12. Gabriella
Gabriella
E ntering my credit card information into the parking meter, I hesitated, again questioning my sanity. Above the tall buildings, wisps of semi-transparent clouds floated in the blue sky. I lifted my face to the warm spring breeze and closed my eyes.
A quick glance at my watch told me I didn’t have time to spare. The drive from Carmel to downtown Indianapolis took longer than I anticipated. I wasn’t late for my three o’clock meeting—mandate—only precariously close. In hindsight, I probably should have parked in the adjacent parking garage. It was the same garage where I used to have a reserved space, next to the CEO’s. The thought twisted my stomach.
I could only assume that Damien’s newest assistant now enjoyed that spot.
I wondered what other perks she enjoyed.
No, I didn’t.
I couldn’t think like that.
To say my mood soured since my meeting with Millie would be an understatement.
Multiple times during my drive, I contemplated pulling over and calling Millie Barns with my resignation. During that same drive, I also argued with myself—sometimes audibly.
As I got closer to the city, I decided Millie wasn’t the person who deserved a piece of my mind. That person was high above in an office with a spectacular view of the city and the Sinclair Corporate Center.
An odd mixture of sensations churned inside me as I entered a place I never planned to revisit—familiarity and at the same time, apprehension. Over two years ago, I walked beyond the large fountain in the courtyard, across the same pavers I was now stepping on, and away from the building before me. The glass front was exactly as I recalled.
Once inside, I stepped onto the escalator that would take me to the second level. Each elevation took me closer to the man I didn’t want to see.
Whether it was body or brain memory, riding up to the next level, I recalled not only the sights of the corporate center, but the sounds and smells. All the sensations were coming back to me. The aroma of the coffee shop on the first floor. The clatter coming from the cafeteria on the second floor. And the memories of the deli, also on the second floor, the one open to the public. Remembering their chicken salad made my empty stomach growl with need.
My current sources of fuel were coffee, donuts, and rage.
That latter was the emotion I chose to tap into.
Turning the corner, I approached the security checkpoint. My flesh warmed at the welcome sight of Edgar Todd. My first thought was jubilation that he was still alive. The elderly gentleman looked sharp as ever in his uniform. In all honesty, the only person he could most likely stop from passing would be Walter Phillips. They were probably the same age. Edgar’s claim to fame was that he had been with Sinclair since the Indianapolis corporate center opened—when Damien’s grandfather was in charge.
At the click of my heels on the marble floor, Edgar lifted his face from a newspaper. In less than a second, his eyes sparkled and his smile formed, the fissures in his skin growing deeper. “Ms. Crystal.” He stepped down from his stool and came around his desk. “I’ll be.” He stopped a few feet away. “I’d sure like to hug you, but they say we can’t do that anymore.”
Relieved by his gregarious greeting and honestly happy with the distraction, I smiled and lifted my arms. “Consensual.”
Our embrace was sweet and short-lived. “Edgar, how are you? Why aren’t you relaxing on some beach or playing golf?”
“Oh, Ms. Crystal. You know without me this building would be chaos, pure mayhem.”
I started to reach for my badge—body memory—but it wasn’t there. I tilted my head. “I’m here for a meeting.”
Edgar shook his head as he walked back around the desk. “I sure don’t remember seeing your name.” He gave me a wink. “It would have jumped off the page.” He lifted a tablet and swiped the screen. “Who you seeing?”
“Mr. Sinclair.”
Edgar’s eyes opened wider. “Oh, let me look at his schedule.” A moment or two passed. “Yep, there you are. Didn’t expect to see you there.”
“That makes two of us,” I said with a shrug.
“It’s embarrassing,” he said. “I know who you are, but they make me scan your ID now days. Can’t be too careful.”
“It’s not a problem,” I replied as I opened my purse.
Edgar took the ID from my grasp and ran it through a machine. When he handed it back, he smiled. “I’ve missed your smile.” He began walking toward the bank of elevators. “Follow me now.”
I walked a step behind. “Thank you, Edgar. I’m happy with my new job, but I’ve missed you too.”
One of the elevators opened. Edgar stepped inside. “You tell Mr. Sinclair to hire you back. I can’t keep this place running for much longer.” He placed his badge over a sensor and hit the button for the top floor.
“I’m not looking for a job. And I know I couldn’t do your job—no one can.”
“You have a nice meeting,” he said as he stepped out of the elevator sending me into the sky.
“Thank you.”
Nice meeting .
Damn, it was as if Edgar was strategically placed in my path to lighten my mood. That was all right. It was a nice reprieve. Securing my satchel over my shoulder, I stared at my reflection in the shiny door. I wasn’t as made up as I had been in Los Angeles. My tan pencil skirt, cream blouse, and two-inch heels were what some would call business casual. My long dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and my smile from the gala was MIA.
“Beta Kappa Phi,” I mumbled to myself.
The doors opened to the top floor. The name Sinclair was scrolled in large gold letters over the long receptionist’s desk. As I approached, I didn’t recognize either of the two women.
