Time with Mr. Silver: Chapter 3

I SCAN THE DEPRESSING, gray parking lot.

One Atlantic Airways flight, two trains, and more hours than I care to think about, spent squeezing my five-foot ten frame into seats, with legroom designed for some miniature being—definitely not an actual human—and I am aching. And cranky.

The sky chooses this moment to welcome me on my first visit to England in style—with a downpour of freezing rain. Cursing, I pull my suitcase along the front of the countryside train station. There isn’t even a dry, indoor seating area. I have officially fallen off the grid in the middle of nowhere.

Leaning against the wall, I wrap my arms around myself. I’m in the right place. I just have to wait.

Ten minutes pass, and as the rain stops, a sleek, silver Range Rover pulls into the small parking lot and slows to a stop alongside me. The electric window rolls down, and a guy leans over from the driver’s side.

“Rose?”

I peer into the car and inhale the leather interior.

“Dax Silver?”

His green eyes sparkle in amusement.

“Not even close.”

He jumps out the car and heads around the hood, giving me time to assess him. He must be in his thirties. Wavy brown hair, a broad frame indicating he works out, and he smells incredible.

He holds out a hand to take my bag, and I instinctively pull it toward me. The man I’ve come to work for is called Dax Silver. This guy may be handsome, but he isn’t who I was expecting. And serial killers can be good-looking, too.

He bites his lip, then tilts his hand in greeting.

“Logan. I work with Dax.”

He drops his hand and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pink card.

“Here.”

It’s a British driving license with the name Logan Rich on it and a picture of him looking a little younger.

“And if you’re thinking of any rich jokes, I’ll be impressed if you have one I haven’t heard before.”

I raise my brows at him.

A smile stretches his lips as he puts the license back in his wallet.

“I’m from the Silver Estate, I promise.” He steps to the side and tips his head toward the lettering on the side of the car. Silver Estate Distillery is emblazoned on the side in fancy, metallic lettering.

I didn’t notice it before, too busy freezing my tits off and wondering why the hell I agreed to come here.

For Mom, Brett, and Harley, a small voice says in my head. For your family.

“Okay.” I allow him to take my bag.

He grins and then opens the passenger door for me.

“Ladies first.”

My eyes never leave him as he places my bag in the trunk then rounds the car and gets into the driver’s side.

“Bit of advice now that you’re in England”—he glances at me before driving off—“get a brolly.”

“A what?”

“An umbrella. You’re soaking.”

My clothes are sticking cold and soggy, like mud on a shovel. Of course I need a brolly.

“Thanks for the tip. So, what do you do?”

“Apart from abducting lone females from country train stations?” He smirks at the hint of a smile forming on my lips. “I run the estate’s communications team. Manage the PR side of things, the open tours, events held on site, that kind of thing. And you’re here to fill the new accounting role,” he states.

“I am.”

He reminds me of my brother, Brett, able to strike up a conversation with anyone, always upbeat, no matter what shit’s been dealt his way.

“Great. We need all the help we can get. Dax has been back at the helm for over six months now, but we’re still building things back up, you know? Me and Jasmin, we kept things going, but it wasn’t the same without him.”

“Why? Where’s he been?”

“You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“I guess not. Not if you’re not from around here. Thought you would have googled your new company before coming, though.”

That would have been the logical thing to do. But I was too busy alternating between being mad at my family for sending me away to wondering how much I’ll miss them when I’ve never traveled outside of the States before.

“It wasn’t exactly my choice to come,” I jibe. Way to win points with one of my new superiors, but I don’t care. I didn’t pick this job or this place. And judging by how at ease Logan seems and the way he’s chuckling at my response, he doesn’t care about my lack of business etiquette either.

“Dax implied as much.”

“He did?” I figured my new boss must know something about my situation if this job is a favor to Harley’s friend. With any luck, he will be okay to work for, and I can get out of here and back home as soon as possible. Mom might be happier then, knowing I’ve had time away like she wanted.

“You just need time to find yourself, Rose. Forgive yourself.”

Some people don’t deserve forgiveness. Not when their crime is unforgivable.

“He sure did,” Logan says, turning down a small country road.

“So where was he, then?” I ask.

“Oh, Dax? In prison,” he says as casually as if he’s discussing directions.

