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In preparation to race into this meeting, I shove my planner into my bag and wait for James to circle around to open the door. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Mr. Bellamy is… damn it, he’s still scowling. According to my watch, this current tantrum has lasted for twenty-plus minutes. Even on a bad day, Bellamy usually simmers down after breakfast when the promise of another meeting gets his cold blood pumping.
I can only think of one reason why that might not be the case this time—Adrian Riley. The mystery of this impending appointment is too great to resist. When James finally opens the door on Bellamy’s side, I risk clearing my throat enough to ask, “So, Mr. Riley. Is he a potential client?”
That would make sense. Bellamy’s been on the hunt for more shares of retail lately. Perhaps this man owns some boutique I’ve never heard of despite spending months researching potential sales avenues?
“No,” Bellamy tosses back curtly as he steps onto the curb. My free hand is already reaching for his briefcase, and I juggle it with my own bag as I hurry out after him.
“A business associate, then?” I try next. The owner of some silk or textile empire, perhaps?
“Something like that,” Bellamy grunts while snatching his briefcase from me, once again throwing me for a loop.
I try to remember back to the day I first made a note of the meeting, but in a blur of various appointments and the overall hectic quality of Mr. Bellamy’s daily schedule, I can’t pinpoint an exact moment. Already the perfectionist in me senses something fishy.
While keeping pace with Bellamy, I yank my planner from my bag, open it, and once again scan the entry for Monday, 10 a.m.—meeting at the McNair Law offices.
Glancing at the brick building directly ahead gives me the impression that said offices are nothing special. The front sports a carefully manicured lawn that seems out of place this deep into the city. Fenced-in trees create a shaded walkway toward the front of the building and an entrance formed of glass doors framed in gold.
Scurrying along in Bellamy’s shadow, I take note of every pristine speck of white marble that forms the floor of a grand entryway. Wood-paneled walls create a soothing yet elegant atmosphere, and a beaming receptionist is already waiting in the lobby to lead us toward a row of elevators.
“Good morning, Mr. Bellamy,” she says warmly while glancing him over with a flick of her eyes. “Mr. Riley is expecting you. Right this way, please.”
Despite her friendly greeting, Bellamy looks even more surly, and my anxiety swells toward mayday levels.Breathe,I tell myself as my sweaty palms almost lose their grip on my planner. One name. One meeting. One mysterious man who may or may not be a potential associate.
“Is there anything I should know before we go in?” I question, low enough for only him to hear.
His initial reply is a grunt. Then a tersely uttered, “You’re good at reading people. Do that and tell me what you think.”
He lurches forward, leaving me to scramble to catch up. All the while, my mind is reeling. I don’t know if I’m more surprised by the blunt directive—which has nothing to do with my usual role in his meetings as a note-taker-slash-referee—or if I’m just caught off guard by the fact that he noticed an actual quality of mine.Andpointed it out without utilizing an insult.
You’re good at reading people.Maybe I am, but so is he. Rarely does he request my personal opinion on a business associate. So why now? Though the building mysteriously looms overhead, I try to focus.
Part of this job meant being proactive—and not overreacting to every little detail that happened unscheduled. It would be best to write this off as an unexpected new bit of information and store it for later. I’ve barely finished thinking the thought when the elevator doors open to a hallway draped in ebony. The harshness of the scenery is only undercut by another smiling woman wearing a pantsuit in a matching shade. She’s gorgeous—absolutely stunning. With her black hair slicked back in a professional bun, her small smile should seem charming and disarming. Key word beingshould. After years of mingling in the fashion industry, I recognize a cutthroat woman when I see one.
The type already poised to attack.
“Mr. Bellamy,” she greets, overlooking me entirely.
Bellamy merely scowls, seemingly disinterested in her beauty. “Is he in here?” he demands, jerking his head toward a closed door a few feet down.
The woman smiles wider and nods once. “This way.”
Her hips twitch in tandem as she leads Bellamy to the door and palms the knob. “Adrian,” she calls sweetly after opening the door a crack, “he’s here.”
She opens the door to display a chicly decorated office and the man sitting at a polished oak desk situated before his own breathtaking view. Adrian Riley, I presume, a suspicion that’s bolstered by the way Bellamy’s entire body tenses up and his eyes take on a particular shade of blue I personally dubbedhostile navy.
“Riley,” he says, clipping the name into one harsh syllable.
“Bellamy.” The answering voice is as rich as verbal honey. The man it comes from is equally impressive. Dressed entirely in a black suit, he cuts an imposing image against the backdrop of the overcast sky and gray buildings of the city. Loose blond curls frame a gorgeous face formed of breathtaking bone structure. He’s tall, I notice once he stands and unfurls his limbs to extend one hand in our direction. Bellamy makes no move to take it.
“It’s been a while,” Mr. Riley adds, as though oblivious to the slight. His smile widens as he lets his hand fall and focuses on me. His blue eyes are as disarming as those of my employer. Even the assured way he carries himself seems similar—though Graeme Bellamy rarely cracks a grin, and this man is all perfect teeth and suave charm. Goodness, they’re like night and day. Even Mr. Riley’s voice is the opposite of my boss’ gruff responses, as he asks, “And you are?”
“Evelyn,” Mr. Bellamy cuts in. “My assistant. I would like to have her present during this meeting. I hope that isn’t a problem.”
“Evelyn,” Adrian Riley repeats, drawing out my name. His eyes flick over me, raking up and down. If I weren’t so well-versed in the business world, I’d assume he was checking me out—but he wasn’t. With that single glance, he’d just sized me up. “I recognize you, after all. Always accompanying your boss to his many promotional events. Three years. His longest-serving assistant, in fact. Our Graeme always did have exacting standards few can meet.”
Our?The familiar word choice throws me off and highlights even more just how different this meeting is from Bellamy’s usual rash of meetings. No… This is personal.
“It’s good to finally make your acquaintance, Evelyn.” In three strides, Riley crosses the room to stand before me and extends his hand again. His fingers are long and manicured, though not in a way that warns me that he isn’t willing to get them dirty. Maybe it’s the faint bruises along his knuckles that give him away. Perhaps he does boxing in his spare time?
