51. Emily

51

EMILY

H e wasn't dead. It seemed none of us were that lucky. Tate Prescott was just missing… and presumed dead. Which was something else entirely, if you asked me.

There were cops everywhere, a sea of uniformed and plain-clothed officers taking over the various rooms of Prescott R&D. Warrant in hand, ransacking the labs and digging through private documents. As if our CEO would just pop up from one of the filing cabinets like a whack-a-mole waiting to be clubbed.

Bet if it were any of the rest of us, shit wouldn't be as accessible. The board of rich white men as obliging.

This was what happened when the wealthy went missing. Suddenly, overtime wasn't an issue and resources were unlimited. Time seemed to stand still for me while everyone else rushed by, everyone but the figure I saw leaning against the far wall staring directly at me. Mr. IT himself.

Good looking or not, I didn't like the way Elliot was seemingly watching my every move. His arms crossed over his shoulders and his head tilted to one side. That wasn't the way someone focused on a stranger. A coworker. It was the way you honed in on a target. His stare sent a shiver down my spine and had me dropping my head.

When I chanced another look, Elliot was gone.

Then everything seemed to stop entirely, the crowds parting when Mrs. Prescott walked in. The clicking of her heels on the tile flooring echoing in the silence of the bustling office space. And her long, tone legs and high, red-soled shoes adding an air of femineity to her perfectly pressed power suit while her jet-black hair was pulled high on her head in a cascading ponytail that landed midway down her back. Where Tate was like a gnat buzzing in your ear, Marisela was a wasp, her deadly glare nearly as venomous as the sting of her harsh tongue. Which was quick to tell you what she thought about you. The good, the bad, and the deeply insulting.

That said, I respected the woman. When it came to anything other than her choice in men, Mrs. Prescott was brilliant and unapologetic about that very same brilliance. She was the brains while her husband was the wallet—the wealthy name behind a brand that relied on the expertise of those who weren't born with silver spoons in their mouths. People who made the Prescott legacy look good to the rest of the rich fuckers at the country club. People who were invisible to the world around them. People like me.

"Ms. Shaw, I'd like to see you in my office now."

I'd been so lost to my thoughts, I hadn't noticed that the object of my fascination was standing in front of me, impatiently tapping one of her pointed heels.

"That wasn't a request," Marisela stated before pivoting in the opposite direction. Then her shoes were clicking again. This time down the long hall that led to the executive suites. No-man's-land as far as the rest of us pencil pushers were concerned.

I stared at the perfectly white paint and opaque glass. The name Marisela Cruz Prescott, COO staring back at me from the gold-plated plaque mounted to the door in front of me. For far longer than seemed appropriate, given the fact I'd been summoned by the she-devil herself.

I didn't personally give her the office nickname, but it didn't make it any less fitting.

I took a deep breath and counted to three before finally pushing my way inside. Marisela was standing at the wall of floor-length mirrors, her back turned to me and the noise of the rest of the office chaos muffled as soon as I clicked the door shut.

I shuffled forward a few steps, stopping when I broached the perimeter of her sleek, modernized, white and gold, marble-topped desk. And waited for her to address me as I choked on the perfumed air of her inner sanctuary.

"Do you know what it is we do here, Ms. Shaw?" Marisela's voice had this way of wrapping around you whenever she spoke, and I didn't mean in a motherly manner. But more like a boa constrictor slowly strangling the breath from your lungs until you were left stumbling over your words, gasping for oxygen while your brain functioned on its remaining surplus.

"I, um, well…"

"It's a simple enough question. Did you or did you not do your research before accepting the very generous employment offer I drafted for you, Emily?" Her use of my first name had me snapping out of my stupor.

"Prescott R&D is the leading medical device developer and manufacturer in the United States, with a strong focus on innovating the way future generations will balance hands-on patient care and progressive scientific breakthroughs," I rushed out in one long breath.

"Cruz," she corrected in a sharp tone. "Cruz R&D. My husband already stripped me of my dignity. I will not allow him to strip me of my family's lineage." She finally spun around to face me, her shoulders pulled back and her posture pencil straight. "But that's not what we do, Ms. Shaw. That's a mission statement, a bunch of fluff words thrown onto our billboards, storefronts, and websites by the company's PR department."

I blinked back at her a few times, my lashes feeling heavier than the thick air filling up the room. "I'm sorry… I don't understand…"

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Marisela sighed. Though something told me she wasn't talking to me anymore. "But you will in time…"

"Yeah, okay." I nodded. Because I honestly didn't know what else to do at this point. It was like I was stuck in a riddle I had no hope of solving.

"In the meantime, go see Josie in HR. She has some paperwork for you to fill out."

And once again, this woman's tone had a sobering effect. "Am I being fired, Mrs. Pres— Cruz ?" I quickly corrected.

"Don't be silly," she hummed. "You're being promoted. To my new personal assistant."