“Jail?” I deadpan as I study his face. No suppressed laugh, no glittering eyes. Nothing to suggest he’s joking.

“Yeah,” he says. “For grievous bodily harm. It was attempted murder at one point, but that got thrown out. The whole case should have, frankly. He’s innocent.”

“Right.”

I’ve seen enough of people’s ugly sides, my own included, to know that there is usually no such thing as ‘innocent.’ We are all guilty of something.

Logan sighs. “The Silver Estate is… you’ll see. I think you’re going to like it here.”

“Mmm.”

He glances at me, then smiles.

Outside, blurs of green hedges pass us until we pull up to the junction of a main road, and Logan signals left, taking us a short distance before pulling up in front of a giant silver metal gate with the estate’s logo displayed across it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, staring up at the imposing gate.

“I’m sure you will.” He smirks, pressing a remote control.

Then he drives through, submerging me deeper into my temporary home.

My first night is… quiet. That’s the best word to describe it. It was already getting late when Logan dropped me off last night. As part of the job, I’ve been given a small cottage in the estate’s grounds to live in while I’m here. It’s cute. Quaint. The floors slope on the upstairs landing. Resembles walking on a rocking ship when I go to the bedroom. The kitchen looks like it was hand carved, and the only thing visible from the windows is green. Grass. Trees. More grass.

Maybe that’s why they sent me here so that I can’t go anywhere or do anything. I know Mom and Brett were getting sick of me going out so much and seeing me stumble home. Harley, too, although she doesn’t live with Mom, so she’s usually the one who nags me the least.

I pull on my over-the-knee boots. I’m wearing them with a smart, skater-style dress that flows out from my waist, so it’s an appropriate attire. I wore it at my old job, but judging by the gray mist that had settled over the grass outside this morning, I’m questioning whether rubber boots might be a better option.

There was a note left by Jasmin—one half of the Silver siblings—that said she would collect me in the morning and give me my induction. And a delicious-looking pie in the refrigerator, which I devoured half of before crashing out last night.

I’m stuffing my perfume into my purse when there’s a knock at the door.

“Rose?”

It’s hard not to smile at the dark-haired beauty standing at my threshold. She’s grinning at me like we are already BFFs. First, Logan. Now, her. People are cheery around here. Maybe it’s a British thing. Or maybe they’re drinking the product on the sly all day long.

I sniff subtly. No, no alcohol. Definitely a British thing.

“I’m Jasmin Silver.” She holds out a hand, and as I extend mine, she pulls me into a quick hug. “It’s so nice to meet you. Ooh, nice boots.”

“Thanks.” My smile widens.

“Are you ready for your induction and to meet the team?”

“Yes, umm, that sounds great.” It sounds less like a lie than I thought it would. I’m here now. After a good night’s sleep being stuck here doesn’t seem quite as depressing. If everyone is as nice as Logan and Jasmin, then my stay might even be bearable.

“It won’t take that long to whizz around the estate,” Jasmin says over her shoulder as she walks down the path, and I follow behind. She’s wearing Louboutin stilettos, their red soles flashing with each step she takes.

Okay, this is a good sign. I won’t have to trek across half of the muddy English countryside while working here if she wears shoes like that to work.

“It’s a hundred acres. Most of it is forest and fields. The main distillery and offices are all close together, though, so you’ll spend most of your time there. Of course, if you fancied some time away for yourself, then feel free to take one of the fleet cars.”

“Oh, okay, thanks,” I say as we approach another gleaming silver Range Rover with the estate’s logo on. It unlocks without Jasmin pressing the remote. They must keep Range Rover in business.

“Don’t mention it. It’s fine,” Jasmin says as we climb in and she starts the engine. “Although stay on the estate if you don’t have a license. We don’t need the police visiting.” The smile drops from her face momentarily.

“I can use my US license for a year as a visitor.”

“Oh, great.” She lights up again. “Well, in that case, please make yourself at home. Use whatever you want, go wherever you want. I can take you into town on the weekend if you like. Show you around the area?”

“That sounds great, thanks.”

She breathes out in a rush, her words spilling out. “Honestly, it’s the least we can do. I was so happy to hear you were coming to help us get on top of the accounting. We’ve gotten behind with my brother…” She chews on her bottom lip. “There’s a lot of catching up to do. And you come highly recommended.”

“I—Thank you.”

