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I should have sued her for sexual harassment the morning after she threw herself at me in the limo.
Then again, I never wanted to make this bullshit messier than it needed to be.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
I pick up the phone and bark into it.
“Miss Cho, get Miss Lancaster an access badge ASAP and make sure she has a computer set up in Mark’s office.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want a complete background check on her. Everything.”
“A background check?” I can hear Hannah frowning.
“Did I fail to make myself clear?”
“No,” she says after a moment. “But may I ask why?”
“Because I’ve entrusted her with a high-level proposal. She’s not an employee. However, she should go through the same scrutiny as anyone else I’ve ever put in that position.”
Because I want to know more about heris what I don’t say.
Also, something doesn’t quite add up.
The Lancasters have money. More than ever, judging by the hyped success of Wired Cup’s big rebranding push years ago.
What I don’t understand is why she, their daughter, is apparently left behind.
Why?
If you look at her Instagram, you might think you’re getting a sporty, down-to-earth, fresh-faced girl who came from an average upper middle-class background in Ballard. Mostly makeup free, enthusiastic, passionate about her causes.
But here in the office?
This was a cool, sharp-witted professional.
Perfectly comfortable in large settings like this, facing down assholes like me who are used to being intimidating.
At no point was she overwhelmed by the scope of what we do. She even took time to research our future endeavors before she walked through my door.
I want to know why she left her family money behind for a life of clawing at charity prizes. Why is she doing all this on her own?
What’s Destiny Lancaster’s real story?
“Have you ever thought you might have trust issues?” Hannah asks blandly.
I sigh. “Don’t you have things to do? Places to go? Important people to pester?”
“Not particularly,” Hannah says dryly. “But fine. I’ll make up something so you can dismiss me and dodge the question.”
Goddammit.
“I could have you fired for that, you know,” I say.
“I know. But you won’t.”
She’s right.
