Page 1 of Where Angels Fall

Chapter 1

Maddison

Why the hell does every workplace insist on having fluorescent lighting? I can quite literally feel it burning into my brain through my eye sockets. Or maybe it’s the hours on end staring at my computer. I’m starting to go crazy.

Sitting across from my father, Howard Dally, the CEO and owner of Dally Enterprises, I feel the intense need to tell him so. I feel the question on the tip of my tongue, bashing against my lips to slip free.

Father, you are a billionaire for God’s sake, can’t you invest in some mood lighting? Maybe a lamp here and there? Don’t you know that overhead lighting makes you look even more severe than you already do?

But as usual, I keep my mouth shut. Because that is what I’m good at. Unless it’s laughing as older politicians brazenly flirt with me in front of their wives. I’m a darn pro at the nice girl laugh. It falls out of my mouth nearly as easily as breathing.

The perks of being a Dally.

With my back ramrod straight, my professional smile that may as well be sewn onto my face, I pick at my nails as his voice cuts through his lavish office, sharp and stripped of warmth. A voice I hear at all hours of the day, even when I try to sleep.

“Before I forget, Senator Malcolm Hargrove has arranged a dinner with you. For tonight.” I feel my smile slip, my mouth parting slightly, as dread crawls down my spine.

The urge to say no flits into my brain, but only for a split second. I know better than that by now. No, is not a word in my vocabulary. Unless it’s accompanied by, “No, I don’t mind if your sleazy business partner gropes me in the middle of a gala.”

Mr Hargrove is one of the worst, too; beady brown eyes that leer dangerously, followed by too brave hands. Hands that take and take until there is quite literally nothing left and will still continue taking.

My father’s deep eyes narrow on me, deep brown like mine, and I realise I haven’t replied. Plastering my smile back on, I nod politely.

“Of course, Father,” I murmur, a sharp pang of pain from where my fake, French-tipped nail digs too hard into the skin on my thumb.

His eyes fall to the papers in front of him, a clear dismissal. My father wastes no time, only offering me few words and quick meetings. Time is money, he used to say, when I was just a little kid and begged to be able to play in the park.

He must have a lot of time because he has more than enough money. Yet, he is always looking for more.

Promptly, I stand, smoothing down my skirt and turning to leave the room in hurried silence.

“Oh, and Maddison?” His sharp voice cuts through the silent office. “It is in our best interest to treat Senator Malcolm well. He’s run into a bit of trouble. See that it’s resolved.”

Reapplying my smile, I nod as I stand. “Of course.” My submissive voice makes me a little numb every time I use it, but unfortunately, I fear that I’ve forgotten what my normal voice sounds like.

I spend the next hour in my office, catching up on work that never ends, the finish line continually moving further and further away. My knee bounces as I mindlessly fidget, picking skin at my fingernails until they start to sting.

When the time reads eight PM, I stand, striding to the elevator and taking it to the carpark level. My fancy white G-Wagon waits for me, one of the few cars left in the parking lot.

Okay, sure, there are a few perks to being a Dally. Not that I haven’t busted my ass for my position, but let’s be real... Some doors only open because of the name on your birth certificate. Like being the Vice President of Public Relations for a billion-dollar enterprise.

A professional reputation launderer.

I slide behind the wheel, the leather cool against my palms as I grip it tighter than necessary. The city hums around me as I pull out of the building, neon lights streaking against my tinted windows as I drive, but none of it pulls my attention. It all feels far away. Like I’m watching someone else’s world from behind glass.

I slip into a hazy daze, one where I don’t acknowledge how I’m feeling; in fact, feelings don’t exist.

I should be angry; I know that. Sad, scared... Sick to my stomach. I know they are the correct responses a normal person would feel if they were in my polished Louboutins. But over time, I learnt those feelings were futile. They never got me anywhere.

My obedient laugh, my perfectly timed smile, my meekness. They are all tools. Tools that get me through each day.

The radio might as well be silent. The city’s chaos is just static. And the woman reflected at me in the rear-view mirror? She could be anyone. A stranger wearing my face and that polished smile I’ve learned to keep glued in place.

I’m barely in my body when I hand the valet my keys and waltz into the extravagant restaurant. My body must have brought me here, carrying me like a passenger in my own skin.

But here I am, finding my way to the private room always available for Dally business, in the back of Aurum 14, the most highly sort after restaurant. Told you, perks and whatever.

Malcolm Hargrove is already here, waiting. His murky brown eyes drinking me in as he lounges back in a chair, scotch in front of him.