Page 26 of Remembering Passion

“I recently spoke with Gloria Wilmott.”

Gloria was a senior member of the Sinclair executive board. She had been around since our father took over. That meant she had seen her share of ups and downs. In the grand scheme of time, Sinclair was in an up. While we didn’t see eye to eye on everything, Gloria knew that I was good for Sinclair.

“Tell Gloria hello.” I waited a moment. “Have a wonderful day, Darius.”

I disconnected the call.

Pushing one button, I called my assistant. “If Darius calls again, tell him I am in a meeting. Speaking of which, has my three o’clock arrived?”

It was only 2:45, but I was anxious.

“No, sir. I’ll let you know when she does.”

“Thank you.”

Leaning back, I inhaled as I spun my chair toward the window. Stories below was the front entrance to Sinclair Corporate Center. I scanned the brick circle, the large fountain, and the nearby benches. No sign of Ella.

I wasn’t worried.

She would arrive.

Gabriella

Entering 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?”

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