Chapter 7

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Anya

M s. Lewis walks into the firm on Monday morning. I almost spit out the sip of herbal tea I’ve taken. I follow her progress down the hallway with my gaze while guilt beats with heavy thumps in my chest.

She walks like a queen with her head held high, not making eye contact with anyone as she passes the open plan office. Dressed in a tartan skirt and jacket, she looks regal and like she’s from a different era. Not a hair is out of place. The short blond strands are teased and lacquered, and her red lipstick is faultlessly applied. I know from experience it won’t smudge on the rim of a glass. I met her when Mr. Lewis hosted a tea party in the staffroom to celebrate his birthday. The cold shoulder she gave me made it clear she didn’t like me. I overheard her telling him in the kitchen that he made a mistake by employing me.

“You know I owe Livy a favor,” he said .

I leaned against the wall outside with a tray of dirty mugs in my hands, torn between running away and eavesdropping on their conversation, but then Ms. Lewis said, “I think you have ulterior motives for giving her a job.”

My breath caught in my throat at the ugly accusation.

As always, Mr. Lewis’s voice remained emotionless. “Such as?”

“Liking her too much,” his wife said.

“I do like her. She’s sharp and intelligent. The woman is nothing short of a genius.”

Ms. Lewis snorted. “Since when do men like women for their intelligence? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed she’s very pretty.”

“Of course I noticed. I would be blind not to. That doesn’t mean I like her in the way you suggest.” He uttered a flat laugh. “Come on, Karen. Give me a little more credit than that. I think I deserve it. I’ve been faithful to you for all these years.”

She scoffed. “Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I have to put a slice of chocolate cake under my nose every day. Willpower only goes so far.”

His manner turned stern. “Cut it out. We’re at my workplace, and you’re embarrassing me.”

She made a noise of indignation.

“You’re being ridiculous, and you know it,” he continued. “This subject is closed for discussion.”

I slipped away before they exited the kitchen and noticed me, but I stayed far away from Mr. Lewis for the rest of the afternoon.

“Ms. Brennan.”

I give a start at the sound of my surname.

Ms. Price stands in the door with a straight back and a solemn expression. “I’d like to see you in the big office. ”

Not waiting for a reply, she turns around and disappears down the hallway.

Jasmine rolls her chair in my direction. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” I say, getting to my feet with my heart bouncing like a tennis ball between my ribs. “I hope so.”

“Don’t worry. It’s the appraisals. They’re probably just going to give you feedback on your performance.”

I’m not so sure as I go to Mr. Lewis’s old office and knock on the door.

“Come in,” Ms. Price calls.

She sits behind the desk with Ms. Lewis next to her.

“Close the door, and take a seat,” Ms. Price says.

I swallow as I comply, a knot forming in my throat when I sit down in the visitor’s chair. While the two women converse in whispers with their heads close together, I count the tribal dolls in the glass showcase in an effort to calm my nerves. There are forty-five dolls if you count the bodiless masks too. Then I move on to the patterns on the rug, counting the triangles inside the circles.

Sixty-eight, sixty-nine?—

“As you know,” Ms. Price starts, “we’re going through some rearrangements after Mr. Lewis’s passing.”

I dare to meet the widow’s eyes, feeling guilty and despicable and small. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Lewis.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course.” My nod is empathic. “I understand.”

“I’m making changes in the company,” Ms. Lewis says. “Unfortunately, budget cuts are necessary. You’ve come to the end of your probation period, and I’m afraid we’re not going to offer you a permanent position.”

Even though I expected the worst at Ms. Lewis’s presence, the dismissal still comes as a shock. “Is my work not up to standard? I know I’m lacking a formal qualification, but surely the accounts Mr. Lewis entrusted me with prove that?—”

“You deliberately omitted the fact that you were pregnant when my husband interviewed you.” Ms. Lewis crosses her hands over her stomach. “He did you a favor by giving you a job you weren’t qualified for. The least you could’ve done was to be honest with him.”

I sit up straighter. “I’m not legally obliged to disclose that information.”

“No.” Ms. Lewis’s smile holds no emotion. “But it doesn’t cultivate mutual trust, does it?”

“You can’t dismiss me because of that,” I exclaim.

“I’m not.” Ms. Lewis watches me from under her lashes. “Not trusting you is a matter of ethics. I’m not giving you a permanent position because we’re downscaling.”

Ms. Price gives me a level look. “I’m here to confirm in my role as HR manager that Ms. Lewis is within her rights with the decision she made.”

“Please gather your personal belongings and leave the building immediately.” Ms. Lewis studies me as if I’m something unpleasant. “A security guard will escort you outside.”

Their judgement hangs thick in the air when I stand and walk with leaden feet to the door, not that I blame them. I feel the weight of their gazes on my back as I open the door and enter the smaller reception area where the late Mr. Lewis’s secretary sits. She observes me with the morbid fascination of pedestrians witnessing an accident, her eyes big behind her thick glasses.

Zack waits outside the door.

His presence cuts me with the sharpness of betrayal .

“You knew,” I say. “That’s why Ms. Price called you in last week.”

“She thought it would be best,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

“In case I resisted being thrown out?” I ask with a laugh.

“It’s nothing personal, just protocol.”

“Protocol? What am I going to do? Steal the stationary?”

He indicates with his arm that I should go ahead. “I’ll walk you.”

