Chapter 30
thirty
The plan will work.
I’m about ninety-two percent sure.
I straighten my bright white tie—the same one I wore when I defiled Miss Rivera in Office Pod C—and refold my collar.
Damn .
Okay, ninety-five percent sure.
Because fuck if I don’t look good in pink.
Light pink, to be specific. With a rosy vest under the jacket and a striped pink-and-white shirt beneath that.
I usually reserve this outfit for annoying Stryker. Of all my colorful suits, he hates the pink one the most. I can’t understand why.
He used the word “obnoxious,” if memory serves.
In any case, the blush suit always pulls. Yeah, it’s flashy and maybe a touch unprofessional, but I know for a fact that I carry it off.
Plus, women love that shit. I’ve never struck out while wearing the pink suit.
“Good morning.”
I lean my hip against the desk in front of my father’s office, grinning at his assistant, Lacey. I let my eyes roam over her low-cut red blouse, feigning interest while my mind jeers at me, Not as hot as Juliet.
She truly isn’t. With forgettable blonde hair and an average figure, the woman’s singular appeal lies in her clear blue eyes. It’s easy to overlook the rest of her to focus on those.
I pretend to gaze into the molten honey irises I’ve grown so infatuated with and project interest as sincerely as I can.
“You look lovely today.” The words roll out smoothly, without a flicker of feeling. “Did you have a fun weekend?”
Lacey’s gaze goes wide as she gapes up at me. Shocked, no doubt, that I’ve suddenly taken an interest in her after months of treating her like another piece of office furniture.
“Uh… yeah. I mean, yes. Sir. Mr. Everett.”
I affect a charmed chuckle. “You don’t need to call me Mr. Everett. Graham is fine. And I’ll call you Lacey.” I tilt my head, regarding her as warmly as I can. “Deal?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Graham ,” she stammers, turning red. “Did you need help with something?”
I glance at her desk to see if my father’s schedule happens to be penciled into her desktop calendar. No such luck. Damn.
“I’m planning a meeting for later this afternoon and wondered if there were any prior commitments on our schedule,” I tell her, still grinning.
She blinks, then visibly swallows. A flash of fear moves through her eyes.
Bingo .
“Just a long lunch,” she mumbles, dropping her gaze. “We— He should be back by two.”
I had a hunch the two of them would sneak off at some point. They haven’t seen each other in two days. “Long lunch” is just code for fucking.
Just to be extra sure, I ask, “And do you have lunch plans as well?”
She thinks I’m asking her out. I watch her pause, considering her options—the elder, sleazy Everett with all the money… or me.
“Yes,” she decides. “I do.”
My lips twitch. Just as I thought .
I work to keep the smugness out of my smile. “Pity. Well, thank you, Lacey. Enjoy your lunch.”
Striding back up the hall, I send a text to the locksmith I hired this morning. He’s waiting for my instructions, ready to drop by at any point.
Staring at my inbox, my fingers itch to message Juliet. I try to come up with something professional but wind up going for droll.
So help me God.
I hope you left those red heels at home.