Chapter Twenty-Five Charlotte
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlotte
It’s nearly an hour later when I walk into Apollyon, well past nine o’clock, considering Dagon had to take several unnecessary detours to shake the paparazzi. But Dagon assures me that, based on his years of experience working for Lucifer, there’s no such thing as being late when you’re a celebrity, and I have no intention of arguing with a demon.
Or someone who I’m pretty sure is one, anyway.
I’m already late, to the point that there’s no reason to scan my security badge to clock in, if I’m even supposed to do that anymore, and as I stroll through the door, Jeanine, the downstairs secretary, takes one look at me, her eyes flying wide before she practically dives for her desk phone. I don’t think she plans to remove me from the building. That’d cause too much of a stir with all the cameras currently positioned outside, and Lucifer isn’t that furious with me over the stunt I pulled last night.
Not if what happened after in his penthouse is any indication.
More likely she’s letting him know that I’m here.
I make a mental note that Jeanine is pretty much Lucifer’s eyes and ears inside the building as I head to the sixteenth floor, ignoring the wide-eyed gazes and not-so-murmured whispers. The mail carrier openly gapes at me, and a senior financial exec drops half his portfolio papers the moment we make eye contact.
I stroll into Imani’s office confidently.
She glances up from where she’s on a video call before she says, “Anderson, I’m going to have to call you back.” She exits the meeting screen before she assesses me, taking in my new look from head to toe. “Well, you sure took to fame like a duck on a june bug.”
I rear back a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The snipe doesn’t surprise me. It’s how badly it hurts.
If I didn’t admire Imani, the offhand remark wouldn’t matter. But I do admire her, and I’d have to be a fool to not hear the judgment in her voice.
She shrugs. “It means you haven’t wasted any time getting cozy in your new role, that’s all.”
The words smart, landing like a hornet’s sting. That familiar shame my father instilled in me twists inside my gut again. But suddenly, Lucifer’s voice is there, inside my head, whispering to me. It was his shame. Never yours.
Did he really say that to me last night?
I . . . can’t remember.
I shake away the thought. I was so caught up in the high of everything we did that I can’t exactly remember all the events that followed. But I knew when I came here to expect a fight.
I just didn’t expect it to be with Imani.
“What happened to building other women up rather than shooting them down?”
Imani rotates her desk chair, reaching for her coffee as she refuses to look at me.
When she doesn’t answer straight away, I place a hand on my hip. “Well?”
She casts me a scathing look. “That was before you complicated my job for me.”
I frown. “Well, I’m about to uncomplicate it.”
Her gaze falls to me, and I give her an earnest look.
“I didn’t send that press release, Imani.”
She watches me for a beat, and for a second, I think she might believe me before she finally huffs and says, “Save it. We’ve been through this. I found it on your computer. IT even traced the original file there for me.”
“I said I didn’t send the press release. Not that I didn’t write it.” I close her office door. The last thing either of us needs is anyone overhearing this. “But I’m going to find out who did.”
“You really won’t let this Nancy Drew shit go, will you?” She rolls her eyes.
“Think about it. Why would I send that press release? Sure, I was angry when I wrote it, right after he humiliated me in the meeting. But why would I choose to get myself wrapped up with Lucifer like that, or worse, fired? You know how much I need this job. What it means for me.”
Imani sighs, rubbing at her temple. “Suppose I did believe you, then what? You expect me to believe that someone just happened to break into your office, log on to your computer, and send an already written press release you had open and waiting?”
I drop my hands to my sides. “Stranger things have happened.”
Imani shakes her head. “I’m not buying it.”
I stomp one of my Louboutins. “Our boss is the freaking devil. If someone had told you you’d be working for him eleven years ago, would you have believed them? I know we haven’t known each other long, but I do know you’re a good judge of character, and you’ve gotten to know me. So, I would hope you’d have a little faith in me right now. You said yourself this isn’t your usual company.” I gesture to the Apollyon serpent on her portfolio. “Obviously.”
Imani falls quiet, staring up at me from her desk chair, jaw clenched, before finally she says, “You really didn’t send it?”
My shoulders sag in relief. I latch on to that tiny thread of hope and pull.
“Why would I? I’d already gotten more than I’d ever expected from this job. From you.” I gesture between us. “More than I’d ever hoped for, actually. Even if you hate me, I’ll always appreciate what you did for me. How you tried to help me.”
She lifts a brow. “And that’s what you’re here for? To ask me to help you again?”
“No. Not exactly.” I inhale a long breath, stopping myself short of pacing. “I told Lucifer I wanted to keep my job, to continue to work for you, and he agreed, but ... I want to stick to our original plan. Gain experience working under you so I can pivot easily.”
Imani scoffs. “You play your cards right, and with the kind of fame you stumbled into, you’ll never have to work again a day in your life.”
“We both know that isn’t true.” I shake my head. “Or what I’d want, for that matter. As soon as Lucifer’s done with me, it won’t take long before I’ll be old news, a celebrity’s washed-up ex. Then where will that leave me?”
