“That seems appropriate given we’re here about a case,” I said, grinning wryly.
Marco started across the parking garage, walking with a very noticeable limp. He grimaced with each step.
“Marco, you need to see the doctor,” I admonished.
“I’ll go if it’s not better by next week. It’s only like this because I sat in the car so long. It’ll work itself out before we reach Tiffany’s office.”
We walked into the building, my clammy hand nestled in his grip, his reassurance seeping into me. Sure enough, his limp became less noticeable, but I was still worried about him.
We found the elevator bank, and Marco pushed the button. The door opened moments later. Several people got off, and we walked into the empty car.
The air felt thin, making me light-headed.
Marco dropped my hand and wrapped an arm around me, whispering in my ear. “Breathe, Care.”
I looked up at him, taking in the love and adoration in his eyes. He didn’t need words to reassure me that I wasn’t facing this alone. That look assured me that he was going to be with me every step of the way.
The elevator made multiple stops, taking on and letting off other passengers, but we were alone again by the time the elevator stopped on the forty-eighth floor. When the door started to open, Marco stepped away from me. “Let’s get some answers.”
The first thing that hit me as we walked off the elevator was that I felt blinded by white. Almost everything was white—the Carrara marble flooring, the walls, the pillars, the furniture. The only color was a full wall of pink roses, the flowers arranged to reveal the Simply Stunning logo with a white background showing through.
I followed Marco to the two receptionists at the marble front desk. Both were young, but the blonde seemed to be taking a call on her earbuds. The other had long, dark hair. Both women wore white dresses and appeared to be in their twenties.
The brunette receptionist looked up at us, her bright red lips stretched into a wide smile as she looked Marco up and down.
“Hi,” he said in a friendly tone as he stopped in front of her. “I’m Deputy Marco Roland with the Hensen County, Tennessee, sheriff’s department. I have an appointment with Ms. Olson at eleven.”
The receptionist looked at the tablet on her desk. “Yes, I see you here, Deputy Roland.” Her gaze shifted to me. “But I only have you down, not your associate.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, will it?” Marco asked in a congenial tone. Then he added, “Since this is an official visit.”
Her smile wavered, and for a moment I worried she’d tell us it wasn’t fine, but she said, “Of course. Would either of you like a glass of fruit-infused water?”
Marco shot me a look that clearly asked, What the hell is fruit-infused water?
“No, thank you,” I said.
“None for me,” Marco said.
She smiled, then motioned to a white leather sofa to the right side of the lobby. “I’m Sydney. You can take a seat while you wait. I’ll be right over here if you need anything.”
Then, having dismissed us, she turned her attention back to her tablet.
I headed over to the sofa and perched on the edge of the middle cushion, but Marco walked around the lobby, looking everything over. It was a sea of white except for the pink wall of roses, and the décor and aesthetic were so far removed from Drum that we might as well have been on the moon. But Marco didn’t seem intimidated or out of place. After all, he hadn’t spent his entire life in Drum. He’d gone to college in Knoxville.
Still, this was a bit much. Even for me. It all felt empty and soulless.
My father’s reception area was like that too, although the décor was as stereotypically male as this was feminine—all dark wood, brown leather, and expensive paintings of eighteenth-century English hunts with men on horseback following dogs. I’d always felt like I was suffocating whenever in that place, even before my mother’s death. Then again, I’d only been to his office three times after. Once when the nanny made the mistake of thinking my father might want to have lunch with me. Once when I was in high school and needed him to sign a permission slip. And once when I’d come with Jake after we were engaged.
Sydney stood and called out, “Ms. Olson is ready to see you now, Deputy.” She walked around the desk. “Follow me.”
We headed down a long white hallway past glass offices that overlooked downtown Atlanta. Sydney stopped in front of an elevator marked Executive and pressed the button.
“This is the elevator to the executives’ offices on the top floor. That’s where the vice presidents work. And Ms. Olson, of course.”
“Hence the executive,” Marco said with a smile, gesturing to the sign.
She laughed. “Pretty observant. But then I guess you need to be since you’re a detective.”
She batted her eyes and I realized she was flirting with him.
The elevator doors opened, and we walked in.
“Not a detective yet,” Marco said in a friendly tone, although not so friendly that it sounded like he was flirting back.
“Maybe this will be the case that gets you your promotion.” She leaned closer and stage-whispered, “What are you investigating, by the way?”
“That would be considered confidential, Sydney,” he said with a grin.
“Let me guess, if you told me, then you’d have to kill me.”
“And that would be the CIA,” Marco said. “The rest of us try to keep our citizens alive.”
She laughed, and Marco winked at me.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, realizing he’d drawn out his conversation with Sydney to distract me.
The doors opened, revealing another white hallway with lots of glass walls. I’d feel like I was working in a fishbowl here, and I doubted I’d last two hours before I stained my white clothing. This sterile environment couldn’t be less like the warm, welcoming home that Tiffany had lived in when my mother was alive.
“This way,” Sydney said, stepping out of the elevator and heading down the hall, the click-clack of our heels echoing around us. We followed her around a corner, stopping at glass double doors that opened to a large corner office with windows on both sides.
Directly across from us, in front of the wall of windows, a woman in a white leather office chair sat behind a white marble desk, focused on her desktop computer. She wore a white dress with a V-neck. I knew she was in her fifties, but I never would have guessed. With her smooth face and immaculate makeup, she looked to be in her early forties, at most. In fact, she hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen her seventeen years ago, and I wondered if her cosmetics company had found the fountain of youth.
Then I realized that instead of feeling overjoyed at potentially finding an ally in my fight against my father, I was leery. I couldn’t fathom why.
“Ms. Olson,” Sydney said in a cheerful tone. “Your eleven o’clock appointment is here.”
Tiffany kept her gaze on her computer. “Please come in.”
I hesitated at the door, my heart pounding, but Marco waited for me to walk into the room before striding toward her desk and extending his hand.
“Ms. Olson, I’m Deputy Marco Roland. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”