The Revelation of Light and Dark (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 1)

By the time Rich reaches for the doorknob, my spidey senses kick in. Suddenly, I have a very good idea who might be on the other side of that door.

Sure enough, when it swings open, I see Carrick sitting in Rich’s chair behind his desk, casually leaning back with one leg crossed over the other, elbows relaxed on the armrests.

“What are you doing here?” I ask dully, partly because I’ve written him off and also because I’m still tired and having a hard time processing what’s going on.

“Finley,” Rich chastises me. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”

“Benefactor?” I ask, peering in confusion over my shoulder at Rich, my eyebrows scrunched.

Rich beams, patting me on the shoulder. “I’ll let him explain. I’ll just leave you two alone.”

“Wait, no,” I start to say, having no desire to be left alone with Carrick. Just his physical presence is intimidating, and I’m feeling knocked low by how quickly my life seems to be falling apart. Also… he’s a jerk, and I don’t have the tolerance for it today. I’ll probably say something I’ll regret.

But Rich is gone in a flash, pulling the door shut.

Wincing slightly at having a confrontation I’m not prepared for, I smooth out my expression and turn slowly to give Carrick my attention. Like he always does when he first sees me, his gaze runs over me in critical perusal, always landing on my eyes last.

We lock into a staring match before he finally sweeps an arm to the chair in the corner. “Take a seat.”

The immature brat inside of me wants to refuse because, in addition to being intimidating and a jerk, he also hurt my feelings by refusing to help after dropping an exploding bombshell on me last night.

Instead, I act my age and settle into the chair, taking a small sip of my coffee. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve worked in this business for six years and have an undeniable love affair with coffee, but I can feel the immediate effects from that one sip. I feel more perked up and slightly more in control.

“Your shirt’s on inside out,” Carrick points out.

“So I’ve recently been made aware,” I mutter. Another sip of coffee.

“Do you normally dress this way at work?”

“With my clothes inside out?” I ask incredulously. “Of course not. I had trouble sleeping last night, as you might imagine, and I’m operating a little sluggishly today.”

If I thought I’d get an ounce of sympathy from him over the mention of my lack of sleep, I’d be waiting until hell froze over.

Or is it the Underworld froze over? I’m not sure at this point.

Carrick’s expression remains neutral. “I merely meant your casual state of dress. T-shirt, flannel, jeans, and children’s tennis shoes.”

“Hey, these are Chucks, and lots of adults wear them,” I retort defensively, holding a leg out to examine one fondly.

“My point is that you’re the general manager here. You should dress the part.”

My frown presses deep furrows into my forehead. “I’m sorry… but what makes you think you can tell me how to dress at my job?”

“Because I’m going to offer you a grant so you can purchase this place,” he replies smoothly.

My jaw sags, mouth hangs open, and I can do nothing but gape in bewilderment.

“Do you understand me, Miss Porter?” he asks, and I can tell my lack of response does not amuse him. He probably thinks I’m an imbecile.

“Um… I ran out of my interview yesterday,” I feel the moral need to remind him. “Why would you give me the grant?”

He considers my question, his gaze once again seemingly narrowed in on my eyes. It’s almost as if he can’t stop staring at them, and I’m a little put off by it.

Finally, his expression slackens. “Marcus thought your interview went very well, and it was his recommendation we help you.”

Without a doubt, I should be elated and practically jumping for joy. I should be giving effusive platitudes to the man across from me, and perhaps offering up my first born in gratitude.

Instead, I’m suspicious. Even with as many strange things as he told me last night that explain away what I’ve seen all my life, I still don’t know if I’m getting the full truth. I certainly don’t trust Carrick because as soon as he unloaded on me, he kicked me out the door because I was no use to him.

This smells rotten to me.

“So you’re just going to offer up a $175,000 grant to me when it’s obvious you don’t like me and I don’t have anything to offer you?” I ask.

Carrick chuckles, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard such a sound from him. First time I’ve seen somewhat of a smile, too. He shakes his head, the smile sliding from his face. “No, Miss Porter. I’m not just going to hand over that much money to you.”