I take my work seriously, but I’m hardly at a level that warrants Jasmin’s enthusiasm. Harley really must have pulled in the big favors to get me this job.

Either that or my family wanted to get rid of me. I don’t blame them.

Jasmin floors the accelerator. We pass a group of trees and turn onto the estate’s main driveway. At least, that must be what it is, because up ahead is the largest, regal-looking country house I have ever seen, complete with circular driveway and a central fountain shooting water up into the sky like a bouquet of crystal droplets.

“I’ll take you to the distillery and warehouses.” She points to another set of buildings off to the side. It’s obvious they aren’t original, like the main house. But they’ve been constructed in such a way they look like it, with matching sandstone bricks and large white sash windows. “Then we can head into the offices, and you can meet the rest of the team and Dax.”

The next hour I am rendered speechless as I take in the Silver Estate in all its glory. I’ve never been inside an actual distillery before, and the building housing the giant stills was just incredible. Jasmin told me they produce over thirty gins here. But their largest contract is for one called Aunt Iris’s Blend, which originates from California. One I’ve drunk myself on many occasions.

The mention of it makes my stomach clench with a pang of sadness. What are Brett and Mom doing right now? New York is five hours behind us, so they must be sleeping. At least, Mom will be. Brett must be working out. He has a physical therapist who he sees daily, but he still insists on extra workouts by himself to build his strength up since the accident.

I follow Jasmin up the sweeping staircase in the main house where the offices are. We’ve greeted the rest of the team, including Logan, who came with us when Jasmin showed me the orangery—a room with all glass walls and a glass ceiling where they host tasting events. The house is beautiful. It’s kept its internal features like the oak staircase and molding around the ceilings. But the office rooms are modern and bright. Welcoming.

We head up to the second floor where Jasmin shows me my office setup. It’s full of boxes of old paperwork that needs sorting out. A small accounts team does payroll and invoicing downstairs, but she said they need me to go over all the books for the last three years and make sure everything looks okay before I move on to the daily stuff. I have no idea what state things will be in. It could take me weeks. And some things might be a little different with the UK tax and laws, so I need to get my head around that.

The more Jasmin tells me about the role, the more I want to ask what the hell I am doing here. I know it was some favor to Harley through her friend, Maria. But I’ve no doubt there are people better suited.

“Oh, damn, he’s not here,” she says as we walk into another large office space, one with views from the window over the sweeping driveway and fountain. “His car is outside…” She pauses, her brow wrinkling before she spins and heads toward the door. “Relax, Rose, grab a drink.” She points to a sideboard set up with a fancy coffee maker. “I’ll go find Dax and then you’ll have met everybody.”

She’s gone before I can protest. It doesn’t feel right making myself at home in my new boss’s office and using his coffee machine. What if he’s one of those uptight stuffy suits that doesn’t like his things touched?

Every piece of furniture is positioned with precision. There’s even a giant tropical fish tank with sparkling glass sides.

Yep, definitely a stuffy businessman.

I walk over to a high-backed chair set facing the window. Everything else in the room is set up for business. Cold and detached. But this chair feels different. For a start, it’s alone. No matching partner. It’s angled perfectly to see all the way out of the window and across the grounds. The old leather seat is worn and depressed in the center as if it’s spent many hours being a comfortable haven for someone.

Even though it feels like I’m invading Mr. Silver’s privacy, I sink into the chair, letting out a deep sigh as it welcomes me like an old friend.

I rest my head against the high back and cross my legs as I gaze out the window.

The view is incredible. The cottage I’m staying in is even visible, peeking out from behind the trees.

Approaching footsteps outside have me ready to spring to my feet. But something in the deep growl that’s with them has my ass gluing itself firmly in place.

“You just need to be there…. It’s guys we’ve used before.”

The owner of the growl lets out a frustrated sigh, and I picture him sitting in this chair. It’s the perfect place to sit and calm the anger so heavily seeped into his voice.

This is awkward. The chair shields me from his view, but I should get up. It’s got to be Mr. Silver. And he’s about to find me hiding in his office, eavesdropping on a private conversation.

I uncross my legs and prepare to stand.

“No. They may as well be chasing their own fucking tails. Useless pigs,” he hisses.

Abort.

Maybe if I stay seated, he’ll leave and never know I was here.