Page 16 of To Love a Beast

Taking his cue, Callista adjusted her posture and raised her chin. It didn't eliminate the flutters from her stomach, but when her escort nodded in approval, a much-needed infusion of reassurance saturated her spirit.

He lifted one brow, silently asking if she was ready. Callista nodded. She knew what to expect from Mr. Griffin. He'd not catch her off-guard this time.

Timens pushed the door inward with controlled authority then stepped aside. "The library, miss. You'll find your supplies installed at the center of the room. If I can provide anything to expedite your work, you have only to ask. Mr. Griffin awaits you inside to discuss his expectations."

Feeling the oddest urge to curtsy, Callista offered a small bob of her head as she stepped past him into the room. She spotted her trunks right away but caught no glimpse of her employer at either of the tables to her left nor by the globe positioned between a pair of tall windows straight ahead. Swinging her attention to her right, her gaze stuttered to a halt as she sucked in an awe-filled breath.

Dark walnut cabinetry glistened in the dim lamplight, carved in simple elegance and stretching from floor to ceiling. Cabinet doors hid contents from waist-level to the floor, but above that stretched shelves upon shelves of glorious books. Never had she seen so extensive a personal collection. The volumes called to her like a siren, erasing all from her mind save the treasure waiting between their pages.

Her hand lifted. Her feet moved. Her eyes misted.

Heaven. Surely this must be what heaven looked like. An array of never-ending books that stretched for all eternity, filled with stories, knowledge, and experiences waiting to be shared.

Reaching the shelves, she ran a finger along the first row of spines, music erupting in her soul as surely as if she'd stroked a piano's keys. A set of library stairs in matching dark wood beckoned. She climbed one step, then another, and another, all the way to the top—craving the books on the highest shelf, the ones just out of reach. A matching set of biblical commentaries covered in rich, burgundy leather begged for her touch. She raised up onto her toes and stretched her hand above her head. Just a little farther . . .

"Those aren't the ones I've commissioned you for."

Callista recoiled at the frustrated growl and lost her footing. A yelp tore from her throat as she made a desperate grab for the top stair situated near her shins. Yet the jerking movement only worsened her balance. The tall stepladder wobbled, and in the next heartbeat, Callista plummeted toward the hardwood floor.

Chapter 7

Everett lunged forward with arms outstretched, cursing himself for being so foolish as to startle her. She crashed against his chest, her head knocking against his cheek bone with bruising force as the two of them toppled. His rear rammed the floor, quickly followed by his shoulder and the back of his head. The wind rushed out of him as one of her knees jabbed his midsection.

His delusions of chivalrous grandeur had been as flattened as his backside.

A competent gentleman would have swept the dangling damsel into his arms with grace, her arms perfectly circling his neck as he kept even her toe from striking the ground. All he'd managed to do was break her fall and amplify his headache tenfold. Some hero.

Her elbow clipped his jaw, aggravating his head. "Get off," he groused.

"I'm trying."

Good grief, man. You didn't even ask if she was hurt.

A moan pressed out of him, only partially caused by the feminine palms squishing his ribcage as she tried to rise.

"Sorry."

Cracking open his good eye, he located her waist, grabbed hold with both hands, and gently tossed her to the side. Then, gritting his teeth, he sat up slowly, careful to jostle his head as little as possible. As much as he wanted to get this initial meeting over with, he was in no condition to conduct business.

"You're dismissed, Miss Rosenfeld," he ground out.

At his words, she ceased straightening her clothes. Her eyes widened in alarm then hardened in determination. "We have a contract, sir. I admit that I allowed myself to be distracted by your collection, but you bear some responsibility for my tumble as well. If you hadn't frightened me, I never would have fallen."

"If you'd been aware of my presence, my voice wouldn't have frightened you."

Her right brow lifted in affront. "I would have been aware of your presence if you had spoken when I first entered instead of lurking in a dark corner."

"Timens told you . . . argh! Why am I arguing with you? I'm the one in charge." His voice rose to a near-roar level, which didn't help his head any. He squeezed his eye shut. "We will discuss the project in the morning. I am feeling unwell after being flattened by my resident book binder."

"In the . . . morning?" The softness of her voice cut through the pounding in his temples. "I thought you'd dismissed me."

Everett opened his eye and slowly focused on her face. "I did. You're dismissed for the rest of the night. My staff can see to your accommodat—"

Oh. She thought he'd fired her. He probably should have, but that ship had already sailed, and he wasn't one to go back on his word.

"I'm not sacking you, Miss Rosenfeld. I agreed to give you a one-week trial period, and despite what my fearsome appearance might lead you to believe, I'm a man who honors his commitments. If your skills are as proficient as you have led me to believe, you may stay until the entire project is complete. Though I pray you work quickly, for you are proving to be a plague upon my health."

He turned away, intending to quit the room before any other disaster could strike, but a featherlight touch to his shoulder blade arrested him where he stood.