Picking up her pace, she managed to make out the next sentence.
“I can’t simply give her the boot,” someone argued. “She’s come all the way from America.”
Oh shit. Immediately, Riley hugged the wall, keeping an eye on where her shadow landed. She was a world-class eavesdropper.
“Come off it,” another voice objected. Both speakers sounded English, which made sense given the holding company’s London headquarters. “Have you been to her website? All those phony testimonials? The merchandise? Frankly, you should be embarrassed for having hired her in the first place.”
Riley dug her nails into the meat of her palms.
“I came here as a professional scientist, expecting to find a productive work environment.” The man’s voice pitched so low it was practically a growl. “I have a PhD from Oxford, for Christ’s sake. I refuse to allow a con artist to jeopardize the possibility of legitimate research. If the board of trustees from Historic Environment Scotland knew about this—”
“Respectfully,” the other voice cut in, “the HES contracted you to survey the site for artifacts a month ago, and so far, you haven’t turned up anything more than shards of broken pottery.”
“I know it may not seem like it to you, but I’m making progress,” the protestor grit out. “Extenuating circumstances have caused unexpected delays.”
Extenuating circumstances. Unexpected delays. Yeah, sounds like a curse, jackass.
Riley shifted her position, trying to catch the speaker’s reflection in the opposite window without giving herself away, but all she saw was a slice of someone’s back as they paced.
“I apologize that we didn’t alert you ahead of time.” The first speaker tried to console his companion. “But we’re all eager to see the castle cleared out and ready for development. Surely having her on-site can’t hurt?”
Wanna bet? Riley had heard enough. Time to give these jerks the verbal smackdown of their lives.
“Good morning.” She made a show of leaning against the doorway. “Sorry I’m late.”
Both men swiveled as one. The first she recognized as Martin from his headshot on the Cornerstone website. The second was—
“Riley,” Clark said, dropping his folded arms. He really did have a face made for looking pained.
Her stomach sank to somewhere down around her knees.
Because there was no mercy in this world, the hunter-green sweater he wore brought out his eyes.
She played back the conversation she’d just overheard like a slow-motion car crash.
“You work here?” Riley directed her question at Clark, even though Martin had stepped forward with a big smile that said he hoped to avoid a scene.
Clark winced. “I—”
“And you’re trying to get me fired?” For all her puffed-up anger of a moment ago, her voice came out traitorously weak. The same man who had made her laugh last night, who had bought her dinner and kissed her under the stars, had just called her a con artist with so much venom in his voice, Riley could still feel the sting of the bite.
Did he really hate her that much? Already?
She closed her eyes against bitter memories of her dad packing his bags the week after Gran’s funeral. He’d found the journal in her drawer while putting away Riley’s laundry and the whole family secret had unraveled like so much yarn.
I always knew your mother was heathen, backwoods trash. For nine summers you let her pollute our child with this voodoo shit?
Get out, her mom had said calmly in response to his vitriol. Even though she’d never picked up a charm or practiced a ritual. Had left the mountains the moment she turned eighteen.
Riley hadn’t touched Gran’s journal for twenty years after that. She’d tried to forget about it, only pulling the book from storage when her thirtieth birthday dawned and she decided she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a bartender.
“You don’t understand,” Clark said, voice imploring.
“Oh really?” Riley’s blood boiled in her veins. She’d spent enough time letting a man shame her into ignoring her skills. “What exactly did I miss? That you’ve got a PhD from Oxford?”
He had the nerve to look at the ground.
“Do you lie to all your dates?” Riley had thought he was so generous, so sincere. A falling fucking angel. She’d practically thrown herself at him last night. Talking about that stupid movie, melting in his arms.
Something that might have been regret flickered across his face, but it was gone as fast as it arrived. “You didn’t tell me what you came here to do.”
“Are you serious? I told you I came for the curse. I told you my family—”
“Right. I thought you were a sentimental tourist, not someone running a scam.”
He hadn’t even asked her. Hadn’t given Riley the courtesy of the opportunity to defend herself, her business. Had she really been that drowsy from jet lag last night? That overcome by attraction? She knew there was more than one way to be wrong about a person, but apparently, she’d stumbled upon . . . just . . . all of them.
“One of us is deceitful, all right, but it’s not me.” Riley balled her hands into fists as humiliation burned into a more useful emotion.
Sensing the palatable tension in the room, the project manager stepped forward.
“Miss Rhodes, if I may?” Martin ran a hand through his hair. He had the tall, slightly stretched look of someone who’d shot up over a single summer and never recovered. “Thank you for coming. I was just—”
“Getting ready to fire me?” She kept her tone innocent, inquiring.
This wasn’t the first time someone had screwed her over. And besides, Riley had thick skin.
“No. No, of course not.” Martin reached forward to clasp her hand in his own. “We need you. I fully believe there’s evidence of supernatural forces at work on this property. We need this pesky curse cleared up yesterday.”
Clark groaned.
“Haven’t you yourself claimed to have tools go missing?” Martin scolded him. “And just last week you reported a spontaneous explosion in the room you were surveying.”
“I was in the weapons storeroom.” Clark gazed critically at the project manager. “There’s enough unstable cannon powder in there, it’s a wonder the whole place isn’t burned to ash.”
“Well.” Martin released Riley to tug at the sleeve of his dress shirt. “If you’re uncomfortable with Ms. Rhodes’s presence on the project, you always have the option to walk away.”
“I can assure you,” Clark said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t.”
“Ah.” A somber look passed across Martin’s face. “That’s right, I forgot.”
Forgot what? Riley didn’t see anything sympathetic about Clark’s position.
“My apologies, Dr. Edgeware.” Martin dipped his head. “I simply assumed that since your father arranged this assignment, he could—Well, never mind. We’re indebted to him for his referral in our hour of need.”
“Wait a minute.” Riley stepped forward. “Your last name is Edgeware?”