She didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped out the elevator and did a broken-heeled wobble walk into what she could only describe as a Vogue meets Heaven kind of office space. The place was huge and highly decorated with only three desks in what appeared to be the entire side of the building. More confusion set in if that were even possible. Her gaze shot back to him, but he continued ignoring her. They bypassed the first two empty front desks and headed toward an older woman who sat at an enormous mahogany desk right outside a closed set of double doors.
“Particularly hard morning, Mr. Prescott?” she asked, her voice as stern as his had been, and she eyed Lara from head to toe. Where he wouldn’t look her way, this woman only had eyes for her.
“We’ve had a little accident. She took a spill in front of my car. Can you call Candace to see if she can stop by? There’s blood on the right side of her chest. Tell Candace I’ll make it worth her time if she can be here within the hour. Also, call Helena and get her clothing changed—she’ll also need new shoes. I understand she has a job beginning today. Get her new employer on the phone for me. Interrupt whatever I’m doing to take that call. I’ll need to personally apologize for her delay.”
Her gaze never left Lara while he gave clipped and clear instructions to this woman, as though he’d done it a hundred times before, but his words were actually kind. He seemed to take responsibility for what had happened out on the road, yet his tone was all off. He barked out those orders as he left her standing there. He approached the double office doors right behind her desk, opened one, and stepped through. The door slammed shut behind him. Seconds later, he reappeared.
“She’s skittish. Don’t let her run.” His sharp blue eyes came back to rest on Lara, and he still held that rigid, unyielding stare which matched his current tone completely. “This is bigger than you, and I need to set this right.”
Whatever look she gave had him back out the office door, drawing her inside with him. “You’re a flight risk, and I can’t handle any more negative press. You can use this restroom to clean up while we wait for the others to arrive.”
She swore on the power of her lucky Jimmy Choos that she’d never again ignore such a flagrant sign of impending disaster as they’d given her that morning. She hadn’t been abducted; she’d landed in the Twilight Zone. This Mr. Prescott was a doozy. He disappeared again behind another door inside the office. Now that she felt reasonably certain she wasn’t abducted roadkill, her shocked, scared attitude needed to end.
Why in the world was she just following along, doing everything he said to do?
“Use this restroom to clean yourself up, or not—whatever. Margaret will get you back on track.” He dismissed her again, and she watched him leave the office. The door remained open this time, and she heard him quietly talking to someone, likely Margaret, right outside the door. A minute or so later, the woman came inside the office with a bottle of water in hand.
“He’s a bit domineering.” Margaret’s stern voice from earlier was gone. Her tone warmer now. She put several packets of Advil in Lara’s hand along with the bottle of water. “Something has to hurt with as hard as it looks like you took that fall. Here, take some of these. I have coffee brewing now.”
“I don’t even know where I am,” she stated lamely, shrugging off his suit coat and handing it over to Margaret. She looked down at the right side of her trench coat, trying to see the blood he’d mentioned. She pulled her purse over her head, the ache in her shoulder again made its presence known, but she ignored the slight pain as she slipped off her battered and beaten coat.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“I’m Laramie Hunter. My friends call me Lara. My suit’s ruined.” She looked down over her clothes to assess the damage. There was a large rip in the seam of her blazer and the stain from the dirty pavement bled through her coat to splatter all the way down the side of her body.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get that all taken care of for you. What happened?” Margaret’s kindness soothed her as she went behind Lara and helped pull the blaze off her shoulder. Only then did she see the significant tear across her satin, button-front dress shirt. A small amount of blood coated the area.
It was official, her brand new clothes were ruined. So much for carefully spending her savings on a mix and match business professional wardrobe. The main pieces to the collection were beyond repair. For the first time that morning, she wanted to cry. She reached down and unclasped her shoes to assess that damage. The heel finally snapped free in her hand. Her good-luck Jimmy Choos were destroyed.
“I slipped on the wet road right in front of his car. It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t have to do all this.” A tear finally built enough steam to slip free. “My new clothes are ruined. I need to call my new job.”
“I’ll handle that for you. Reed wants to talk with them personally. Where’s your job?” Margaret asked, busying herself as she gathered Lara’s purse and then pushed open a door and turned on the light to expose a bathroom.
“It’s my first day at Press International. I’m the new public relations specialist.”
“How old are you?” Margaret asked, speculation on her face.
“I’ll be twenty-seven this week,” she said, lifting her hands to her hair and releasing the few pins still securing one side up. Her long chestnut hair fell heavy down her shoulders, soaked through.
“You look much younger than that. Rest assured, your job’s the least of your worries. I’ll get them squared away, no problem there. We have a doctor on the way over. Reed can also spring for some new clothing. I’ll begin that process next. For now, the restroom’s right through here.” Margaret disappeared inside and Lara followed. Margaret pulled out several towels, a hair dryer, even a brush was laid out for her use. “You have mascara running down your face. Also, take a look at what’s going on to cause that blood. It doesn’t look too bad, just make sure.” She opened another cabinet and pulled out a first-aid kit, setting that next to her purse on the counter.
