, Clara said, “Why don’t you go back to the hotel, get changed into something a hell of a lot more comfortable, and meet me at the Estates? They’re about two hours west. I’ll text you the address and you can meet me at the Château for dinner this evening, say around six or so? You can spend the week up there, look around, get to know the staff and get a feel for the land, and we can go from there.

“You don’t have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ yet,” Clara interjected, seeing the onset of Sam’s suddenly stubborn jawline, “If nothing else, think of this as a vacation—one you can obviously use. Either way, after all is said and done, if you decide to move on, you can use me as a future reference. I’ll be more than happy to provide a glowing recommendation.”

Trying not to gape like a fish, Sam finally managed her first real, honest grin in longer than she cared to admit. “Sounds like a plan then. Yeesh, I’ll just be glad to get out of this monkey suit!”

With a surprisingly hearty laugh, Clara reached out and once more shook Sam’s hand as she said, “It’s a deal.”

Sam tried her hardest to ignore the strange sense of foreboding those three little words gave her.