Chapter 8
Grace
“Don’t look so worried,” Oliver says, twinkling his dazzling green eyes at me as we approach a glass-fronted entrance to the building I’d been loitering around for the last week.
“Easier said than done,” I reply.
I’d arrived at the DeVere office this morning, my eyes gritty but less swollen after bathing them in ice water and applying enough makeup to camouflage my heartache.
I had my speech prepared. I was going to beg Noah to remove me from any and all Moncrief projects.
I’d convince him I should prove my worth on a less prestigious client first, but Noah wasn’t in the office to hear my plea.
Oliver is one of DeVere’s architects and he’s been tasked with looking after me. His natural boyish charm and good looks don’t make it the worst start to a new job, but then again…
I’d barely had time to take off my coat when he announced we were going for a little stroll to their satellite office so he could show me the plans he’s been drawing up for the renovations at Corbyn House. This is the Brimstage project Noah had hired me to deliver… for the Moncriefs.
The entrance at the rear of the Excelsis looks like any other upmarket office complex. You wouldn’t know it was attached to one of Chicago’s most exclusive hotels, except maybe for the Moncrief’s Scots Pine logo etched across every goddamn window. Fuck. What the hell am I stepping into?
“I don’t feel prepared.”
“You’ll be fine,” Oliver assures me, resting a hand on my back as we approach the reception area.
Oliver is thirty-one, grew up in Chicago, but spent a year traveling around Europe with his ex-girlfriend before coming home to focus on his career. He’s presently single, and as is becoming apparent, he’s also a talker, for which I’m grateful because my heart is lodged in my throat.
“It took me months to stop feeling intimidated by the Moncriefs,” he confides.
I raise an eyebrow. “You? Intimidated? I don’t believe it.”
He rakes his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “Normally I’m not, but these guys are scary as fuck,” he whispers.
After being issued with a visitor’s pass and a promise of a permanent one by the end of the day, we move towards a bank of elevators.
“I was originally taken on for the Heatrush development,” Oliver says as we wait.
“It’s a nightclub here in Chicago. I’ll take you there some time.
It’s quite something if I do say so myself, and Calder was great to work with.
He runs the club and doesn’t take life as seriously as some of the others. ”
The name sends a shudder down my spine. Technically, Calder and I have already met, although we’d only glimpsed each other when he slipped Duke the condoms. It’s unlikely he’ll recognize me. Surely fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
My cheeks pale and Oliver gives my arm a squeeze as we step into the elevator. “Our office is three floors below the executives so you don’t need to face them yet. Noah was called in this morning and he’ll want to brief you before you meet Rory.”
Rory Moncrief is the eldest son of Gordon Moncrief, the patriarch and current Chairman of the Moncrief empire.
From what I’ve been able to glean in my Google searches, there’s an expectation he’ll retire soon.
Rory and Calder are the most talked about replacements, if only because they’re the only two children that have forward-facing roles in the company.
The others keep out of the limelight judging by the lack of information online.
“Do I need to meet Rory?” I ask, my narrowing throat making my voice rasp.
It’s already sore from all the wailing I did yesterday.
Rory’s is another name that haunts me from my night with Duke.
He’s the Moncrief that Duke had been called away to speak with while I was waiting for Cameron to show up.
“Rory’s leading the Brimstage project,” Oliver explains.
My eyes sting despite myself. If I hadn’t spotted Duke yesterday, I’d be giddy with excitement right now. All the threads I’d hoped would lead me to him are knitting together perfectly, only now it feels like a net to ensnare me.
I really, really need to speak to Noah.
When we reach the DeVere office, my stomach sinks. It’s empty. My new boss is still in his meeting with Rory.
The office itself is a pleasant surprise.
I’d expected a cubby hole for Noah’s staff to check emails and make calls, but this place is a fully equipped office.
There’s no doubting we’re attached to a fancy hotel because the furniture is solid mahogany rather than laminate, and there are gold drapes hanging from the windows.
“That’s my desk,” Oliver says, pointing to a corner with a workstation and drafting table. “I do like to spread out, but since we’ll be working together, you could take the free desk next to mine.” He winks when he adds, “But I won’t be offended if you want somewhere quieter.”
“The one by you would be perfect,” I tell him honestly. I need all the friends I can get, and Oliver’s indomitable positivity is the only thing keeping me from spiraling right now.