“I’ll be right outside at my desk if you need me.” That warm, patient smile was back in place. She helped soothe all the worried, rough edges coursing through her, giving her brain a place to settle. Coherent thought came back.
“This is really not necessary. He didn’t cause this. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I just live across the street. I can go home and change,” she offered.
“Take the helping hand, you deserve it after the morning you’ve had. How do you drink your coffee?” Margaret asked at the bathroom door.
“Just light cream and sugar,” Lara answered, watching Margaret collect the rest of her things and drape them over a leather sofa in the office.
“All right, wash your face and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Lara was left staring at the door as Margaret closed it behind her. She went for her purse. Her few cosmetics and cell phone were inside. If they could truly secure her job, then it would surely be in her best interest to play this out. Only the tiniest what-if had her palming her cell phone to call her new employer and leave a voice mail message as to what had happened.
Even with all the years of training she endured to learn how to speak publicly, she gave a slight pause on the message when she looked in the mirror and saw her face. The artfully applied dramatic makeup choice she and Kade had decided made her look older was pouring down her face. She actually looked more like a sad clown than an up-and-coming business professional. She spoke quickly into the phone and ended the call before reaching for the soap and hand towel.
Chapter 3
The warm shower had done wonders for Reed’s surly disposition. He ignored the ring of his endlessly vibrating cellphone on the nightstand as he slid his arms through a stark white dress shirt, buttoning the front as he reached for a dark, handmade, fitted business suit from the rack. He thumbed through the large selection of silk neckties in his closet. He picked one and headed back toward the bedroom to finish dressing for the day. From the insis
tent sound of his cellphone, he guessed Double D might have discovered she’d woken alone. Interesting. He’d figured her to be an all-morning sleeper after the late night she’d put in last night.
Clearly she was a stage-five clinger as the phone ended the rattling only to begin another round.
Honestly, he hadn’t seen that coming at all. Last night, she looked the part of a seasoned one-night stand pro, but he also hadn’t been in his right mind from early on in the evening. Either way, he knew the score. He’d keep up the silent treatment for as long as he could and pray she took the hint. If not, words would have to be exchanged, which never really ended well for him—hence his long-standing reputation of being a cold-hearted, unfeeling motherfucker. He shrugged the thought away because it wasn’t worth his mental energy; he’d accepted that truth a long time ago.
Not until he stood in the mirror, finishing the Windsor knot in his necktie did he allow himself to ponder the huge problem awaiting him on the other side of his office. His day was jam-packed, and for a moment, he considered whether karma might be paying him back for the way he’d used Double D last night, but then decided that was the years of living with Braden and his family coming out in him. Braden’s mother Linda Bryant was a salt-of-the-earth kind of woman, and he could almost hear the lecture he’d get for playing around with such trashy women.
No question, he was a hard-headed man, stubborn to a fault, but he was finally understanding that even the trashy women weren’t just in it for a good time. They were always on the prowl, looking for their next meal ticket. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. No way he ever planned to be that for any woman.
His home phone rang when the cell phone stopped vibrating. He stalked across the room. Surely Double D hadn’t figured out his personal landline telephone number. “Yes,” he barked out, prepared to blast her.
“Lara’s employer is holding,” Margaret announced, unaffected by his tone. Nothing ever got under her skin, which was the biggest reason he kept her around. He anchored the receiver on his shoulder as he adjusted one of the platinum cuff links at his wrist.
“Remind me who Lara is again,” he said, trying to rack his brain for who Margaret was talking about.
“The woman you almost ran over this morning.” Margaret’s tone was flat and disapproving, which, he supposed, was technically her normal voice when she spoke to him, but this time, her critical tone seemed a little more pronounced.
“Right. Were you able to reach her parents?” he asked, standing to his full height of six-two and assessed his overall look in the mirror attached to his dresser. Satisfied with what he saw, he went for his suit jacket, angling his arm through the sleeve. His mind skipped ahead to his day. He had a call with his latest Asian acquisition in approximately an hour. One that wasn’t planned to go well, but if he could soothe the ruffled feathers, maybe he wouldn’t have to make the long trip there after all.
Professionally, he’d conquered North America and expanded overseas. He had the Midas touch, but his good fortune seemed to wane with this latest deal. What in the hell had he been thinking to make such a bid in the Asian markets? His brow furrowed as he remembered his shoot-from-the-hip arrogance in that particular buyout. Nothing more than deep-seated hate and a need to drive his grandfather out of business had him jumping in at the last minute, ripping that company out of the old man’s hands. It had been such a coup to steal it away at the last minute, but by Reed’s best estimation, he should have let his granddad buy the company. He more than deserved the pain in the ass this transition had become.
“Did you hear me?” Margaret asked, jarring Reed’s thoughts back to the telephone conversation. “I said, she’s older than you originally thought. She’s Press International’s new public relations specialist for China—she speaks fluent Mandarin. I have Cooper on line one, as you requested.”
“What?” he barked into the phone. “That little girl’s handling China?” He stopped dead in his tracks. Had he heard that wrong?
