Twelve
W yatt heard the rumors. He'd seen the behavior himself. Devlin acting strange, moods dark, unpredictable, searching for—purpose maybe. He swiped to answer his phone. "Wyatt Stone."
"This is Vicky, Mr. Alan's assistant. Mr. Alan requests your attendance at a meeting in his office."
"What time is the meeting?"
"Right now. Mr. Alan wants to see you right now."
She had to be kidding. "Right now?"
"Yes, sir. That's what he said."
He inhaled a slow breath. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Thank you, sir."
"And, Vicky—"
"Sir?"
"Please call Cindy to arrange a meeting next time."
Why had he mentioned scheduling a meeting? She likely wouldn't be there long enough to schedule the next one.
Cindy glanced up in surprise.
"Received a call from Vicky. Headed to Devlin's office."
"Vicky?"
"His new assistant. Not sure what happened to Rey."
"Rey is in another department, or maybe she left. I'm not certain. It's hard to keep up. I didn't know the name of her replacement."
"I asked her to call you next time."
She raised her brows.
"That's what I thought too. I'll look at the lease renewal documents when I get back."
Stretching his legs would do him some good. Might as well make the most of it.
"Can I help you?" A redheaded woman grinned from behind her desk.
So happy. Must be her first day. Her red shirt matched the color of her hair. He felt a smile creeping onto his lips, welcoming anything to brighten the next minutes. "Wyatt Stone. You spoke to me a few minutes ago."
She perked up, smiling as she punched her phone. "Mr. Alan, Mr. Stone is here for his appointment." She clattered the phone back onto her desk. "He said to go on in. Would you like me to get the door?"
"No need." He took a step into reality.
Devlin redecorated. Ghastly. He didn't want to look. Two guest chairs in the ugliest shade of green—yellow or yellow-green. A leather chair that swallowed Devlin as he perched behind a massive dark-walnut desk like a defiant king. The top of the desk bare. Just monitor, phone, wood.
"Any updates for me?"
"Could you be more specific? Updates on what?" Wyatt rolled his neck to the side. He wanted to get along with Devlin, but it might no longer be an option. "Should we schedule weekly meetings? I could have Cindy put together a list of the pending negotiations so we could work around what's already scheduled."
Devlin leaned forward, his eyes lifeless like dark shadows. "You know what I'm asking about. Any updates on the diner, on Anastasia Stanten?"
"Nothing. No lawsuit yet. We may be in the clear."
"Where is she? Home? Working? Rowan still keeping an eye on her?"
Wyatt fisted his hands on the enormous desk. "What are you worried about? I'm not sure where she is. Rowan said she might be headed here, to Idaho. But your asking leads me to surmise you already know that. Are you also receiving updates from Rowan? Or is this about selling the diner?"
Devlin pushed back with a snarky smirk. "Greta took an interest in Atticus's great-niece, so I'm curious. But you'd do well to realize I'm the one asking questions. What I know and don't know is not your concern. You work here—for me. Can I trust you? That's part of what I need to know."
"Trust me for what? I've proven myself time and again, but this transition isn't going well for me right now. If you want to schedule regular meetings, let me—rather, let Cindy—know. If you want me to resign, let me know that too." He stopped before he could add anything else.
"You be careful where you tread. I've given you latitude out of respect for Greta. But I'm considering all options right now. I need someone I can rely on. That has my best interests at heart. Your loyalty is to me. Not some pet project. Greta respected you, held you on some pedestal." His voice quieted. "Above me." Chin notching higher, he regained his stern tone. "I'm not Greta. Remember that, and we might get along just fine."
Wyatt held his words inside and allowed his blood to cool as he headed out of that peculiar office and back into the light. Devlin had developed jealousy issues. But why the diner? And why did he have Anna in his sights?