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“I...”
He lifted my chin with his finger and looked deep into my eyes.
“Paige, go home,” he said. “I don’t want to see you here again.”
I nodded, but I didn’t say another word, either. I went to his office door, turned the lock, and let myself out. Scurrying down the hall, I avoided looking at the man typing in the reception area. It was bad enough already that he knew I had been to see Locke. He didn’t need to see me upset. He didn’t need to try to make any sort of small talk with me. I went to the elevator, hit the button for the lobby, and rode it all the way down. I avoided looking at the first-floor receptionist: the one I’d tricked, but I could feel her steely gaze as I made my way across the lobby. I took the stairs to the parking lot, but I didn’t let myself cry until I was in my car.
Then I remembered I still had to pay twenty bucks for parking.
Fuck.
Chapter 4
Locke
THE SECOND THAT PAIGE left the office, I was on the phone with my VP urging her to send up the CEO of Extrance. I’d have some explaining to do, and I wasn’t really in the mood for it. How had Paige managed to weasel her way into my office this early in the morning? And why wasn’t I actually mad about it? I should be furious, pissed. I should have been utterly irate, but somehow, the only emotion I could feel was excitement.
It wasn’t often that things made me feel excited or happy, yet she’d managed, somehow, to do just that. Oh, I knew she’d be coming to see me. Well, I hoped that she would. Overpaying her wasn’t an accident. I’m much too meticulous for that.
We both knew it, too.
I paced my office nervously as I waited for the CEO. When the doors to my office opened, Annabelle Reagan stepped in looking like she walked off the pages of a fashion magazine. She had the most perfect posture I’d ever seen in my life, and she was tall, slender, and wearing the most ridiculous heels known to man.
“Locke,” she said, glaring at me.
“Reagan. Pleasure.”
She waved her hand and walked on in. We both knew that this wasn’t a pleasurable sort of visit. With Regan, there was no such thing as pleasure. She might look perfect with a slim waist, long neck, and luxurious hair, but she was no wilting flower. She also wasn’t the kind of person I’d describe as “tender.” I would know: my father wanted nothing more than for me to date her, marry her, and combine our empires.
Too bad that was never going to happen.
The problem with Reagan was that she...
Well, she was kind of a heartless bitch. Not that there was anything wrong with a woman being strong or determined. There was certainly nothing wrong with a woman knowing what she wanted from life, but Reagan?
She was more than that. There was a reason that her business was so successful, and it had everything to do with the fact that nobody crossed Annabelle Reagan.
Nobody.
“You should fire your receptionist,” she said sharply, looking around my office. She was taking in all of the décor, all of the paintings on the walls. Reagan wasn’t exactly ignorant when it came to art. She likely knew the value of each and every piece hanging on my walls, save for a single painting that was behind my desk. She squinted at it, and I knew why. She was trying to figure out exactly who the artist was. She would never figure it out, though, and I would certainly never tell. It was none of her business.
“Lexus? Why? She’s perfectly adept at her job,” I said. It was a lie. Lexus was mediocre at best, but she was gorgeous and she kept my clients happy. For some reason, when people walked into a business and they saw a young, curvy receptionist, they felt a sense of comfort. There was just something about hot girls that made people feel a sense of camaraderie. They felt like they belonged, somehow.
It was kind of horrible and strange, actually.
“She didn’t recognize me,” Reagan said. That’s the real problem, I realized. Reagan wanted to feel important. She wanted to feel like everyone in the world was looking at her. A woman like her felt powerful when people recognized who she was. If someone didn’t know her, then she viewed it as a sort of personal slap in the face. It was kind of strange, really, and if you asked me, it was unhealthy.
Personally, I preferred that people not know who I was. I might have been powerful, but not showing my face gave me so much more power. I liked being able to go to different places and not have people instantly feel uncomfortable or awkward around me. It was better when they didn’t recognize me.
“And she’s already apologized for giving your appointment time away,” I pointed out. “So have a seat, Miss Reagan, and let’s begin.”
She looked around the office once more, but she didn’t sit down. Awesome. Another power play. With this lady, things were never going to get done. She was going to drag them out as much as possible, just like her father always does.
“Lovely art you have,” she said.
“Reagan. Sit.”
My words came out clipped and harsh, and she sat down right away. Then she looked up at me, surprised. I couldn’t tell which of us was more shocked that she actually obeyed. I wasn’t about to lose any momentum that was giving me, though. I sat down across from her and placed my hands on the desk. Reagan shifted from one side of the chair to the other, obviously uncomfortable. This wasn’t how she saw this going.