“She’s not little, and per Cooper, her credentials are solid. She’s the Wake Forest candidate,” Margaret added.
“How old?” he asked, still just standing in the middle of his bedroom.
“Soon to be twenty-seven.” His momentary silence had Margaret chuckling. The sound grated on his nerves.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?” he asked. The great thing about moving the administrative operations to this building in downtown Dallas was his living quarters were the other half of the same floor. The setup was so ideal he’d bought the building sight unseen. Press, Inc. and all its subsidiaries was his life, and he didn’t get to where he was by punching the metaphorical time clock. He worked all the time. He toed on his shoes, grabbed his wallet, then his cell, and tucked them inside his front breast pocket.
“Talk to Cooper and come see for yourself.” There was a cheeky note to Margaret’s voice this time. She connected Cooper on the line as she disappeared.
“Is she really employed by you?” Reed asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Yes, sir?” There was a clear question in his voice. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, I’m not sure. How old is she?” He changed his words seconds before he spoke that last sentence. His original thought had been, “Why the fuck did you hire a twelve-year-old for such a critical position?”
“She’s young, but comes with a strong background. She’s the Wake Forest candidate,” Cooper explained.
China had been a particular thorn in his side from the moment he’d signed the contracts. Even with Press International being a small part of his overall corporate conglomerate of Press Inc., he had broken protocol and become active in the day-to-day workings of that subsidiary with the single-minded purpose of resolving the constant turmoil created by his newest acquisition. He’d played a part in hiring this candidate—everything but sitting in on the interviews. He’d even listened to the tapes of her conversations in Mandarin. If he remembered correctly, she also spoke fluent Japanese, Spanish, and French—something that made her stand out from every other candidate interviewed.
“Margaret’s verified this information?” he asked, letting the front door of his condo slam shut as he walked toward his offices. All three desks on this floor were now filled with personnel diligently working away. His office door was closed and Margaret never looked up, but began nodding her head as she stared at her screen. She must have heard his question.
“I believe so. If not, the background reports have. Do we have a problem?” Cooper asked.
“No. I’ll have Margaret keep you posted on a new start date. I believe the doctor may be in with her now.” He watched as Margaret nodded to that question too, yet kept her eyes focused on her computer.
“Did she get hurt? I can call the next in line and offer them the job.”
“Not yet.” A bustle of activity from the elevator caused all heads to turn their way. “What’s that?”
“Clothes,” Margaret answered and rose to open his office door for three women with their arms loaded with clothing, shoes, belts, purses. Everything needed to complete a wardrobe. Reed stayed rooted in his spot, glaring at Margaret.
What was happening around him this morning?
“I said replace her clothing, not replace her closet.” Reed still had the phone to his ear, but the conversation with Cooper was forgotten. So much so, he lowered his portable home phone and dropped the device on Margaret’s desk.
“You can do a little extra for her. You almost ran her over.” Margaret sat back at her desk and continued working at her computer, not paying him any attention. She did that kind of thing all the time, and damn but he hated when she dismissed him.
“I didn’t almost run over her. She ran out in front of me. Those are critical key differences that need to be remembered when her legal counsel becomes involved,” he said, dropping his palm on her desk, making a loud slapping noise. He leaned in toward her. His signature intimidation move, guaranteed to upset the b
oardroom, never worked on her. She did finally look up at him with one of her severely arched eyebrows raised.
“She’s been through a lot this morning. You brought her in here, not me. I’m just cleaning up your mess. Now, Holly Gaylord keeps calling. Do I clean up that mess too?” Double D’s name was Holly. Right! And he gave an inward groan at the thought of her already escalating to calling his office. One benefit? She hadn’t been calling his cellphone. Thank God he hadn’t been drunk enough to give out his personal number.
“Send her the sorry it’s not you bouquet. And for the record? That in there…” He pointed to his office door. “She ran out in front of me.” His biggest concern with the current problem camping out in his office centered on the facts getting muddied. He needed no blurred lines. If this went to litigation like most things in his life did, he needed to make sure everyone knew she’d put herself in harm’s way, not him.
“How long are they going to be?” he asked, heading toward the coffee maker.
“As long as it takes. Your computer’s in the conference room. I’ve set you up in there until she’s gone.” Margaret was back to ignoring him, typing efficiently at her keyboard as she spoke. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the small pre-made pot and took a swallow of the scalding brew. His eyes stayed focused on the back of Margaret’s head. God, she was a pain in his ass. The other two worked quietly at their desks; they never said much at all. Most of the time they were so silent he had to remember they were around, but not Margaret. She’d been full of piss and vinegar since day one, almost ten years ago. He should have fired her by now. She was just so damn good at her job.
Besides, he needed someone with strength and a backbone, he reasoned again for the billionth time. Technically that was also how many times he’d considered firing her since the first day she’d started. If he didn’t have someone with a spine, he’d run right over them. Leave broken pieces lying in the dust, but dammit, it would be nice to be on the receiving end of her kindness at least once in his life. Frustrated again, he went to the conference room, letting that door slam shut a little too forcibly.
Chasing Happy (Texas Desires #1) Page 3