“May I help you?” one woman asked.
“I have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. Sinclair.”
“Mr. Sinclair is running a little behind. He asked if you could wait.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Please tell Mr. Sinclair that I also have a tight schedule. If he isn’t available, we can” —I started to say reschedule— “forgo this meeting altogether.”
The woman’s eyes nearly popped from her head. “Excuse me?”
My smile grew. “I can wait five minutes.”
“Oh, okay,” she muttered while giving her coworker an expression that asked who the hell did I think I was, and did I know who I was speaking about.
I knew exactly who I was speaking about.
Lifting my chin, I walked to a cluster of chairs near a window. The view down below was of the large fountain I’d just passed. Farther, the Indianapolis skyline, complete with Lucas Oil, stretched on for a distance. I was lost in my thoughts and simultaneously pissed that Damien would pull a childish power play of making me wait when the second woman from the desk appeared behind me.
“Oh,” I exclaimed, reaching for my chest.
“I’m sorry to startle you, Ms. Crystal. Mr. Sinclair is ready for you.” She turned.
Standing near the door that I knew led to a hallway that would take me to Damien’s office was a well-dressed younger man with strawberry-blond hair, green eyes, and a welcoming smile.
“Johnathon will take you back to Mr. Sinclair.”
“Johnathon?”
“Mr. Sinclair’s assistant.”
Well, that was unexpected.
“Ms. Crystal,” Johnathon said as he opened the door. “Welcome.” The long hallway before us led to another set of glass doors. I wondered if my destination would be Damien’s office or if he would park me in a conference room.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Sinclair?” I asked.
“It will soon be a year.” He lowered his voice. “I heard you once had this position.”
“He told you?”
Johnathon shook his head, his cheeks growing pink. “No.”
“Oh,” I said softly. “I’m a rumor.”
“A good rumor. It sounds like people were sad when you left.”
I couldn’t think about that. It had been self-preservation.
Through the glass doors, Johnathon led me to Damien’s office and opened the door. “Mr. Sinclair. Ms. Crystal.”
I stepped into the doorway as Damien stood from behind his desk. Was it too much to ask for him to have contracted some flesh-eating bacteria in the last thirty hours? Maybe something that destroyed his handsome features, his thick hair, high cheekbones, firm lips.
Shit no.
He was as good-looking as he’d been Saturday night. The difference was that now he was clothed.
I wasn’t thinking about that.
Is he?
Damien’s gaze lingered on me for too long. The ensuing silence hung heavily in the air. Despite my scowl, Damien’s smile was at full wattage, and his blue eyes shone with the arrogance of a man who snapped his fingers and made others jump.
“Okay,” Johnathon said, a bit uncomfortably. “I’m going to…” He leaned away. “If you need me…”
Neither one of us spoke.
The door behind me closed.
Taking a step toward Damien, I kept my volume low but my tone strong. “Bastard.”
His cheeks rose. “Technically, no. My father is known. He and Mom are living it up in the Villages. There’s something about pineapples, but I don’t want to think about it.”
I shook my head. “Why?”
“They’re my parents and well, you know?”
I exhaled. “I don’t care about your parents. Why am I here?”
“That’s a shame. They always liked you.”
My frustration was getting the better of me. “I don’t not care about them.” I exhaled. “Answer my question. Why I’m here where I don’t want to be?”
Damien came around his desk and gestured toward the conference table. “Shall we sit?”
At the sight of the table—at the entire office—I realized nothing had changed. Clenching my teeth, I closed my eyes.
His deep voice penetrated my thoughts. “If you’re thinking about what we did on that table, so am I.”
I opened my eyes. “I’m not.”
I was.
“I suppose we could sit over there” —he pointed toward a sofa and chairs— “but if you recall, there isn’t a surface in this room where you didn’t come.” His smile shone. “I have particularly fond memories of my desk chair. For the record, I told the cleaning crew I spilled something.” His lips quirked. “I wouldn’t allow them to clean it. Seeing the stain on the leather reminds me of you.”
“Damien.” My voice was now raised. “Stop.”
His smile quirked. “Oh, Ms. Crystal. May I take that to mean you’re not interested in small talk?”
“I’m not interested in this meeting—at all.”
He pulled out one of the leather chairs from around the conference table. “Please.” The spicy aroma of his cologne infiltrated my thinking.
Fucking gentleman.
Setting my satchel on the floor and hanging my purse from the back of the chair, I took the seat. “May we get this over with?”
Damien took the seat at the head of the table, the one to my side. Unbuttoning his suit coat, he leaned back. “Ella, you can be upset with me, but you have to admit, our idea will benefit Beta Kappa Phi.”
“Upset?” I slapped my hand on the shiny table. “Damien, I told you…I asked you not to call me.”
“I didn’t.” He reached for the phone in his breast pocket and lifted it my direction. “You may check, but the last call I made to you was Saturday night, or was it Sunday morning?”