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I smile. “It’s actually Ms. LeBlanc.”
Her brows knit as she glances back at a stack of papers in her hands. “Oh, well…hmm.”
Megan pats my arm. “I need to run back downstairs. Anything you need, just come ask, okay?”
I smile weakly at her. “Thank you.”
When she’s gone, I turn back to the confused-looking girl—Katerina, if the birthday cards tacked to the wall behind her desk are to be believed.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s just…” She smiles brightly at me. “It’s definitely Ms. LeBlanc?”
“I never changed my name when I got married. So, yes, technically, still Ms. LeBlanc. Is that a problem?”
“No!” she says, with all the sincerity of a punchline. “Not at all. I mean, it won’t be…as soon as you go down to HR and redo all your paperwork and on-boarding documents.”
My face falls. “Oh.”
“Yeah, it’s…” She makes a face. “Well, I’m sure it won’t take too long. In the meantime…” She glances at the closed door to Alistair’s office. When she looks back at me, the look on her face screams good fucking luck, sister.
“Well, he’s ready for you.”
“Sorry I’m a little late. I had a family thing on the phone I had to?—”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mention that to him.”
“It’s my sister?—”
Katerina cuts me off by stabbing the intercom button on her desk. “Hi, yes, Mr. Black? Ms. LeBlanc is here.”
She’s got an earpiece in, so I don’t hear his reply. But the way her smile falters and the color drains from her face tell me everything I need to know.
Ten years ago, I made the mistake of sleeping with my enemy. My bully. Though, I suppose I was his, as well.
But if any tiny part of me was thinking that ten years later, he’d let bygones be bygones and consider it all water under the bridge, the naked look of fear on his assistant’s face dashes that idea in a heartbeat.
Katerina’s eyes drag up to mine. “Like I said: he’s ready for you.”
Cold dread drags its nails up my spine as I turn toward the door. I walk to it slowly, my breath coming shallow and fast.
My fingers close around the knob. I twist, push, and then with as deep a breath as I can muster, I step into the room.
Alistair is sitting behind his desk—jacketless, with the sleeves of his Oxford shirt rolled up to mid-forearm—and I freeze when his eyes lock with mine, ice blue, piercing, like he’s trying to flay open my very soul with his gaze.
“Close the door.”
I quickly turn to shut the door behind me. When I turn back, my gaze momentarily drops to his forearm and to tattoo ink that I don’t remember from before.
“Eyes up here, Ms. LeBlanc,” Alistair growls. My gaze drags up to his, over the chiseled line of his jaw and cleft chin. Over the sinfully perfect lips and regal nose, until I’m once again captured by that lethal look in his eyes.
“Or is it Mrs. Carveli,” he says with a hint of a sneer. “I seem to be confused on that point.”
“It’s…” My throat closes, choking me for a second, and I quail at the way his lips curl at me. “It’s Ms. LeBlanc.”
“Well, Ms. LeBlanc,” he growls. “You’re late.”
“Alistair, I’m so sorry. I?—”
