Page 37 of Greed

When Svea came to my office an hour ago and told me that Mr. Thorsen needed me in conference room B at five thirty, I questioned her on why.

Her response was a grin and a shrug.

That left me feeling both excited and anxious for the full sixty minutes.

I glance toward the open doorway, wondering if anyone else will join my boss and me. I know I haven’t screwed anything up, so I’m fully expecting that this meeting is his way of adding another duty to my already stacked job description.

I hear the unmistakable sound of the pad of his shoes against the floor in the corridor. Everything in the offices of Thorsen & Associates is pristine. You can’t turn a corner without being greeted by expensive artwork on the walls and vases filled with fresh flowers.

Mr. Thorsen’s mom is responsible for all those fine touches. She may have stepped away from her job as a senior partner before I started working here, but she makes a point to visit the offices at least a few times a week to keep an eye on things.

“Abigail.” Rook looks directly at me as he steps into view. “Take a seat.”

I do as told, yanking on the back of one of the leather chairs. I skim a palm over my navy blue skirt before I sit and flip open the cover of my tablet so I can take notes.

Rook sits across from me. “We’ll speak for a moment. Then I’m expecting a client to arrive.”

Since this isn’t the first time I’ve been called into a late day meeting with Mr. Thorsen, I know what to expect. I’ll be ordering dinner sometime within the next couple of hours.

He adjusts his perfectly knotted dark gray tie. “Give me your honest thoughts on Declan Wells.”

My head shoots up. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Rook,” he corrects me for the first time ever. “You’ve been with us long enough that you can call me Rook.”

That’s a positive sign, so I smile. “Okay, Rook.”

He leans back in his chair. “Declan. You were stuck in an elevator with him. You must have an opinion of the man.”

If fucking were an Olympic sport, Declan Wells would be standing on the podium with a gold medal around his neck, but I can’t say that to my boss.

I take a breath. “He seems nice.”

He chuckles. “Nice?”

I nod.

He shakes his head. “I can see why you’d view him that way since you only spent a few moments alone with him between floors with an alarm blaring.”

I’m sure that my employment contract states that I agreed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me…gosh,I want to keep this job.

Fortunately, Mr. Thorsen is in a talkative mood, so he doesn’t give me a chance to confess that I’ve slept with Declan more than once.

He glances at the open doorway. “I’ve known Declan for a very long time. We’re friends.”

“I see,” I mutter, as if I don’t already know that.

“Declan and his brother own Wells.” His left brow perks. “The underwear brand.”

“I’m familiar with it,” I say because I am.

I saw Declan wearing a pair less than forty-eight hours ago.

“They’re looking to expand their offering.” He taps a finger on the table. “I don’t need to mention that this all falls within the scope of attorney-client privilege.”

Huh?

Attorney-client privilege? My little eye spots two attorneys in the room and no client.

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