Imani goes quiet for a moment, considering.
“So, will you help me?”
She lets out a long sigh through her nose, her eyes combing over me.
But whatever potential she sees in me, for now, it must be enough.
“I’ll treat you the way I treat any other employee. That’s all.”
I press my hands together like a prayer, bringing them to my lips to express my gratitude. “Thank you, Imani. I won’t let you down. I—”
“But none of this press release nonsense.” She wags a finger at me. “You keep whatever shit you have going on with that and Lucifer far, far away from me. You hear me?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Good. Then let’s get to work.” She settles into her chair. “Everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket around here. We’ve got our work cut out for us now that the gloves are off and you’re both in the public eye. You thought we were busy before? This is a whole new level of media frenzy.”
“Use me however you see fit. I’ll do whatever you ask. I swear.”
I spend the rest of the day working with Imani in her office, taking interviews and doing everything exactly as she directs me before she finally clocks out for the day, leaving me alone for the first time all afternoon.
Gathering my paperwork, I make my way back to my own office, locking the door behind me as I enter. It’s empty and not yet personalized, other than a neatly folded handkerchief Imani must have left on my desk the morning she discovered the press release came from my computer. I pick up the pink silk only to find it monogrammed with a prettily embroidered CB. There’s a small handwritten note on pretty stationery tucked into it.
Charlotte, Don’t let him knock you down, girl. Keep going.
She left this for me?
I hug it to my chest, my heart feeling full. The thought that she planned to give me this after Lucifer embarrassed me in that presentation meeting brings tears to my eyes, but I swipe them away quickly. I’m going to work hard to repair that relationship at every chance I get. To prove myself worthy. To restore Imani’s respect for me.
And for myself.
I read the note once more, the words of encouragement warming me.
Keep going.
“Oh, I plan to,” I mutter, both to myself and an absent Imani.
I set my papers down on the desk and begin examining. Everything.
I open every drawer, explore every nook and cranny. I even attempt to look for some sort of hidden door in the wall or empty bookcase turned hallway, but in the end, all I have to show for it is a slightly messier office and a pair of uncomfortably clenched teeth.
I soften my jaw, flopping down into my desk chair as I look at the computer screen. My company iMac is locked, and I’m not even sure if my passcode works anymore. Technically, I wasn’t fired, but when I walked out of Lucifer’s office last week, I don’t think anyone expected me to return here.
Least of all me.
I start to enter my password, to check and see if it still works, when a thought grips me.
The iMac is password protected, which means ...
Whoever sent the press release was an Apollyon employee.
Or someone with access to my login information, anyway.
The thought makes me freeze, and I sit there for a moment, torn between keeping this news to myself and the nearly irresistible urge to run out into the hall and scream that it was another employee who did this to me. Who betrayed Lucifer.
Someone who had it in for both him and me.
Ultimately, reason wins out, and I decide to keep quiet and get back to my work. Not that I’m dropping it.
I smile. Nancy Drew’s got nothing on me.
Suddenly my desk phone rings.
Jeanine.
I pick it up, and the call syncs with my iMac through the company cloud. “Hello?”
“Miss Bellefleur?” she says, her voice coming through the iMac’s speaker.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Apollyon asked me to pass on a message to you.”
“He did?” My pulse races, though whether from excitement or frustration, I’m not certain.
I haven’t heard from him all day, other than that random text, and this is how he chooses to contact me?
“Yes, he said to inform you that he’ll be picking you up for dinner tonight. Seven thirty. A private tasting menu in Les Salons above Le Bernardin. He’ll send a car for you.”
We’re having dinner.
That’s news to me.
He didn’t even bother to ask, but I guess he doesn’t have to, does he? That’s what he’s paying me for, after all. And no one says no to Lucifer.
Least of all me.
Plus, who would pass on dinner at one of the best three-star Michelin restaurants in the city? I guess I’ll have to face him sooner or later.
“Thank you, Jeanine.”
There’s a scuffling noise as Jeanine moves to hang up the receiver, but then at the last second, I nearly shout, “Wait! Jeanine?”
“Yes, Miss Bellefleur?” she answers, a little more exasperated than she was a moment ago.
I’m not sure how to phrase it, so I just ask her outright. “Why didn’t Lucifer just text me?”
“Text you?”
“Yes, text me.” I nod, though we’re not on a video call, so she can’t see me.
There’s a brief pause, then ...
“I’m sorry, Miss Bellefleur, but Mr. Apollyon is extremely busy, and to the best of my knowledge, he doesn’t text. All his communications are filtered through me.”
Which means . . .
My eyes go wide.
“Of course,” I mumble. “Thank you, Jeanine.”
I hang up the phone, quickly reaching for my new Fendi purse. One even sleeker than Imani’s. My cell phone waits in the inside pocket, and my stomach drops as I open the home screen and glance at the text message with Lucifer’s name followed by the grinning devil emoji. The number is foreign to me. But if it isn’t Lucifer who texted me ...
Then who did?