Chapter 4

By the third day, Derek wasn't about to crash anymore. He already had.

Crestmark Realty sent an official letter saying that if things weren't back on track within a week, they would reevaluate the partnership.

The project was a yearlong strategic partnership with a contract worth sixty-seven million dollars, which came to fifteen percent of the company's annual revenue.

Once the letter came in, twenty-six held three emergency meetings. I knew because after every one, the break room trash can filled up with crumpled drafts and empty coffee cups.

They were panicking, but not one of them came to me. It wasn't that they didn't want to. They didn't dare.

Vivian had made it clear that anyone who so much as talked to me would be joining me at the front desk. So everyone had to stand by and watch a sixty-seven-million-dollar deal float out the door.

Every day, when I went up to restock the break room, I could feel the people in the conference room watching me through the glass.

The looks were complicated. Some were guilty, some were anxious, and some were practically begging me to step up.

I acted like I didn't see it. I had no reason to be the one who volunteered.

They had demoted me to humiliate me and shamed me in front of everyone, and not one person had said a word for me. Now that things had blown up, they wanted me to clean up the mess.

I carried my coffee carafe around, refilled what needed refilling, and wiped down what needed wiping. At six, I clocked out and went home to make a pot of beef stew.

*****

Tuesday was the day my brother came home.

I only found out that morning when I got to work and saw the company-wide memo from Admin. [Chairman Grant Shaw returns to headquarters today for an operations review.]

The memo had gone out to everyone at seven, and it asked every department to pull their reports together. Apparently, my brother had come back a day early, which wasn't unusual with the time difference.

I clocked in at nine like always, made my coffee, and chatted with Annie for a minute. The whole building felt different.

Everyone was walking fast and talking in hushed voices. There was a long line at the elevators, everyone dressed to the nines and hurrying upstairs. The lobby, on the other hand, was quiet.

At ten-forty, I was sitting with my legs crossed, three episodes into my show, when the revolving door at the entrance turned and a crowd of people swept in.

I knew who was leading the group the second I saw him. He was six-foot-two, in a charcoal overcoat, with a hard, cold face and a stride that ate up the floor.

It was Grant, my brother.

Behind him came his assistants, a few executives, and Vivian.

She was wearing a cream-colored suit and flawless makeup, and she was smiling as she held on to my brother's arm. She was playing the chairman's wife on an official visit to perfection.

The only way from the entrance to the elevators went right past the front desk. I sat behind it with the visitor log, the phone, and my coffee in front of me while they got closer and closer.

Vivian saw me, and the moment she did, her smile got wider.

I had seen that smile before. It was the smile of a winner inspecting the spoils, and it said she was up on his arm while I sat at the bottom serving coffee.

Of course, she had no idea Grant was my brother.

To her, the picture was perfect. She was walking past her rival on her husband's arm, and her rival was stuck at the front desk in a uniform while she floated above it all, polished and glowing.

It had to feel amazing. It felt so good that she turned her head to get one more look at me.

I kept my face blank, raised my mug, and drank.

Then Grant's eyes swept over the lobby. At first he didn't pay any attention, since there was always someone sitting at the front desk.

His gaze passed right over me, and then it snapped back and locked in place. In that instant, I saw Grant's eyes widen. He stopped dead, and his assistant nearly ran right into him. "Mr. Shaw?"

Grant ignored him and stared at me. He stared at the uniform I had on, at the visitor log in front of me, and at the sign over my head that said Reception.

The folder in his hand slipped and hit the floor, and a few sheets spilled out and slid across the marble.