Chapter 4
It's not common for it to rain in Los Angeles in October.
The weather tends to be dry, and during the day the heat bears down.
Today water is falling from the sky in sheets, and Diane can't shake the tension that settles into her body.
She's standing at the window of her office, watching people run in a futile attempt to stay dry.
She's always believed rain is where you can most easily tell who has their life under control and who's broken on the inside.
"You can't stand here. You're blocking the entrance for customers," a voice said sharply.
A much younger Diane looked up. She raised a hand to her face to push back the strands of hair plastered to her skin, because in Portland the sun hadn't come out in two days and she'd spent her hours huddled under awnings, trying not to get soaked and end up sick.
She grabbed the handle of her small suitcase and moved a few feet down the block.
One of the wheels wasn't working right — it had caught on something, and when she tried to fix it, she only made it worse.
That was when the voice crept back into her head: The world is going to swallow you whole and you'll come crawling back for something we're never going to give you.
She swallowed and pressed herself against the side of a building.
It had a wide overhang, and she could stay sheltered a little longer.
She just hoped nobody came out to chase her off — because if they did, where would she go? She was exhausted.
She touches the bracelet on her left wrist — an eighteen-karat white gold chain of nearly invisible links carrying a continuous row of diamonds worth as much as a first-year Whitestone employee makes in a year.
To her it's more than fine jewelry; it's a reminder of who she was and who she is now.
Of what she's built over the years through whatever sacrifices were necessary, including an unbreakable pact with solitude.
She drops her gaze back to the city below.
She watches a woman walk tall, almost gliding down the street beneath a large black umbrella that covers her with effortless elegance, pulling from a discreet shoulder bag what looks like the key fob to an expensive electric car she stops beside.
Across the street, a man in a suit that screams cheap runs clumsily, a folded newspaper in his hand, using it to shield himself from the rain.
Two people, one moment, but completely different situations.
The woman who has her life under control — and the man, broken.
"Diane." A woman's voice pulls her out of her pointless musings. "Clara's waiting for you."
Tatiana Jordan — personal assistant to the head of the business development department — has returned to her post that morning, letting Gianna breathe normally again and giving Diane the sense that she can once more delegate work to someone competent.
"Is the presentation ready?"
She asks while picking up the watch she left on her desk and strapping it to her right wrist — opposite to how most people wear one — then checks the time.
She realizes she's spent longer at the window than she usually allows herself, and even though she knows it's the damned rain, she pushes the thoughts away.
Diane Carter is not a disorganized woman by any stretch; she needs control over everything happening around her, including every step she takes.
That's why she keeps certain firmly established routines she never — or almost never — skips, like getting up from her chair several times a day, removing her watch, and giving herself five minutes to stand at her third-floor window and watch the world keep turning no matter what.
"Everything's ready." Tatiana opens the door and steps aside before falling into step behind her down the hallway. "I moved your finance meeting to four. That'll give you time to have lunch out and take the video call with the Gales team."
Diane listens as she covers the short distance to the marketing director's office, where she needs to go over the final strategy for a joint project.
To get there, she has to pass through the rows of workstations occupied by staff from both departments.
Whatever low murmur had been filling the space vanishes the moment her heels sink into the carpet as she crosses the area.
Everyone averts their eyes and fixes them on their screens.
Others pretend to be on a call, and she even catches one of them darting behind the big printer to hide.
They all strike her as pathetic — all of them except herself.
Cassidy Collins walks toward her with an infuriating confidence, and when their eyes meet, the intern straightens up, seeming taller than she is.
What bothers Diane most is that she doesn't look away.
She holds her gaze even as she passes close by and keeps walking, as if she isn't the least bit afraid of her boss.
"I went over the assignment Thompson gave Cassidy." Tatiana brings her back to reality, as always, just before they reach Clara's office, taking advantage of having just crossed paths with the girl. "I'll follow up — she's delegated responsibility to Tanya Baker."
"Useless," Diane mutters, meaning Jason, and pushes the door open. Inside, Clara is reviewing documents with a furrowed brow. "I've got ten minutes, so let's get started."
The woman behind the desk takes a moment before setting down her glasses and looking up.
"And I've got five, but we both know accepting a proposal like this takes at least an hour, so make yourself comfortable." She gestures to the chair while watching the vein in her counterpart's neck pulse, telegraphing her fury. "Tatiana, please handle Diane's calls while we go over the strategy."
The assistant nods and has to fight back a knowing smile.
In the four years she's worked for the Cobra — as the staff often call Diane — she's never seen anyone push back on her or demand something without waiting for her approval.
No one except Clara Fitzgerald. Tatiana has a certain fondness for her boss; with her, Diane is less of a witch, mainly because the girl has proven herself diligent and trustworthy, which led Diane to stop treating her like dirt.
When that happened, it caused such a stir on the third floor that Tatiana even made enemies — plenty of people called her a traitor and the right hand of the queen of terror.
"Call me if you need anything." Tatiana says her goodbyes and closes the door to give them privacy.
