Page 3 of Savage Game
A doorman pushed open the glass doors and tipped his head. “Ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She gave him her kindest smile. What a shitty job, standing outside in a stiff and stifling uniform, opening the door for people.
A nasty voice in the back of her head—a voice sounding exactly like her husband—sneered, “It might be what you’ll be doing for the next month.”
Oh well... Sighing, she pulled the suitcase with her and entered the building.
Pausing for a moment, Charlotte scanned the opulent space. Stunning marble floors covered the expanse, and floor-to-ceiling tinted windows let in the light. A bank of elevators was at the back, clusters of seats were scattered about, and potted plants spread out on her right. Charlotte pulled in a breath and marched over to the reception desk. The impressive gleaming marble counter spanned the left side of the entry hall and boasted three computer screens.
A well-groomed woman with streaked blonde hair in a stylish cut, wearing an immaculately tailored dark-blue blazer over a creamy-white silk blouse with a firm’s name discreetly embroidered on the chest pocket, greeted Charlotte with a kind smile. “Welcome to Nolan House, how may we help you?”
“Um.” Charlotte let go of her suitcase’s handle and stepped forward. “My name is Charlotte Randall for Mr. Nolan.”
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Randall. Mr. Nolan informed us about your arrival today. If you would be so kind to wait, I’ll get someone to escort you to the private elevator. It’s the only one with access to the penthouse.” She gestured to the plush seats at the opposite side of the hall.
Penthouse? This is an office building, right?
Charlotte nodded. “Thank you.” She opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but the phone rang, and the receptionist turned away to answer it.
Charlotte hesitated but didn’t want to eavesdrop, so she turned, pulling her suitcase with her, and dillydallied toward the inviting seats and sofas. Her progress was so slow, she hadn’t yet taken a seat when a man in the masculine version of the suit the receptionist wore, with the addition of an earpiece like some kind of secret agent, stepped up to her.
“Mrs. Randall?” He folded his hands in front of him.
“Y-yes.”
He moved closer with brisk efficiency. “Follow me, please.” Without asking, he took possession of her suitcase and walked past the bank of elevators toward an obscured door in the corner. After swiping a keycard, the door opened automatically, and Charlotte followed him through and down a long hallway past several doors until they reached another elevator.
Earpiece as she called him in her head, punched a set of numbers in the keypad so fast she wouldn’t have been able to recognize the code.
Not that I expect to need it anyway.
When the car arrived, he gestured for her to enter but instead of following her as she expected, he stayed back. “What–” the elevator doors closed, cutting off her question, and her stomach dropped as the car practically lunged upward. It took less than twenty seconds before the doors opened, and she tentatively stepped out and into another long, darkened corridor.
What the hell?
At a loss, Charlotte took a hesitant step forward, moving away from the elevator and further into the dimly lit hall. Halting again, she frowned as she realized Earpiece still had her suitcase downstairs. She was about to turn and get back in the elevator when the doors behind her whooshed closed.
Not knowing what to do with herself, she turned and scanned the area.
If this were some creepy castle instead of an office building, I would now turn and come face to face with a serial killer or a vampire.
She almost chuckled at herself but the moment the thought popped into her mind, uneven footsteps approached her from behind.
Heart pounding in her throat, she pivoted on her heels and sucked in a lungful of air. A tall figure, his face obscured by the shadows in the hallway, approached quickly despite the clear limp in his gait.
“M–mister Nolan?”
A six-foot-plus frame with broad shoulders bore down on her. Fighting the urge to run, Charlotte forced her lungs to expel the air she had been holding. Everything about him screamed power and wealth and hinted at a cruel and singular intent. She took a tentative step back and tried not to panic.
As if he caught on to her distress, he slowed, halted at a polite distance, and tilted his head.
She recognized him. How could she not—the scarred, blue-eyed man from poker night. She swallowed and forced herself to hold her ground. She clutched her hands in front of her.
Don’t show fear.
Oh, but she was afraid. Not of his scars, but of the power he exuded. It reached out and encased her like body heat. Charlotte blinked.
Please, don’t tell me I’m attracted to this guy.
