Page 2 of Saved from Deception

His heavy brows jumping up, he asks, “Is that so? Your weekend wasn’t exciting enough?” He snickers, sharing an obnoxious, knowing smile with Shane before shifting his gaze back to me. “Charlie, if you need… help with anything, I’m available. But we’d have to keep it private. Just between us.”

“Yeah.” Shane nods, moving closer to me. He doesn’t touch me, but he looms over me, putting one hand on my desk and boxing me in. In a lower tone, so only I can hear him, he says, “If you want some private entertainment, Charlie, I’m happy to assist.”

My pulse is thudding and my face is flaming hot—I don’t even know what they’re talking about and I really wish I hadn’t said anything to Shane to begin with. All I want is to end this conversation, so I plaster on one of the practiced smiles I learned from my mother, neutral and perfectly pleasant, without showing a bit of emotion.

“No, thank you,” I say crisply. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I have to get back to work.”

My face is a calm mask, but inside I feel sick. I’m not the most experienced with men, but I know enough to pick up on the innuendos they were dropping. And the predatory looks on their faces. I just can’t figure out why.

I spend the next ten minutes meticulously going through my files for the day, making notes for the contracts I need to review, then organizing them by priority. I shoot off half a dozen emails and confirm several appointments for later this week and even remember to contribute to the baby shower fund for one of the receptionists.

I’m carefully not looking around the office, studiously keeping my eyes on my monitor and desk.

I’m still unsettled and my head is spinning with possibilities—is there a rumor about me? What could it be? Am I getting promoted? Am I getting fired? But I’m not up for a promotion to senior associate for several more years, at least, and I haven’t done anything that would merit getting fired. All the contracts I’ve drawn up and reviewed have been flawless.

As for a rumor, I’m not interesting enough for that. I spend most nights home alone; catching up on work, watching movies, or reading. Once a week, I meet up with a few non-work friends for happy hour and dinner, and there’s the requisite monthly trip to my parents’ for brunch. There’s nothing even remotely scandalous.

My stomach has finally settled when my assistant sends it jumping all over again.

She calls me—I don’t know why, she’s literally ten feet away—and I answer, keeping my voice light, trying to smooth over whatever awkwardness there was from earlier. “Sarah. You can just call over to me. It’s okay. Also, I was thinking of going out to grab coffee. Do you want anything?”

Silence. And then, flatly, “Mr. Vincent wants to see you. Right away.”

The senior partner wants to see me? Why? Corralling my suddenly jumping nerves, I keep my voice steady. “Did he say why? And how soon?”

“No.” She hesitates. “His assistant said it was urgent. You should go there right now.” And then she hangs up on me.

What is going on?

I’ve never believed in dark premonitions or a sense of impending doom. That’s for superstitious people and I rely on facts. It’s one of the things I like about being an attorney—the facts and precedents and attention to detail.

But right now? There’s a heavy cloak of foreboding settling over me.

Rather than head directly to David’s office—“Call me David,” he insisted on my first day working here. “We’re a family here; no need for formalities”—I make a detour to the bathroom. Before I head in there, I need a minute to compose myself, make sure I look one hundred percent put together and like the successful professional I’m supposed to be.

Our restrooms are down a long hallway at the rear of the large office space, and I feel like I’m walking the plank. Even though I’m staring straight ahead, I can hear little whispers as I pass. It’s like one of those horrible scenes in a stereotypical high school movie where everyone quietly makes fun of the outcast.

Except it’s not high school, it’s my law office where I’ve worked for the last three years. And it’s not a character from a movie. It’s me.

Since I’m not paying attention to anything on either side of me, when someone comes out of the men’s room, I almost crash into them. I jump back, blurting out, “Sorry!” before I get a chance to see who I almost knocked over.

“No worries.” A hand settles on my arm, steadying me. “Are you okay, Charlotte?” Sharp brown eyes look down at me, scanning my face. I’ve been reviewing and preparing contracts for Alan, one of our senior associates, almost the entire time I’ve worked here, and he still refuses to call me Charlie.

“I’m fine.” Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I arrange my features into something I hope looks like a smile. “Just a little distracted. I’m sorry about that.”

“Ah.” He nods at me with a knowing expression. “I can understand that. Considering...”

Oh no. Does he know about my meeting?

Swallowing hard, I manage, “Well, I just need to freshen up. If you…”

The hand on my arm tightens to the point of pain. “You don’t have to rush off quite yet, Charlotte.” His brown eyes go black as he stares at me. “I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

My heart is fluttering; he’s hurting my arm, but if I pull away… will I make this weird situation even worse?

Shifting closer, Alan pushes me back against the wall and braces his free arm against it. “Surely you don’t mind taking a moment for me, do you?”

“I have a meeting,” I whisper, all my confidence dissolving as his larger body cages me in. “I should really go—”

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