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She glances at something on her screen and purses her lips. “Of course.” She stands, smoothing down a chic dress as she steps out from behind her desk. “If you’d like to follow me.”
As we walk across to the sweeping staircase that I remember Britney leading me up, the receptionist glances back at me.
“I love your dress, by the way.”
I already can tell “cold bitch” is clearly her default setting, and knowing Gavan, it’s probably the reason he picked her to be the unfriendly but attractive face people first see when they walk into his company offices. I can also tell that she clearlyenjoyshaving that frosty attitude, and that mentioning my dress isn’t just her “being nice”.
“Dior?”
I nod, glancing down at the sleeveless peachy-pink belted mid-length dress. I might have plenty of flaws and faults—okay, Idohave plenty of flaws and faults—but one thing I’ve got down to an art form is dressing stylishly for a business meeting. “Yeah. Is it a bit much?”
She eyes me up and down. “Oh my God,no. I’m just jealous. It’s gorgeous.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
At the top of the staircase, a balcony wraps around the perimeter of the main floor below. She leads me to an imposing dark wood door, and I realize with a nervous clench of my stomach that we’re here already.
Gavan’s office.
The scene of the crime.My crime.
Or of one of them, at least.
“I’m Rachel, by the way.”
“Eilish, hi.”
She smiles a much less frosty smile than she first did downstairs before turning and knocking lightly on the door.
“Send her in.”
After she leaves with a nod I turn back to the door and, taking a shaky breath, open it to step inside.
Instantly, and I meaninstantly, I’m nailed to the spot when those piercing, gunmetal gray eyes stab into me from across the room. I swallow, my pulse hammering in my ears and my mouth going dry as I stare across the office at him.
Gavan’s sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, both causally and stiffly at the same time, if that’s possible. He’s wearing another impeccable three-piece suit—this one a dark navy blue with a crisp white dress shirt with French cuffs. His longish hair is shoved back from his face—somehow cavalier and yet perfectly styled.
The dark scruff on his razor-sharp jaw ripples as he grinds his teeth and eviscerates me with those eyes.
Whatever this is, whatever he wants, I can do this.
“Uh, hi,” I mumble, feeling lightheaded and awkward as I shut the door behind me. Shit. I should have had a bigger breakfast. Or, you know,slepta little last night.
Or not broken in here and smashed the hundred-million-dollar gift from his dead father in the first place, you absolute moron.
Gavan doesn’t say a word. He just raises a hand, and Ihatethat something disturbing in me twists heatedly when he crooks two fingers, beckoning me to him in the same way he did before. I obey him, clicking across the room in my heels until I’m standing in front of his desk.
“I…I just wanted to say again how sorry I am for—”
“Coffee.”
I stumble over my words, frowning at him. “Pardon me?”
“Coffee,” he repeats, a glint in his eyes and a note of annoyance in his voice. He nods his chin across the room. Next to an elegant brass and glass bar cart, there’s an alcove built into the wall that houses a sink and a super fancy and complicated-looking espresso machine, with what appears to be a polished metal mini-fridge beneath it.
“Specifically, a cappuccino. Two-percent milk, no sugar, with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.”
I blink, staring at him.
