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She’s not just Chloe Faulkner. She’s mine.
Kenneth Condor’s dry, muffled laugh cuts through all the tension in the room.
Almost as if he’s taking great pleasure in seeing one of his little plans come together.
Or, as the case may be this time around, falling apart at the seams.
Either way, his gray eyes twinkle with mischief as he gives us both his own special kind of welcome.
And although I forgot to warn Chloe, she’s okay with the fact that it isn’t a warm one.
“Well, Xander?” Condor wheezes, his thin voice sounds a lot deeper and resonant in the huge library. “Aren’t you gonna introduce our newest employee?”
His sarcasm is about as wide as his ego, but Chloe doesn’t flinch, and I turn my attention to the real Ms. De Laurent.
“I suppose we owe you an explanation,” I tell her, resuming my role as general manager of Condor Hotels.
I’m still her boss if the old bugger has actually hired her after all this, that is.
“I think I can explain everything,” she quips, taking off her leather gloves which look out of place given the weather, but her thin, pale fingers look almost lifeless.
Her heavily made-up face is the same. Almost as if she’s afraid of the sun, like a vampire or something.
“Shut up, Daphne,” Condor snaps, and Chloe’s mother gasps, shocked by the old man’s rudeness.
Me?
I’ve heard him say much worse to a pregnant woman who wanted to use a bathroom without being a paying customer.
But that’s another story.
Daphne De Laurent does as she’s told, and once she removes her almost too dark for inside glasses, the light catches her face, and I can see it.
She’s albino.
Now, that in itself isn’t a bad thing. Nothing wrong with it, and it’s no fault of her own.
I only notice it. Only dwell on it past the point of hearing what Kenneth Condor says next because….
Well. Because he has albinism too, pale skin, white hair, no pigment in his eyes, the whole bit.
Most people wouldn’t notice. He’s always bundled up like there’s a blizzard coming. Plus, he wears a similar style of eyeglasses.
Dark, but you can still see his keen gaze staring right through you.
Maybe that’s why she got the job? There is nothing like knowing someone better than anyone else because you both have the same rare genetics.
Physical appearances aside, I’m more concerned with her ability to do the job she’s obviously got.
Although, I wouldn’t put it past Kenneth to string her along only to embarrass her in front of a crowd. You know, firing her before she’s hired just for his own amusement.
But no.
Today something’s very different, and as much as I’m dying to get to the bottom of this, I’d much rather just take Chloe home. Handing Condor whatever reigns he thinks I’m holding right back to him.
Thanks for everything, you old bastard, but no thanks. I’ve found my life’s calling now.
“How about I explain things. At least what we’re doing here,” Peter Faulkner says, glancing at his daughter.
His look screams that he’s sorry for making her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t exactly answering their calls either.
“I can’t speak for you, Miss,” Chloe’s dad starts, nodding toward Daphne De Laurent.
“But once Chloe didn’t meet us after getting off the plane, then told us not to worry when she just disappeared, we went straight back to the airline,” he says, looking to his wife, who gives her own silent nod, agreeing with her husband.
Chloe looks at me, but it’s clear her mom isn’t letting go of her anytime soon.
But I can wait.
Her dad continues his story.
“We happened to get a chance to talk to one of the stewardesses on the flight. She’d lost her glasses and admitted that she assumed Chloe was Ms. De Laurent from looking at her boarding pass.”
“But–?” Chloe gasps, sounding like she doesn’t need to hear the past twenty-four hours played back to her.
“Just a moment,” her dad says sharply, cutting her off. “The same stewardess told us you were staying at the new Condor hotel. A few phone calls there, and we were brushed off completely….”
Old Kenneth Condor laughs loudly until he’s hacking another cough.
“But I remembered this place,” Chloe’s dad reflects, looking around the huge room.
“It’s years ago now, but we had a contract to re-design a part of this old building. And I knew it was Kenneth Condor’s property,” he says triumphantly.
But I’m not making the connection that he does for me.
“I rang a few old friends, and after some arm twisting, we… Janet and I learned that Mr. Condor himself would be here today. And so here we are,” he says with a tone of finality in his voice.
Almost like he’s wondering exactly what it is he has come for.
His own daughter doesn’t look the same, and the woman she was impersonating doesn’t seem bothered one bit.
“I was mugged before I even got to the airport,” Daphne De Laurent pipes in.
