Page 38 of The Innovator

There had to be something in the building to help me. Therehadto be.

Dad, please guide me.

There was nothing wrong with the owner examining her property, right? The problem was if I got caught, I’d have to prove to the authorities I was Natalie LaRue—the legal owner of The Prism. That would create more trouble than necessary. My job would know I’d lied about my identity, and that crime would probably be worse than breaking and entering.

The tabloids would have a field day with me.Natalie LaRue—designer for House of LaRue—has started a new trend: lying and burglarizing in the States.

I quickly shoved the thought away because it wasn’t helping my anxiety.

Driving toward the business district of Providence, I parked a block away from The Prism, and walked around, browsing the area. The warm summer weather brought more people out in the streets. Around seven in the evening, I walked toward my property. My heart pounded in my ears. Sweat made my hands clammy, and I wiped them on my gray capris as I neared The Prism. It had been vacant for a while, so there weren’t any cars around the building.

The sun was still out, and the sunlight illuminated the building, making it brighter and more beautiful. My nerves were concocting wild scenarios in my head, making me see strange things. When the pedestrians passed me earlier, my mind whispered they were undercover cops and that I should be extra careful. I wasn’t good at breaking the law.

You can do it. Your family needs you.

Shaking off the self-doubts, I glanced around, making sure there was no one close by before walking toward the back parking lot. I spotted the back entrance, but there were cameras at the top. I couldn’t tell if they were working, but I didn’t want to risk getting caught.

Taking another path, I stayed close to the wall, moving farther back until I came to a side door with a shiny doorknob that looked new. Relief settled when I didn’t see any cameras around. Praying that God was on my side, I yanked on the door, but it didn’t budge.

Shit.

I reached into my purse, pulled out the hammer, and realized it was no match for the metal door. What was I thinking? When things didn’t work out for one of my fashion designs, I pivoted. Life was all about adjusting, wasn’t it?

If God were watching me, he’d either laugh at my incompetence or admire my stubbornness. I wasn’t going to give up. I’d find a way into my property no matter what. Spotting some wooden pallets nearby, I rushed over. If I stacked them high enough, I could climb onto the window ledge, break the window, and get inside.

Excellent idea.

I hadn’t planned this act out as thoroughly as I should have. It was more of a spontaneous urge, and I went with it before fear stopped me. Desperation often made people do stupid things. I guess I fell into that category today. It was too late to back out now.

I dragged a wooden pallet over to the window, placing it on top of the one already there. It clunked loudly, and my heart pounded, praying no one heard it. The noise of the city probably drowned it out. As I went to get another pallet, I heard voices coming from inside the metal door. I dropped the pallet quietly, crouched, and listened.

Two men cursed at something as their footsteps approached the door.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

GRAYSON

Forrest invited me for drinks at Prime One, a restaurant across the street from The Prism. Since I’d declined twice before, I went after work. I was avoiding the world, not him. It wasn’t personal, but my approach hadn’t been going well. The world seemed to work against me, with unforeseen obstacles popping up daily.

“How’s Three Point Park coming along? What about the renovation of your warehouse?” Forrest drank his Tom Collins, placed the glass down, and studied me.

He had olive skin, a shade darkerthanmine, and shaggy brown hair I wasn’t used to seeing on him. As an immunologist, he’d always kept it short and simple.

“What’s up with your hair? Going for a new look?”

He raked a hand through his locks. “I’m helping a friend with a nonprofit project.” He patted my back. “Stop trying to change the subject. Since when do you care how I wear my hair?”

“Since you started looking like a GQ model instead of a doctor. Even the clothes you’re wearing are different.”

Forrest furrowed his eyebrows, considered me for a while, and held up his hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dude, I’m not sick. I’m an architect. It’s my job to notice details. And you’ve been acting strange.”

“Me? If you ask anyone, they’d sayyou’rethe one on the edge, bro.” He jerked his chin at my head. “I heard longer hair is the new trend.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You’re into trends now? Aren’t you spending most of your time wearing scrubs at the hospital, Dr. Navarro?”

“You know I’m only a part-time immunologist. I’ve been busy, and so have you. I let my hair grow, and you turned into a moody hermit.” He shrugged. “That’s our lives right now.”

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