Chapter 8
Eight
Katriana
Fear of the unknown spills through me, but I mentally scoop it up as best I can and put one foot forward and then another when I step out of the cab.
I’m fifteen minutes early because I refuse to give Drake Moses the satisfaction of watching me stumble through those glass doors one second past eight.
I slept maybe three hours last night, tossing in sheets that smelled like fear and cheap laundry detergent, but I showered and dressed and applied makeup with the precision of a woman preparing for war.
I opted for my most professional outfit.
Black slacks that actually fit, a cream blouse I bought at a thrift store two years ago but could pass for something respectable, and the one pair of heels I own that don't make my feet scream after an hour.
I twisted my hair into a low bun at the nape of my neck and put on the small gold studs Gemma gave me for my twenty-first birthday.
Armor. All of it is nothing more than a shield against whatever comes of today. At least I will be able to say I didn’t arrive in my bookstore uniform. Go me.
The lobby steals my breath the moment I step inside. The last time I was too driven by fear and desperation to really pay too close attention to the luxurious setting.
The soaring ceilings are lined with geometric glass panels that catch the early morning light and scatter it across floors so polished I can see my reflection in them.
Modern art punctuates the minimal wall space, and abstract bronze sculptures I can’t begin to describe sit here and there that draw the eye deeper into the building.
The air smells clean, expensive. Trust me when I say money has its own particular fragrance and this building is bathed in it.
But there are signs of damage if you know where to look.
A section of wall near the security desk is slightly newer than the rest, the paint is a shade too bright.
Scaffolding is visible through a doorway leading to what might be a conference room.
Faint scorch marks on one of the marble columns that someone tried to buff away but couldn't quite erase.
Oh, wait. There were several explosions here a bit ago.
I remember reading about them in the news last year.
Some kind of attack on the building that the papers blamed on a business rival, though the details were suspiciously vague.
I file that information away and approach the security desk with my chin lifted and my shoulders squared.
"Katriana Bellrose. I have an appointment with Mr. Moses."
The guard checks something on his screen, and I watch his expression shift from professional disinterest to something more alert.
More respectful. He picks up a phone, murmurs something I can't hear, and then gestures to another uniformed man who appears at my elbow like he materialized from the polished air itself.
"Ms. Bellrose. Right this way."
The elevator ride is silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the thunder of my own pulse in my ears.
We climb past floors marked with department names I’ll probably have to visit at some point, past the number where I dropped my wish into that velvet-lined box two nights ago, and past everything familiar until the doors slide open onto a floor that has one percenter vibes the second the doors open.
This is Drake's domain.
“He said to come in the second you arrive.” With that, the guard deposits me in front of a set of double doors and disappears back into the elevator without a word.
I stand there for three heartbeats, gathering what remains of my courage, and then I push through.
I raise my chin and let the steel bar in my spine solidify.
I’m here for my sister. This is to keep her safe and I’ll do anything it takes to make sure she stays that way.
Embers of fear still simmer deep in my chest, but I push the pain of the burn away.
I can't measure Drake on the actions of his brother. I want to, but it’s not fair.
At least that is what I told myself all night.
Time will tell, but for now, I’m here and not dead. And my sister is safe. For now.
I close the door behind me and take in where I guess I’ll be working for the next twelve months.
The place is massive.
Floor to ceiling windows wrap around two walls, offering a view of Chicago that makes my stomach drop.
The city spreads below like a glittering map, all steel and glass and the distant ribbon of the river catching morning sun.
His desk dominates the center of the room, a sleek expanse of dark wood that screams huge price tag.
Definitely more than I can afford. Hell, more than several years of my salary, if I'm being honest with myself. I keep my focus on the menial details because it’s easier than thinking about whose office I’m standing in.
I finally gather my nerves and lift my eyes from the mahogany to find gray eyes fixed on me.
“Um. Good morning. Um. Mr. Moses.”
Drake rises with a fluid movement. There’s not a hurried bone in his body.
I guess when you are as powerful as he is, hustle is not part of his vocabulary.
He’s back in another charcoal suit today that is perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders.
His hair is swept back from a face that belongs on currency or carved into the side of a mountain, I swear.
Those unforgiving eyes find mine across the expanse of his office and hold.
"You're early," he states flatly.
I regret the second my eyebrows shoot up in protest but I roll with it and counter, "I'm punctual." I fight the urge to lift my chin with the defiance I feel flooding my veins at his cold tone.
The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile. Heaven forbid he show an ounce of emotion, after all. But it’s close enough that I feel something dangerous flutter beneath my ribs.
He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
The word is a command, not an invitation.
I can tell from the lack of emotion on his face he’s testing me.
That’s cool. Again I’m here for my sister and mom.
He keeps them safe, he can use me as a doormat all he wants.
He said last night it was for a year. I’ve done five with Victor, I can do one more with a man like Drake.
But he said heir and baby and bed all in one sentence last night, too, and that it was all part of the same deal, my inner vice chimes in.
I wipe my face of all emotions. It’s not as easy, but I clear my head and heart, too. Two can play the game of indifference.
I cross to the chair positioned in front of his desk only because the alternative is standing here until my knees give out.
My legs are trembling beneath the thin fabric of my slacks, and I press my palms flat against my thighs to hide the evidence of my nerves as I lower myself into leather soft enough to feel like sin.
Drake doesn't sit. He reaches for something on his desk and slides it across the polished surface toward me.
I look down to see large chunks of legal words.
“A contract?” I ask.
Drake looks down and I know he sees the horrified expression on my face because I feel it tugging at the corners of my eyes and I feel the tightness of my pursed lips.
I force my face back into neutral territory.
I mean, what did I think would happen? He dropped three hundred grand on me.
Of course he’s going to want something in return.
Can someone demand a baby in a contract?
Is that a thing? Damn it, why didn’t I think of researching that?
I shake off my internal freak out moment and turn my attention back to the papers in front of me.
I pick up the contract and begin to read, forcing my eyes to focus on the words despite the way they want to blur and swim.
One year. That's the first thing I see. One year as his executive assistant, with duties ranging from scheduling to correspondence to whatever else falls under the deliberately vague umbrella of "administrative support.
" Room and board provided at his residence here in Redthorne Holdings.
I pause on that, reading it twice to make sure I understand.
I'll be living here. In this building. Under his roof.
My throat tightens, but I keep reading.
Monthly allowance for dependent family members, to be deposited directly into accounts of my choosing.
The number stops me cold.
I read it again. Then a third time, because surely there's a decimal point I'm missing, a zero that shouldn't be there. But the figure remains the same, stark and impossible on the page, and something hot pricks at the backs of my eyes.
That amount would cover my mother's mortgage. Her medical bills. Gemma's tuition. It would lift the weight that has been crushing my family since the day my father decided a deck of cards mattered more than the people who loved him.
My eyes sting with unshed tears I’ve never allowed to fall. One escapes and Drake stands close enough that he reaches out and brushes it away.
I find the strength to finally look up at Drake to find him calmly watching me.
I don’t know what to expect to find when our eyes connect.
Judgment, maybe. Arrogance, most definitely.
Like his brother. There was never a day that went by that the younger Moses brother didn’t make me feel inferior in every sense of the word.
Looking back I realize the man only kept me around to make himself look good amongst his friends.
I was a game to him. He wanted to show how easily he could control, manipulate and ultimately break for all his wealthy friends.
“Continue reading, please,” Drake softly urges.
I blink rapidly and force myself to continue reading. I will not cry in front of this man. I will not show him weakness despite how gentle he is being right now. Once a Moses always a Moses. Didn’t I learn that the hard way?