"Before we start —" Clara sets a sheet of paper in front of her and taps it — "I need to tell you the new intern is full of surprises."
Diane feels a sudden tightness in her throat, as if Clara were strangling her with both hands.
"She reviewed the Gales proposal. She caught a figure we included that's irrelevant and works against us.
" Diane reads through each point on the page while Clara talks.
"If we pull that percentage and replace it with next quarter's projection, the client will be reassured and we can charge a higher commission at the end of the year. "
The head of business development feels her left eye twitch involuntarily.
The first time it happened, she'd been in the middle of an argument and was convinced she was about to hit the floor from a stroke.
Now — many years later — she's accepted that it happens when her brain short-circuits from deep irritation mixed with the most visceral kind of rage.
"Who gave her access to the project?" She drops the sheet on the table like a piece of garbage she'd touched by accident. "And why the hell did she come to you? Hasn't she figured out who her boss is?"
Clara laces her fingers under her chin and rests her head against them, unbothered.
"I'm assuming whoever gave her access was your team lead, Jason Thompson, and believe me, Cassidy knows exactly who she answers to —" Diane's eye is going to explode any second now — "but that's not what matters here.
What matters is that the girl is good. You know I couldn't care less about academic credentials, and the fact that her résumé lists a double major means nothing to me — her GPA was pretty average, actually — but she's been here two days and she caught that error before anyone else did.
On top of that, she gave me solid recommendations for the day-after-tomorrow presentation. "
"No," Diane cuts her off, offering nothing more. "Let's start the review. Like I said, I've got ten minutes, and you're already down to five."
Clara sighs, giving up — once again — on any attempt at a real conversation.
She knows Diane has a sharp eye for spotting mediocre employees among the good ones, but she also has a serious blind spot: when something is forced on her, she stops seeing clearly.
Her mind clouds over with bitterness and indignation, and she can't look past it — which is exactly what's happening with Cassidy Collins, a girl Diane has already decided, in her rigid mind, is at Whitestone, working in her department, for one reason only: because she's convinced Cassidy is sleeping with Samuel Barnes.
The meeting lasts thirty minutes, during which both women immerse themselves in charts and details most people couldn't begin to analyze.
When it's over, they're satisfied, aside from a few changes the team still needs to make.
Once those are done, they'll hold a joint meeting between both departments the next day for final approval.
This isn't a new or complicated project, but the client is one they want to keep — they've worked with him for years, and the revenue he brings the firm is substantial.
Clara Fitzgerald and Diane Carter are both considered second-level executives at Whitestone, which means that for every client they bring in or retain, they earn a percentage on top of an annual salary that's nothing to scoff at.
That's why — among other reasons, including the fact that they're women — certain people are constantly angling for their positions, since running those departments comes with status, respect, and a small fortune that, for employees rather than owners, is more than reasonable.
"Let Tatiana know the time for tomorrow's meeting." Diane gets to her feet, meaning to head back to her office, but as always, the manipulatively soft voice of the woman across from her stops her cold.
"Elizabeth's asking when you're coming to dinner."
And of course that soft voice, paired with a request from a woman she should despise, makes Diane Carter feel like a tyrant.
She clears her throat, uncomfortable, and clasps her hands behind her back.
"Tell her I'll be there next week. Tatiana will confirm the day."
Clara nods, and for a moment they look at each other. As always, it's the head of business development who looks away first and leaves the office without saying goodbye.
She makes her way back with her mind fogged over.
It's been a strange day, and she tells herself again that it's entirely the fault of this rain that has no business falling at the start of October in a place like California.
And then life, as only life can, confirms she never should have left the house that morning.
A body slams into her from the side with enough force that whoever it was had to have been running to hit her like that.
She staggers, but firm hands grab her, keeping her from at least snapping her neck.
"Are you okay?"
The goddamn intern.
Diane pulls back and shakes Cassidy off as if she were contagious.
"I'm sorry — I wasn't paying attention and didn't see you," the girl goes on.
For some reason, Diane's words snag in her throat when that forest green cuts through her like headlights in total darkness, and Cassidy takes in her face as if it were an exclusive work of art on display at the MoMA, one only a chosen few had the privilege of looking at.
The intern traces the three moles scattered across her left cheek, her delicate nose, the natural curve of her lips; she finds her simply beautiful — a woman so attractive that if they were at a bar, she wouldn't hesitate to buy her a drink, something to hydrate her before pulling her into the bathroom and fucking her senseless.
"Watch where you're going." The whisper comes out cold, dark, and before she can follow it with a threat, she looks up and notices the entire staff watching them. "If you don't have work to do, then you're not needed in my department."
Everyone snaps back to what they were doing at once, and when Cassidy turns her head, all she sees is Diane's back receding down the hallway, punishing the poor carpet with every strike of her heels.
"You're in one piece," Tanya says, appearing at her side and pulling her away. "Come on, coffee's on me."
Cassidy moves her feet, but her mind is still back in that moment when she touched Diane Carter's smooth skin.
A shiver runs through her, because what should be a simple attraction has, in the span of two days, started turning into something more like an obsession.