With nothing left to say, I go to my desk and gather my handbag and a few personal items under the curious stares of Jasmine and the other junior accountants. Armed with my favorite mug, a porcelain good luck cat that Livy gave me, my calculator, and a pencil case with my colored pens, I follow Zack to the first floor.

He doesn’t speak as he holds the door for me. No good luck and no goodbye. The door shuts behind me with a swoosh, a soft sound announcing that my short career here is over.

I stop on the sidewalk.

I gambled. I lost. I put my money on making myself indispensable so that my employer would overlook my dishonesty. Only, Ms. Price went out of her way to ascertain I’d only be charged with menial tasks, which, on the contrary, made me easily replaceable. Anyway, accountants better qualified than me are available by the dozens, all eager for an opportunity in an established firm.

I look up and down the street, a person without direction or purpose. Adrift. Saverio expects me to finish at five. It’s only eleven in the morning. A distant part of my mind says he’d want me to call him, but I’m like someone in shock who can’t think rationally .

I flag down a taxi, aware of Saverio’s men who get into a car parked farther down the street. I stare numbly through the window as we drive, taking in the scenery without seeing anything until the driver stops in front of Saverio’s house.

Before I can take my purse from my bag, one of the guards opens my door while another takes care of the bill.

I climb the steps to the front door on autopilot and walk like a zombie into the house. Hammering comes from upstairs. I drop the box with my belongings and my bag in the entrance and follow the sound to the room next to Saverio’s.

The bedroom is destruction personified. The panels are ripped off the walls, exposing the naked bricks beneath. Someone knocked out a part of the wall. Through the gaping hole, the main bedroom is visible on the other side.

Saverio stands in the middle of the broken panels and bits of plaster that litter the floor with a ten-pound hammer clutched in his hand. A layer of sweat shines on his naked torso, accentuating his hard, unyielding muscles as if they’ve been rubbed with oil. The veins that run down his arms and branch over his hands are embossed on his skin, drawing a picture of a gladiator in an arena who waits for the lion to be unleashed. White dust covers his ripped jeans and boots, and flakes of plaster are stuck to his hair. The hoop in his ear that I find so deliciously rebellious and sexy glitters as it catches the sunlight that falls through the window.

I look from the hammer around which his large fist is curled to the demolition around him, a frown pulling at my forehead. “What are you doing?”

He takes me in with surprise, his chest heaving as if he’s just completed a strenuous marathon. “Why are you home so early?” Checking his smartwatch, he says, “I missed the message that you’re on your way.”

Of course, the men following me would’ve informed him. With all the noise, it’s no wonder he didn’t hear the notification.

“Are you sick?” he asks with alarm.

Dejection weighs heavily on my shoulders. “Ms. Lewis fired me.”

He drops the hammer. “She did what?”

The thud when the metal head hits the floor rattles the windowpanes.

“It was to be expected,” I say. “I omitted that I was pregnant on my application.”

Climbing over obstacles, he makes his way to me with determined strides. “That’s unfounded. They can’t discriminate against you because you’re pregnant.”

“They’re downscaling. Ms. Lewis acted within her rights.”

He stops in front of me. “We’ll take them to court. I’ll get you the best lawyer in the country.”

“I don’t want my job back if I have to force it. I’ll find something else.”

He considers that, working his jaw.

I know what’s going through his head. He’s thinking about getting rid of the people who made me unhappy , so I quickly change the subject. “What’s going on in here?” Waving at the chaos, I ask, “Are you renovating?”

He keeps my gaze, staring into my eyes as if he can see right into my soul as he says matter-of-factly, “Baby room.”

I gape at him. “Come again?”

“It was too gloomy in here for a baby with those dark panels. Once I’ve plastered the walls, I can paint them any color you want.” He motions at the hole between the rooms. “I reckoned an adjoining door to our bedroom would be necessary. That way, we have closer access to the nursery.”

Wait, what?

“Saverio,” I say, taking a step back in an instinctive reaction to put distance between us.

“What’s the matter? Do you prefer a different room?”

“No.” I lick my dry lips. “I…”

“You what, tesoro ?” he asks, pinning me with a glacier blue gaze.

“I—I’m not sure I’ll still be here by then.”

A muscle ticks in his temple. “Where will you be? Living somewhere on your own with no job and no one to take care of you?”

I stretch to my full height. “I can take care of myself.”

He climbs over another panel, stopping flush against me. “That’s not the taking care I’m talking about.”

I know what he means. He’s referring to keeping me safe, but this is something entirely different. This is what he hinted at when he said he wanted to engrave a medal for my baby. He warned me, but I didn’t want to acknowledge the sinister underlying message of his words. I told myself I was wrong, that I saw too much in the statement.

Because it couldn’t mean that he intended to keep me after the murder investigation was closed and our agreement came to an end.

Because why would he?

It doesn’t make sense.

Yet he stands there motionlessly, as solid as a brick wall, the light in his shockingly blue eyes resolved as he watches me quietly.

He can’t imply what I think he does. This is moving too fast. This feels like jumping several steps and crossing a finish line, one I don’t think I’m ready for, not with a man holding me against my will and certainly not with a man who doesn’t love me.

“I’m not sure I understand what this means,” I whisper.

He cups my cheek in the tenderest of caresses while that sapphire gaze cuts through me like glass. “I think you know exactly what this means, treasure.”