Page 14 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

She disconnects before his headset is even nestled into its cradle, but he thinks nothing of it. He shifts his scrutiny back onto the documents which occupied his attention not even five minutes ago, scouring them until a knock sounds at his door. He calls for the person on the other side to enter, and he looks up when he sees Lorelai rounding the front of his desk, her heels marking the beat of her step until she comes to a graceful halt.

She tucks a bit of her cropped dirty-blonde hair behind her ear and then casually slips her fingertips into the pockets of her fitted, navy ankle slacks. The white blouse she wears is sleeveless with a lace overlay, extending all the way up her chest and around the base of her neck. Similar to their first encounter, Lorelai exudes a confidence which mirrors her bold choice of attire.

Khalohn doesn’t take in her details, noting only that she appears as poised and prepared as she has been since he hired her, a year and a half ago. Past experience fills him with the assurance that while she might appear to be unprepared to take any sort of instructions from him, he can count on her to deliver precisely what he wants in the time frame in which he needs it.

“Pier House Resorts—have they ever been on your radar?”

She tips the corners of her lips down as she shakes her head at him. “No, sir. Should they have been?”

“It’s what I’d like you to find out. Dig up anything and everything you can about them. Apparently, they took a hit this morning.”

A smirk turns one side of her mouth in the opposite direction. Lorelai nonchalantly pops out one of her hips as she inquires, “Do we smell blood in the water?”

“You tell me. Two hours.”

Her smirk stretches into a grin. She then nods her head and begins to take her leave. “Yes, sir.”

Khalohn watches her go, a small part of him humbled by the happenings of the last several minutes. There was a time when he was Lorelai—the associate sent on a hunting endeavor. Now his phone rings with a tip and he’s able to send someone else to do the grunt work while he sees to other matters.

That small piece of him, who can acknowledge his acquired position and the power found in his station, is soon silenced by his own tireless work ethic, which reminds him his afternoon is full.

Too full to warrant the time for a recon mission.

He shifts his focus once more, intent on preparing himself for the meetings which will consume the next few hours of his day. Maribelle calls five minutes before he’s due to report for a sit-down with his CFO. He slips into his jacket, smooths a hand over his beard, and pockets his phone prior to making his exit. Two hours and three meetings later, he’s almost forgotten the task he doled out to his shark of an associate—that is, until he sees her push off the wall she was leaning upon while she waited for his meeting to be adjourned.

Khalohn doesn’t even have to ask, and he’s got an iPad in his hand. Neither does he have to glance down at it as Lorelai follows him back toward his office. With her hands casually tucked into the pockets of her slacks, she informs him, “Pier House opened their first hotel and spa upwards of twenty-five years ago. Father and son headed the project on a piece of real estate which had been inherited. Three years later, they were in the black and looking to expand.Tenyears down the road, and they had five resorts and enough money to set up trust funds for all the little Jimmys and Janes they’d been popping out; not to mention a nest egg large enough for the old man to retire.

“Fast forward to six months ago,” Lorelai insists as the two of them come to stop a few feet away from Maribelle’s desk. Khalohn’s brow furrows in interest, offering the woman another second of his undivided attention before he begins to open up the documents saved to thePier Housefolder in order to glance at her evidence.

Continuing with her diatribe, Lorelai informs, “The son who started it all dies in a tragic boating accident. Sad as it was, someone had to step up. As family businesses are prone, there was a squabble for the vacancy—Jimmy and Jane duked it out, and it got nasty.Headlinesnasty. In the end, Jimmy won. Makes me wonder, had Jane fought a little harder, if the whole thing wouldn’t be going to shit right about now. They’re hemorrhaging money, sir. Without seeing their books, I can’t say with all certainty, but their dive in the stock market this morning exposed them. It’s a fucking blood bath.”

Khalohn hums, his eyes taking in the numbers in front of him. What he sees is textbook research. The facts are there, as plain as day. If they don’t act soon, someone else will—if they haven’t already. He hands the device back to Lorelai and demands, “Make contact. Set up a meeting.”

“Am I running point on this?” she asks, quirking one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows.

“Pull me in if you need me.”

With a confident, lopsided smile, Lorelai begins to back her way in the direction from which they came. Holding up the iPad in mock salute, she replies, “Yes, sir.”

As she turns around to hurry back to her desk, Khalohn calls out, “Lorelai?”

“Mr. Morgan?” she murmurs, turning only enough to look back at him from over her shoulder.

Knowing what it means to surrender this deal into her hands, his tone is stern and coated in a not-so-subtle warning as he demands, “Don’tneed me.”

Lowering her eyes, Lorelai dips her chin in a slight nod of acknowledgment before she takes her leave.

“You’re getting better at that, you know?” says Maribelle softly, earning Khalohn’s attention.

“At what?”

“Letting them fly,” she answers with a small, enigmatic smile. “It’s good to see you let go of the little ones. Granted, I don’t think you’ll manage to leave the office any earlier having assigned that one into her care, but I appreciate the small victories right alongside the big ones.”

He grunts, not willing to admit how right she is, and closes the distance between them. With ten minutes before his next meeting, his only intention for returning to his office is to check on any messages.

“Anything important cross my desk while I was out?”

“Important? No. But the reports you requested should be in your inbox. Also, your housekeeper called. Something about a mix-up at the dry cleaners. Your suits won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

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