“Now for one of the perks of working for the Moncriefs,” he says, grinning widely. “Let me introduce you to the world’s best coffee machine.”
I actually groan. “I need a coffee. Desperately.”
I’m slipping off my coat when a new face appears at the door. He’s around my age and wears a pin on his suit jacket lapel with the Scots Pine logo.
“You must be the new starter,” he says, extending a hand.
“This is Edison,” Oliver says above the gurgle of the coffee machine. “He’s–”
“I’m one of the personal assistants from the executives’ floor,” Edison interrupts. “The best one, obviously.”
Oliver picks up the first coffee. “Debatable. Gordon’s PA always brings cookies when she sneaks down here to gossip.”
Edison keeps his gaze on me. “He’s just upset I don’t fall for his charm so easily as some.” He leans closer. “And I suggest you don’t either. This one’s a heartbreaker.”
“You’re just upset I didn’t take you as my date for the Heatrush grand opening.”
Edison scoffs. “In your dreams, Chambers.”
“I suppose you’ll want a coffee too,” Oliver says, about to hand me the first.
Edison blocks him before I can take it. “Sorry, I can’t stay, and neither can Grace. She’s needed upstairs.”
“Does Noah want me to come too?” asks Oliver.
“Just Grace.”
My stomach hollows. I’m being called to meet Rory.
I tell myself not to panic. It’s going to be fine.
There’s no way he could link me to Duke, and Duke may no longer work in security now he has a fancy fiancée who wears huge diamonds and gets chauffeured around in a limo.
I could have searched online for Duke and Katarina last night to find out more about both of them, but typing out those two names together was beyond me.
On the short elevator ride, I straighten the bow on my white satin blouse and fix the waistband on my calf-length pencil skirt. The sheath dress I’d picked out is languishing on my closet floor. Its promise of seduction died along with my dreams.
“How long have you worked for Rory?” I ask Edison as he leads me down a corridor.
“Hmm?” he says, as if he didn’t quite hear. “Oh, I’ve been here a couple of years.”
At the end of the corridor, we reach an expansive open space and there’s no doubt we’ve entered the executives’ domain.
There are works of art on the walls, potted palms and leather couches in break out areas.
Directly opposite are a series of opulent mahogany desks, each guarding a set of solid wood doors with brass plates marking each of the executives’ offices.
Edison nods to a few people, but he doesn’t slow for introductions. Nor does he slow when we pass the office with Rory Moncrief’s name on the door. I do a double take at the PA stationed outside, but Edison marches on.
“But I thought…”
Edison stops next to a desk outside the last set of doors. This one doesn’t have a name plate, just a series of screw holes where one should be.
The PA’s features are ever so slightly pinched as he nods to the door. “You can go right in. Mr. Moncrief is expecting you.”
My fingers tingle as I reach for the door handle. Something feels very off and instinctively, I want to turn tail and run. Unable to pinpoint precisely what’s wrong, I put it down to a lack of sleep and caffeine. Oh, and a heart that’s bruised if not broken.
With a nod of encouragement from Edison, I take a deep breath and steel myself as I step inside.
The office is exactly what you’d expect for a billionaire in charge of a global empire.
Floor to ceiling windows line one side of the vast floorspace, which is divided into two separate areas.
Work and relaxation. The formal space is dominated by the biggest mahogany desk I’ve ever seen and a matching conference table perpendicular to it. Both are presently unoccupied.
Taking a couple of faltering steps into the room, I let go of the door handle and scan the rest of the office.
There’s no one sitting on the leather couch or armchairs, no sign of Rory or Noah.
I take in another deep breath as my gaze returns to the desk.
Something on it snags my attention. A woman’s purse.
Nude leather that matches the shoes I planned on wearing today.
My heart skips a beat and my vision wobbles, and not because I’m staring at my own fucking purse. I’ve caught the scent that lies heavy in the air, suffocating me. Citrus and cedar.
The door clicks shut behind me, followed by a louder clunk as a lock engages.
I don’t want to turn around.
I can’t turn around, so I take a step forward. Then another, and another. I’m almost tempted to keep going until I smash through the window and plunge into the Chicago River far below.
“Grace.”
His voice… Duke’s voice brings me to a stop.
“No,” I gasp out.