The man has closed himself completely off from others. Is it the result of guilt? Or something else?
As she pressed Enter to begin the next point, the landline rang. That was odd. She hadn’t given anyone that phone number. Her father had her cell phone number.
She picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Did you find everything you need?” Not a greeting. Just straight to the point.
“Yes, I did.”
“I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, so I had Mrs. Kupps prepare you a plate of pasta, a tossed salad and some fresh baked bread. You will find it in your kitchen.”
Outside the storm raged on with thunder and howling wind. Gaby did her best to ignore it. “Thank you.” Had he called purely out of courtesy? Or was this his way of checking up on her? Perhaps this was her opportunity to flush him out of the shadows. “Will you be joining me?”
“No.” His voice was firm and without hesitation. He was certainly a stubborn man. “In the future, you can let Mrs. Kupps know what you eat and don’t eat, so that she can plan the menu appropriately.”
“I—I can do that.” She hesitated. “The guesthouse is nice.” There was some sort of grunt on his end of the phone. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean, so she ignored it. “What time would you like to get started in the morning?”
“I start before the sun is up. You can start by eight. Will that be a problem?”
“No. Not at all.” She was used to opening the library at eight each morning. “I have a few things that I’d like to go over with you. Shall we meet in my office?”
“I thought you understood that this arrangement is to be by phone or email. I don’t do one-on-one meetings—”
“But—”
“There are no exceptions. Good night.”
And with that terse conclusion, he’d hung up on her. She stared at the phone. She could not believe that this man was so stubborn. Working for him was going to be difficult, but trying to get information about the accident from him was going to be downright impossible—unless she could get past this wall between them. And she hadn’t come this far to give up.
Gaby hung up the phone and turned her attention back to the report for QTR. She’d lost her concentration after speaking with Deacon. She was back to staring at the blinking cursor and wondering what she should write.
QTR had assured her that before anything was published, they would get her approval. She wouldn’t have agreed to the arrangement otherwise. After all, she didn’t want them getting the facts wrong.
Although at this point, there wouldn’t be much to write about the elusive Mr. Santoro. Giving herself the freedom to write about anything she’d learned so far, she resumed typing.
His estate in in disarray with overgrown vegetation. Was it always this way?
He’s run off multiple assistants. What has happened? Has he fired them? If so, for what?
Locked door between the office and the rest of the house. What is he hiding?
The man lacks social niceties. Has he always been this way? Or is this a new thing?
It certainly wasn’t a stellar first report. Would they be upset that it contained more questions than answers? Or would they appreciate her train of thought and look forward to the answers?
Accepting that it was the best she could do now, she proofread the email. Gabrielle pressed Send and closed her personal laptop.
She moved to the French doors and stared at the sky—the storm had now moved away. She opened the doors, enjoying the fresh scent of rain in the air. In the distance, the lightning provided a beautiful show. Was Mr. Santoro staring at the sky, too? She instinctively glanced in the direction of the main house, but she couldn’t see it as it sat farther back than the guesthouse.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mysterious boss. There had to be a way to break through the man’s wall. She would find it, one way or the other.
CHAPTER THREE
TWO DAYS...
Forty-eight hours...
Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes...