You’re still on probation for this job, whether he’s admitting it or not, she told herself. Now is not the time to wimp out.
Granted, she could argue some seriously extenuating circumstances, and even a terrifyingly in-control man such as Griffin would have to give her a pass on losing it just now. But thinking about it that way, like it was a test she needed to pass, gave her the strength to keep pushing forward.
She needed this job more than he had any reason to understand. She knew he thought she was too young and inexperienced to fill Kathleen’s size-ten shoes, but she was bound and determined to do just that, because if she lost this job…
No, she wouldn’t think about that, either. She’d just keep walking, keep proving herself.
They struggled against the wind, headed toward the mountainside house, which had seemed very close when they’d been driving over the bridge, but now felt very far away. Eventually they passed into the tree line and the wind abated slightly, but the steady incline of the driveway sapped Sophie’s strength, and the temperature was dropping with the incoming storm. She’d all but stopped shivering, which she knew was a bad sign, and a glance at Griffin showed that his face reflected the gray of the sky, and his lips were tinged with blue.
They didn’t have much time left.
He caught her look, met her eyes, and in his expression she saw only determination, and a flat-out refusal to admit defeat. Sounding far more like a drill sergeant than the efficient businessman she’d come to know over the past month, he growled, “Move your ass. That’s an order.”
If he’d coddled, she might have given in. Instead, the grating rasp of his voice had her stiffening her spine, gritting her teeth and forging onward as the snowfall thickened, going from stinging ice to fat flakes that whipped around them, swirling and turning the world to white. They were no longer a mismatched pair of boss and assistant—they were just two very cold human beings struggling to reach the basics: shelter and warmth. Safety.
Sophie’s breath burned in her lungs, and her muscles felt dead and leaden. She stumbled and caught herself, stumbled again and would’ve fallen if it hadn’t been for Griffin looping a strong arm around her waist. His silent strength urged her to keep going, not to give up.
Then, miraculously, the snow-covered surface beneath their feet changed, going from gravel to rough-edged cement bricks. Sophie jerked her head up and peered through her ice-encrusted lashes, and gave a cry of joy when she saw that they’d reached a parking area that encircled a central planting bed. Beyond that was the modern, pillar-fronted house.
“Come on, we’re almost there!” Griffin said, shouting encouragement over the howling wind.
Through the whipping ice pellets, she could see the details that distance had obscured: the touches of stained glass on either side of the carved main doorway, and the intricate stonework and terraced landscaping leading up the walk. There were no lights, no sign of habitation, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the promise of getting out of the wind and—please, God—getting warm and dry.
The possibility spurred her on, and she felt a renewed burst of energy from Griffin, too. Together, they hurried up the wide stone steps leading to the front door. She grabbed the knob and twisted, her fingers slipping in the icy wetness. Her breath hissed between her teeth. “It’s locked. D-do you have a key?”
“It’s in the lake with the rest of our stuff.” He cast around, kicking at several half-buried rocks that were frozen into the planting beds on either side of the entryway. When one came loose, he grabbed it, returned to where Sophie was waiting and used the rock to smash one of the narrow stained glass panels. The glass held against the first two blows, then gave way on the third, shattering inward in an act of destruction that would’ve bothered Sophie under any other circumstance, but in this case seemed very much like Griffin himself—direct and to the point.
He took a moment to clear the sharpest shards away from the edges, then stuck his arm through, and felt around.
“No alarms?” Sophie asked.
“Not yet,” he replied, face set in concentration. “Too many workmen to bother. Besides, the cops are, what? Half an hour away? Forty minutes? Not worth it.”
The reminder of how isolated they were, even more so with the incoming storm, brought a renewed chill chasing through Sophie. If Griffin hadn’t gotten them safely out of the SUV, it might’ve been days, maybe longer before rescue personnel arrived. By then it would’ve been far too late.
Then again, if they didn’t get warm soon, the same logic could very well apply.
The click of a deadbolt followed by the snick of a door lock came through the panel. Sophie twisted the knob, and nearly fell through when the door swung open beneath her weight. Griffin grabbed her and they piled through the door together. He kicked the panel shut at their backs, closing out most of the storm. The air went still, save for the draft that whistled through the broken window.
But it wasn’t the sudden quiet that had Griffin cursing under his breath. It was the sight that confronted them, laying waste to any hope of an easy fix to their predicament.
“Oh,” Sophie breathed, because there didn’t seem to be much else to say.
The place was a wreck.
They were standing in a grand entryway—or what might’ve been a grand entryway in a previous life. Just then, though, it was bare studs and two-by-four construction, with electrical wiring spewed haphazardly around and the flooring pulled back to the plywood subfloor. The skeleton of a stairwell rose up to the right, leading to a second floor that wasn’t much more than framework, and Sophie could see straight through to the back of the house, where nailed-down tarps seemed to be substituting for the back wall.
Worse, it wasn’t much warmer inside than out, and she didn’t hold much hope for a working heat source if the rest of the place looked as rough as the entryway. No doubt the hot water heater was off-line. Probably the electricity, too.
“Son of a bitch.” Griffin took two steps away from her and stood vibrating with fury, his hands balled into fists. “That thieving bastard. Look what he’s done to this place. That no-good, lying—” He snapped his teeth shut on the building tirade, and shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll kill him later.”
Sophie was startled by the threat, and by how natural it sounded, as though her slick businessman boss might actually be capable of hurting his contractor. Then again, she realized, looking at him now, this wasn’t the Griffin Vaughn she’d grown more or less used to over the past month. He was wet, cold and angry, and should’ve looked like an absolute mess in wringing wet business clothes furred with globs of melting snow. But he didn’t. He looked capable and masculine, and somehow larger than before.
He glanced over at her, his eyes dark, but softening a hint when he looked at her. “Let’s get moving. There’s got to be at least one room that still has walls and a working fireplace. That may be the best we can hope for.”
Sophie nodded shakily. Trying to force her rapidly fuzzing brain to work, she said, “The housekeeper and her husband live here, right?”
He snapped his fingers. “Good call. Gemma and Erik are gone, but they’ve been doing the repairs to their quarters personally. Erik didn’t want anyone else messing with his space. Which means there’s a good chance that their apartment is in better shape than this disaster area. It’s probably even still got electricity.” He gestured off to the left, where drywall had been hung in a few places, though not taped or mudded. “Their quarters are in the back corner.”
She expected him to head off and leave her to follow, reverting to business as usual now that they were, at the very least, out of the whipping wind. Instead, he took her arm, which probably meant she looked as bad as she felt. Telling herself she could be tough and self-reliant once they found someplace to hunker down and get warm, Sophie leaned into him as they walked down a short hallway,