Page 27 of The Stranger
“What do you mean, unlike the previous day?”
“I could hear screaming coming from inside while I was waiting for her.”
I presume he’s referring to the incident with her sister. “And why am I just hearing about this now?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to report back to you on Miss St. James’s personal business.”
“Well, consider yourself aware now.”
“Sure thing, Mr Prescott.” I can tell by his tone that he’s not impressed, but even if he doesn’t agree, he’ll comply with my wishes.
“Haveyou dropped her off yet?”
“Yes, about half an hour ago.”
“Did you see her enter the building?”
“I did.”
“Thanks,” I say, ending the call.
I slide my phone back into my trouser pocket and pick up the landline receiver on my desk, pressing the button for reception.
“Shay-lee, it’s Spencer Prescott. Did you see Delilah St. James arrive this morning?”
“Yes, Mr Prescott. She asked me what floor she could find Human Resources on.”
“Thank you.” I can feel my blood pressure rising as I hit the button for HR. I don’t know what she’s playing at now, but I thought we came to an agreement yesterday morning.
“Marcus,” I say when he answers, “Is Delilah St. James on your floor?”
“Yes, sir. She said she needed to talk to somebody about adding a clause to her contract. She’s in with Christine now.”
“Put me through,” I growl.
“Mr Prescott,” she says. “I was about to call you.”
“Regarding?”
“Miss St. James is in my office. She’s asking about adding a clause to her contract.”
“What kind of clause?” I ask, feeling my temper rise further.
“She wants her wages garnished as reimbursement for some clothes that were purchased by the company yesterday.”
The company didn’t pay for her new wardrobe … I did. “Put her on, Christine.”
“Hello,” her meek voice squeaks down the line.
“I want to see you in my office immediately, Delilah,” I bark. “And bring me my damn coffee.”
I’m standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with my hands shoved into my trouser pockets as I gaze over the city skyline, trying to lower my blood pressure when the object of my annoyance finally waltzes into my office.
“Your coffee, Mr Prescott.”
I’m forced to do a double take when I glance over my shoulder and see the vision in white standing in my doorway. The morning sun that’s streaming in from the reception area only seems to illuminate her further.Fucking hell.She’s barely recognisable with that hairstyle, the full face of makeup, and that outfit. You’d usually associate the colour white with something angelic, but the woman before me looks like pure fucking sin.
I thought I was doing the right thing,the noble thing, by getting my mother to take her shopping for some new clothes. I’m now second-guessing that decision. I’m not sure what it is about this woman, but everything about her, and the situation she’s in, tugs at my hardened heart. I feel all her injustices as if they were my own.
