Chapter 18
Pierce Development Group’s headquarters is in a high-rise building overlooking Providence River, a thirty-minute drive from Shore’s campus.
Mallory had spent the car ride trying to hold on to her courage, hoping they could find what they came for without running into Ezra’s father.
They review their plan in whispers as Saskia parks in a garage, then hurry up the leaf-covered sidewalk in the chilly morning fog.
The building’s lobby is drenched in cool marble, punctuated with glittering chandeliers and mirrored walls.
As they dart toward the elevator bank, Mallory eyes her reflection, taking in her paler-than-normal skin, the darkened shadows under her eyes.
Inside, her stomach feels nauseatingly empty, despite the bagel she wolfed down in Saskia’s car.
Shoving the feelings aside, Mallory scans the directory. “Nineteen A,” she reads. “Of course. The penthouse.”
At the top floor, the doors open into another lobby, this one decorated in sleek black.
A pair of leather sofas sit in the center of the eerily quiet open space, peppered on either side with lush potted plants.
On the far end is a reception desk brandishing an engraved cursive P, and at the computer is a young man in a dark suit and red tie.
His blond hair is combed neatly at the sides, and he eyes them as they approach.
“Hi,” Mallory says. Her voice echoes in the sterile air. “We wanted to see if you have any internship opportunities? We’re Shore College students, if that makes a difference.”
At the mention of Shore, the man brightens.
“Pierce Development is always happy to provide opportunities to the SC community,” he says, tugging open a drawer.
He produces two clipboards, sliding them across the desk.
“You can have a seat and fill these out. It might be a couple of weeks before you hear back, as our CEO likes to look over all applications himself.”
Mallory skirts a glance to Saskia. “Would that be Victor Pierce?”
The man lifts his eyebrows. “You’ve done your research. He’ll be happy to hear that. Mr. Pierce makes a point of getting to know everyone who works at his company.”
“Is he here today, by any chance?” Saskia adds a grin. “We’ve just heard such incredible things about him.”
“I believe he’s tied up in meetings this morning,” the blond man says, and Mallory’s shoulders soften. Good, she nearly says aloud.
“What’s it like?” she asks instead. “Working for him?”
The man smiles, but his expression is unsettling. Too serene. Far-off and hazy. “It’s changed my life.”
Mallory forces herself to smile back and takes the clipboard. “Then I guess we’d better fill these out.”
Saskia is at her heels as they cross to the sofa to fill out the paperwork.
The couch could hold three people, but Saskia sits close enough that their shoulders brush, her elbow grazing Mallory’s thigh with every scratch of her pen.
Mallory dents her lip with her teeth. Neither one of them moves away.
“Remember—don’t write your real name,” Saskia suddenly hisses, and Mallory freezes.
“Shit. I already did.”
“Mal. Go ask for a new one.”
“We’ve been here too long.” Mallory eyes the receptionist. “I’ll just say I changed my mind before we leave and ask for the application back.”
“That’s too risky. What if—?”
“Come on, we’re losing time.” Mallory finishes the form with a flourished signature and stands up fast—
Too fast. A wave of unexpected dizziness hits, and she inhales sharply, steadying herself before marching across the room to return the clipboard.
“Thanks so much,” she says.
Saskia hands her own clipboard back before asking, “Is there a bathroom we could use?” She smiles, just like they rehearsed. “Our cycles are synced. Can you believe that actually happens?”
The man blinks at her before understanding flickers across his face, cheeks turning pink. “Of course.” He points behind them. “Take this hall and turn left. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” they say in tandem.
Once they’re out of sight, Saskia walks faster, scanning door numbers.
Mallory matches her pace as they fly past offices and conference rooms. The halls are dimly lit, elegant sconces glowing on finely painted walls, and shadows seem to trail their every step.
They turn corner after corner, check sign after sign.
But there’s no records office to be found.
“Damn it,” Mallory mutters, defeat plummeting through her. She swallows another swell of inexplicable queasiness. “There’s nothing here.”
“There’s got to be a storage room,” Saskia says. “For a company as old as this?”
“Maybe it’s unmarked,” Mallory whispers, looking back down the hall.
“Let’s backtrack. There was an unmarked door that way, we can—”
A clattering of footsteps snags their attention from the other direction.
“Someone’s coming,” Saskia urges.
Mallory whirls at the sound, fear and frustration gripping her at once.
The answers she needs could be inches away, hidden behind one of these doors.
She didn’t come all this way to leave them behind, didn’t step into a new role of bravery only to fail.
“Here,” she says, rummaging in her bag for her dollar store pocketknife. “Take this.”
“What—why?” Saskia asks.
As Mallory hands the tool to Saskia, she can’t help but recall the night of auditions, remembering the sting of the blade in her fist. But the image mutates, and she unwillingly thinks of Saskia’s fingers folded around the knife instead, blood blooming in the creases of her skin.
And before she can snuff out the rest, Mallory imagines cradling Saskia’s delicate palm against her mouth and hungrily lapping at every drop. Like a kitten being fed by hand.
She roughly closes Saskia’s fingers along the handle and yanks away, startled. Both at the images themselves and the way they arrive with a thorned, unfamiliar hunger—one that puts an unwanted heat low in her stomach.
“See if you can get into that unmarked room,” Mallory blurts in an effort to quiet the sudden onslaught of emotions. Revulsion. Shame. Need. She swallows, dizzy from the incongruity of it all. “I’ll distract them.”
The footsteps clip faster. Louder.
Saskia shakes her head, unaware of Mallory’s crumbling composure. “Come with me—”
“They’ll catch us. I saw a stairwell at the end of the hall—meet downstairs in five. Go.”
Mallory practically shoves Saskia around the corner and sprints in the opposite direction. The deliberately clunky sound of her boots is like blood in water, and whoever had been inching closer snaps to attention. Ready to pounce.
“Hey! Hey, you!”
Mallory looks over her shoulder to see the blond man from the lobby tailing her, his red tie swinging.
“I know who you are!” he shouts. “We all do!”
We all do. What the hell does that mean?
She sprints faster, panic rising as she turns another corner—
And reaches a dead end.
“Fuck,” Mallory whispers under her breath. She whips her head back and forth. The blond man’s footsteps draw nearer. There’s no time to think, nowhere to go—
She yanks open the nearest door and practically throws herself inside.
A door labeled Victor Pierce, CEO.