The smell of strong, black coffee was present, with underlays of spices and hazelnut. Her eyes followed her nose to the stand where a coffeemaker rested, half a pot's worth of the delicious brew inside, beckoning her forth. Creamers and sugar packets abounded from a basket beside it, spoons and cups nearby. Beth's mouth watered and she swallowed, turning away before she was tempted to help herself without asking.
Windows lined the farthest wall directly from her, showcasing the winter scene outside. A wooden bench with a plump cushion in cream, abundant with light and dark blue pillows-all the different variations of the sky found in the paddings-rested beneath the row of windows. It would be a perfect place to snuggle up and enter another reality through the pages of a book.
She looked up, and her breath caught at the beauty of the snow on the trees and earth, sparkling like millions of tiny diamonds littering the terrain. It was simple, and majestic. She inhaled deliberately, deeply, committing the sight to memory to later attempt to bring forth in words. Words were Beth's friends, the truest form of understanding herself available to her.
Caught up in the wonder on the other side of the windowpane, it took her a while to realize she wasn't alone. Beth went still, feeling the heated look of someone watching her a moment before a voice spoke.
"You're late."
Beth froze at the sound of the raspy male voice, and then she carefully turned, her heart following her body at a slower pace, and stared. In the one corner of the room where shadows played and teased, sat a man. His legs were long and clothed in jeans, sprawled out like he was carefree, or bored. The biting quality of his tone countered that. He didn't have the voice of an old man, but it was hard to place his age without a clear view of his face.
"Hi. I'm, um, Beth. Beth Lambert. You hired me to write your book," she said shakily. She wanted to sigh at the lameness of her greeting. Of course he knew who she was, and that he'd hired her.
"Beth Lambert who I hired to write my book … you're late." There was no humor in his voice, no emotion to give away his thoughts.
More curious than afraid, she took a step toward him, wondering why he'd watched her for as long as he had without letting his presence be known. His legs stiffened, as if silently telling her not to come closer. Beth opened her mouth to refute his claim, but a glance at the antique grandfather clock said it was true. It was eight minutes past one in the afternoon. She hadn't been late when she'd first arrived at his house, but by the time she entered this particular room, yes, she was.
Beth bowed her head. "I-yes, I am. I suppose. I apologize."
"You were scheduled to be here until five this afternoon." He paused. "Now it's until eight after five."
She shrugged nonchalantly, even as her pulse sped up in faint irritation. From the communication with him over email, she'd gathered that he was a control freak, a man who needed power to feel important. All the same, it chafed being told when she was allowed to leave.
"We both know I'm paying you a more than adequate amount. Because of that, I expect you to be here when you're supposed to be. It isn't asking much."
Ignoring that, Beth gestured to the couch diagonal from the chair he occupied. Her face burned, her next words stiff and sharp. "May I sit?"
"You may," he bit out, his voice a low rumbling thunder.
Once seated, she unzipped the laptop case, setting it on the plump cushion beside her. She used the motions to calm the rampaging nerves within. His voice was harsh, as were his words, and yet, she wasn't entirely put off by them. There were undertones of velvet and power that spoke to her body, flipped a switch of awareness. It was easy to be attracted to someone's physical appearance-a voice that could demand the same took something more.
Notepad and pen out, she returned her attention to the enigma before her and asked a question she hadn't planned on asking. "Why did you?"
The entity paused. "Why did I what?"
"I don't have any references, no credentials, nothing really, other than college transcripts and awards to back up my writing. I'm a novice, barely out of school, and other than a part-time job, I'm pretty much unemployed. You could have hired anyone. And you're right-you are overpaying me. Why?"
He leaned forward, revealing pale forearms covered in fine red hairs; his facial features were blurred edges without distinction. All she caught was a flash of black, hollow eyes with dark smudges beneath, and a glimpse of a long, proud nose. The slice of a hard mouth before he resettled against the back of the chair, away from her eyes. She let out an uneven exhalation. It disconcerted Beth, made her feel like she was looking at something out of focus with the shades claiming most of his face.
Something feral, something magnificent.
"You said it yourself."
Beth went over her words in her head, but nothing she'd said made it obvious why he'd hired her. If anything, it made it that much more ridiculous, when spoken out loud. "What part do you-"
"We're wasting time," he interrupted, his hand lifting and lowering as if pulled by an invisible cord.
Focusing on the lined white paper on her lap, she nodded. She wondered if her face showed exactly how put off she was by his attitude. Beth hoped she adapted quickly to his rough demeanor, or it was going to be a long, tense winter. She understood control, and the need for it. She hadn't had enough of it in her life. It was her own fault-she gave it away.
But what about this man? What part of his life was so misconstrued in chaos that he felt he had to act in such a way to her? She was a stranger, and one with whom he'd initiated contact. Being rude didn't make sense, unless it was about power. Control. Was the control taken away, or given? Beth wondered. She wondered too many things.
"Still wasting time," the man mocked, causing Beth to drop the pen as her thoughts were interrupted.
"I thought it would be beneficial for you to tell me about yourself, your views on things." She scooped up the pen and looked in his direction, her eagerness to begin hurrying the tempo of her words. "What are your goals? Where do you want this book to go? What parts of your life do you want to cover? What do you have to say? What do you want the world to know about you?"
He flicked his wrist before raising a hand to his forehead, the gesture absentminded. He didn't speak until his arm was lowered at his side once more. "How about I show you the trophy room?"
Trophy room? Why would he want to show her a trophy room? Without knowing his real name or what he looked like, anyone could be reclined in the chair a few feet away. She knew he had money, and now she knew he was exceptional at something. Beth stood on legs that felt heavy and uncooperative. She supposed if he didn't want to talk about himself, she could get a feel of him from the objects that made up his world. Of course, maybe the trophy room would be empty of anything, much like the entryway. A trophy room without trophies. It wouldn't surprise her.
"Okay. Whatever you want."
"Whatever I want," he repeated slowly. A bitter sound left him. "If only it were that easy."
His response was puzzling. What did he mean by that? The longer she was in the same room as him, the more peculiar he seemed. Beth didn't like anything that could not be explained. To her, there had to be an answer for everything. Even this man whose face and name she did not know.
He placed his hands on the armrests in preparation of standing. His muscles bunched, repressed strength visible in the forearms. His form hardened to stone. "When you signed the contract, you agreed to keep my anonymity. No one is to know you're here, or who I am."
She wanted to tell him that in a town like Crystal Lake, his identity probably wouldn't remain a secret for long. The town was like a swarm of aggressive bees, and they stung before they were aware of what they were stinging.
"Do you understand?"
Beth's lips parted at his words, more because she was finally going to be able to put a face, and possibly a name, to the voice. She studied his arms, noticed the faint tremble as his muscles held a pose they no longer wanted to. Who are you? What face do you hide? Her heart pounded a dull, heavy beat.
Around a dry throat, she said quietly, "Yes. I know. And I won't tell anyone who you are. I promise."
In the silence that followed, she knew he weighed her words, her tone, deciding if he would trust her. And then when she felt like she would go mad from the stalemate, he stood, revealing unkempt red hair that was sun-streaked with lighter shades of red, blond, and a hint of gold. It was like looking at fire. Rumpled waves hung over a high forehead, a bit of mutiny on an otherwise reserved man. Pale eyebrows were presently lowered over empty eyes-black eyes.