by Hannah Ford
I stand in the café that’s tucked into the corner of the lobby of the Stratford Building. It’s one of those upscale cafeteria-style places that are trendy now, where you fill your tray with food and then sit down and eat.
I grab a bag of thick-cut salt and vinegar chips and a packet of trail mix, along with a bottle of unsweetened iced tea.
This isn’t even technically my lunch break. It’s just a small break we were allowed to take after the police left and after we got our pictures taken for our employee ID badges. After this we’ll be expected to sit down in the conference room and start going through the binders we were given this morning.
Alanna and Poppy are outside, presumably smoking e-cigarettes, which they assured me are not anywhere near as bad for your health as real cigarettes, which I’m pretty sure is false. I hope they stay out there a while so that –
“Hi!” Alanna says, sliding into the seat across from me. She’s reapplied her lipstick, and her mouth is a perfect sultry red.
“Oh,” I say. “Hi.”
“Wow,” she says, looking down at the snacks in front of me. “I guess you’re hungry.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess.”
“Listen,” she says. “I just want you to know that I won’t say anything.” She reaches for my bag of chips and opens them, reaches in and pops one in her mouth.
“Won’t say anything about what?”
“You know, about Gage Stratford. That was him last night at the club, right? That’s why he wanted you to see you alone this morning? So he could talk to you about it?” She twirls the lanyard of her new ID badge around her finger, and I catch a glimpse of her picture. Her smile is big but not too big, relaxed but still professional.
She looks gorgeous in it.
Mine looks like one of those ‘celebrities without makeup’ pics you see where the person looks washed out and surprised that they’re getting their picture taken. Which makes no sense, since of course I knew I was getting my picture taken. The woman taking it even gave me a countdown from three so that I knew exactly when she was going to take it. Then she politely informed me that there were no retakes, that she had to keep the line moving, which was ridiculous, because from what I could tell, there was no line.
“Um…” I say, not sure how to respond.
“We’re friends, Chloe,” Alanna says, but her smile doesn’t look like we’re friends. “Anyway, you don’t have to say anything. Your secret’s safe with me.” She leaves, taking my chips with her.
I take my time getting up and clearing my table, wanting to make sure I give Alanna and Poppy enough time to get back up to the office so that I’m not stuck on the elevator with them.
As I toss my trash into the garbage, I hear a sniffling noise coming from a table that’s tucked into the corner, right against the window.
Willow.
She’s sitting there alone, head down, palms pressed against her eyes. She’s crying.
I guess being Gage Stratford’s assistant probably isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.
I think about going over to comfort her, or at least ask her what’s wrong, but I barely know the girl. I definitely don’t need any more drama at work. And besides, if I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.
She’s fine, I tell myself to push down the guilt I feel at just leaving her there. But it doesn’t work. I sigh and approach her slowly, hoping maybe she’ll look up and give me some indication of whether or not she wants company.
I’m about to say her name when my eyes land on her wrist. Her sleeves are pushed up a little bit and there, on her left wrist, is a tattoo. A tattoo in the exact same shape as the scar on Gage Stratford’s wrist.
It’s none of my business.
I am a consummate professional, and I should not be concerned with Gage’s assistant having a tattoo that mirrors his scar.
All that is my business is sitting here, in this conference room, going through the pages of the binder that Mr. Stratford gave us this morning.
Alanna, Poppy, and I are to spend two hours making notes on the companies separately, then convene to share our thoughts and begin putting together a presentation on who we think would be a good fit for Stratford Investments.
At first, it’s hard to concentrate.
All I can think about is him.
His nails raking down my back.
His hand on my ass.
The throbbing between my legs.
But after about an hour, I start to get focused.
I make notes in a document on the gleaming laptop that sits on the even more gleaming wood table in the middle of the room. The conference room is bigger than my entire dorm room, and everything is state of the art – the espresso machine in the corner, the projector…there’s even a Smart Music system in here, which will play any song you tell it to.
I have it set to the pop station as I work.
I’m deep into typing up my thoughts on a stationery company I think would be great for Stratford when the door to the conference room goes flying open.
Gage Stratford stands there, filling the doorway, his golden eyes smoldering. He marches over to me, fast and with purpose, and my heart starts to pound.
Until now, every move he’s made has been slow and deliberate.
Is he going to fire me?
“Mr. Stratford,” I start, “I assure you that the incident with the police won’t –”
He drops a sheaf of stapled papers down onto the table in front of me.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he demands, his voice laced with anger and blame.
I frown, picking up the bundle of papers and reading the headline on the front page, my stomach turning.
My blood runs cold as I realize the worst has happened.
Gage Stratford has found out about my past.
The End of Part One
Look For Part Two, Coming Soon!
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