“Thank him for me, but he already has a lot on his plate.”
“He’s happy to help.” She sits down at her desk, her hands instantly positioned on her keyboard.
I’m thankful every day that Jagger called me to tell me about how his assistant was relocating.
The white and gold decor in my office cheers me up slightly as I head to my own desk. The non-traditional office flair reminds me I’m in charge now and I don’t have to conform to anyone else’s wishes.
When I leased these offices for the RISE Foundation, I decided that no way was I going with boring old black, grey and brown. I wanted something vibrant, new…something to make me excited about life again. Someone offered their advice that the feminine palette diminishes my power when someone visits my office. That it says I’m soft and they’ll get what they want from me.
Okay not someone—my father. But RISE is mine and I’m the one who has to stare at these walls and sit at this desk day in and day out. I’m damn well going to be happy.
Picking up the messages from the corner of my desk, I sort through them, all from people I contacted about donating to the silent auction. It doesn’t disappoint me at all that none of them are from Roarke Baldwin because I definitely don’t want him to contact me.
Nope. Not one bit.
Four o’clock rolls around and since Chelsea has yet to bring me a contract for a venue, I’m assuming her fairy godmother wand is broken.
A knock sounds as I hang up from a phone call with Lennon Banks, the woman who wants to open up a branch of RISE in San Francisco, but how can I arrange that when I don’t even know how things in Chicago will go? We’ve managed to get after-school programs at five schools off the ground—including Victoria’s daughter Jade’s school. But I’m not satisfied with that. We need more. Our goal is to lead girls to find their voices and never refuse to use them.
“Come in,” I say as I move some papers to the side of my desk.
Chelsea’s head is down as she opens the door. She normally lights up a room with her contagious smile and her sharp wit, so I’m crossing my fingers that it’s the pregnancy that’s responsible for her mood and not the fact she couldn’t find a space to hold our gala.
She plops down in the chair across from me. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I failed.”
I press the intercom button. “Victoria, can you come in here please?”
A second later, Victoria walks in and sits down next to Chelsea, her own frown already in place. Chelsea must have already shared her news.
“I’ve literally called everywhere, Hannah. Well, everywhere but the Days Inn or the Budget Motel. If you want I will though.” Chelsea looks at me, hopeful.
I place my elbows on my desk, my fingers running over both temples. Think, Hannah, think. You know people.
“I’m sure you tried everything,” I say, trying to reassure her.
Chelsea nods, holding up her hand and counting the hotels off one by one. “The Ritz, the Westin, the Hilton, Four Seasons, The Drake, The Swissôtel. I’ve called them all. I guess September has taken over as the new wedding month because that’s all I kept hearing from the event coordinators.”
“We could head to Lake Geneva. Make a weekend out of it?” Victoria chimes in and the idea is great, but to get all those people out of the city with a little over a month’s notice? No way.
“I wish. Too far. Anything in the burbs?”
“I’ve called the entire Oakbrook area. Schaumburg’s booked too.”
“What about north of the city?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Hannah, nothing. I’m on every waitlist going, but anything that did come up would be last minute.”
Victoria bites her lip.
Chelsea looks like someone told her Santa Claus wasn’t real.
“Both of you. Go home.” I wave them off.
“What’s the game plan?” Victoria asks, sitting on the edge of her seat.
“I don’t know yet. You two go home and I’ll work something out.”
Chelsea, my usual go-getter, stands, not putting up a fight to leave. I’m sure she wants the serenity of her bed and her fiancé, Dean. “I’ll try again tomorrow,” she mumbles, leaving my office. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.”
“Make sure you get her in a cab or call Dean,” I say to Victoria.
She nods. “I’ll do that and come back?”
I shake my head. “No. Go home and relax. It will work out. It always does.”
With a sigh, I lean back in my chair. I just hope I don’t have to sell my soul to the devil, aka Roarke Baldwin.
Ten minutes later, the two of them are gone and I let my panic take over. Alone in my office, I spring to my feet and pace. Heading back to the break room, I glance at another care package from the newest bakery that opened up a block down. My hands itch for the sugar, but I pull open the fridge and grab a diet soda instead.
Walking back to my office, I kick off my heels and continue to pace for a while. Eventually I gaze out the window. The sun is shining in the sky. I love summer and the endless stream of sunny nights.
Roarke pops into my head again. If Chelsea can’t find anything, how the hell would Roarke even be able to help me? I’m tempted to call his bluff. He probably can’t even deliver on his promise and what does he want with me anyway?
We never did address what he meant by that. Instead we went right into his absurd obsession with me calling him Roarke. He probably thinks that if I did agree to his stupid agreement that I’d be willing to sacrifice myself.
Me naked on his bed isn’t as despicable as I wish it was. It’s quite enticing if I’m honest. But I would never admit to it.
“Jesus, Han, get a grip,” I mumble to myself.
My inner angel pops onto my right shoulder. Roarke Baldwin is a bad, bad man.
My imaginary devil pops onto my left shoulder. And you’re a bad girl. How will he punish you?
“Shut up you fucking devil!” I yell.
The office door of RISE opens.
I stop all movement with the very real fear that I’ve conjured him up in real life. The villain always shows up when his prey is weak.
Am I weak? Maybe a little. After all, there’s a war going on between my head and my pussy and my wet panties suggests which one’s winning.
“Ms. Crowley, I’m sorry, usually you girls are gone by now.” Misty, the cleaning lady peeks her head inside my office.
Thank Goodness.
“I was just leaving.” I slip into my heels, shut down my computer and grab my bag. “Have a great night, Misty.” I smile.
“Be careful out there. The sun is going down.”
I glance out the window by Victoria’s desk, the sun has started to make its descent now. “I will thanks.”
“Darkness is when the devil comes out to play.” She empties Victoria’s trashcan into her big garbage bag.
“Sometimes the devil appears in daylight too. Dressed in a custom tailored suit and wingtips.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Man problems, Ms. Crowley?”
My hand lands on the doorknob to the office. “Not in the slightest. Goodnight.”
“Night, Miss.”
I leave the confines of my office, riding down the elevator alone and it isn’t until I step out onto the streets of Chicago that I realize my devil isn’t like a thief emerging from a dark alley. He sits perched up in his penthouse or corner office under the guise of one of the most successful men in Chicago. He’s the devil in the gray suit and if I don’t tread carefully, I’m likely to forget it.