CORINNE
It was lunchtime the next day when Melissa pushed into my office without knocking.
“The director wants to see you,” she said, the words clipped and her mouth pulled into a sneer like the request personally offended her.
“Sure.
Thank you,” I replied.
She didn’t bother responding.
The door slammed behind her as she walked off, heels clicking down the hallway like punctuation marks on her irritation.
I stared at the door for a second, then sighed.
I honestly had no idea what I’d done to earn that level of hostility.
Something clearly changed while I was off work from last Thursday until the day I returned on Monday.
If I had to guess what it was, I would think it would have been that she was put in charge of my class while I was gone.
Toddlers were a lot on a good day.
Add special needs into the mix and resentment brewed fast.
I pushed the books spread out on my desk aside and stood.
The walk to the director’s office felt longer than usual, every step echoing with unnecessary anticipation.
I knocked once.
“Come in,” Stella’s soft voice called from inside.
I opened the door and stepped in.
“Good afternoon, Stella,” I greeted, closing it gently behind me.
“You asked to see me?”
”Yes, Ms.
Sterling,” she said with a polite smile.
“Please, have a seat.”
She gestured to the chair across from her desk and as I sat, hoping this was going to be a casual lunchtime chat.
Stella’s beady eyes watched me closely and I met her gaze head-on.
I reminded myself, not for the first time, that the only reason I’d landed this job in the first place was because she was Jake’s maternal aunt’s best friend.
Or cousin.
Or something in that messy family-tree vein.
Either way, connections mattered and I don’t need any unnecessary attention on me.
“How are the preparations for the fundraising coming along?” She asked.
“They’re going as expected,” I replied.
“I think.
Is there a problem?”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair.
“Have you sent an invitation to Mr.
Delacroix?”
”Yes,” I said.
“And I confirmed with him in person yesterday.”
Her hands shook.
“And?”
”He won’t be able to make it.”
She slumped back like the air had been knocked out of her.
Her glasses came off and she rubbed at her eyes, slow and weary, like she’d been doing that exact motion all day.
Determined.
“Make him come.”
I let out an amused laugh.
“What?”
She didn’t smile back.
That sobered me immediately.
“What do you mean, make him come?” I asked.
“He was very clear.
He’s not available.”
”Corinne,” her voice was low and urgent.
“I’ve been on the phone since morning.
Sponsors, donors and parents.
Word got out that Lucian Delacroix would be attending.
People are committing because of him.”
She paused, drawing in a breath like the thought physically hurt.
“If we tell them he won’t be there… it’s too big a loss.
Financially, reputationally.
I can’t even afford to imagine it.”
I shook my head slowly.
“Then shouldn’t you be the one convincing him?
You’re the school’s director.”
”You’re his children’s homeroom teacher,” she countered immediately.
“He trusts you more.”
Oh man…
That couldn’t be further from the truth if it tried.
“Stella—”
”Go to his office,” she cut in.
“Talk to him again.
Do whatever you need to do.
Our school’s reputation is in your hands on this one.”
Well.
That was one way to make a bad situation infinitely worse.
I walked back to my office and shut the door behind me, dropping into my chair like my legs had finally given up on me.
I sat there for a moment, staring at nothing, trying to figure out what exactly one used to convince a billionaire to bend.
Shares.
Stocks.
Leverage.
Influence.
All things I very much did not have access to.
Which left me with one option.
Groveling.
“I’m done for,” I muttered under my breath.
I picked up the phone anyway and called his office, already bracing myself for the rejection.
It came right exactly as expected.
“I’m sorry,” she said after I introduced myself, “but you can’t just meet with the CEO without a prior appointment.
Call the company’s front office to help you with that.”
The call ended before I could even argue.
I dropped the phone onto my desk and had just begun to mentally draft my resignation letter when my phone rang again.
I frowned and answered.
“Hello?”
”Mr.
Delacroix will see you in an hour,” the secretary said, as if she hadn’t just shut me down moments ago.
That made me wondered what changed her stance in less than five minutes.
The ride to his company took about thirty-five minutes, and by the time the cab pulled up in front of the gleaming fifty-story building, my palms acting up again.
Glass, steel and money gets to me these days.
I’d avoided corporate buildings for so long only to walked right into one.
“Nobody knows you,” I whispered under my breath as I stepped out.
“You’re Corinne Sterling.
Not Lyra Flynn.”
Three years and the words still barely worked.
Inside, I checked in at the front desk, smiled when required, answered routine questions and accepted a visitor’s badge and access pass like this was any normal afternoon.
I kept my head down as I stepped into the elevator bound for the top floor—his floor— and by the time the doors slid open I was ready to get this done with and fuck the hell out of here.
A woman was already waiting when the elevator door slid open.
“Good afternoon, Ms.
Sterling,” she said crisply.
“Good afternoon,” I replied, returning the nod she gave me.
“He’s expecting you,” she continued, already turning on her heel.
“This way.”
I followed her down a short corridor till she stopped in front of a large office door and knocked once.
A low grunt answered from inside.
She opened the door and gestured me forward.
“You may go in.”
I took a breath, squared my shoulders and stepped into Lucian Delacroix’s office, fully aware that whatever happened next must completely be in my control.
Seated behind the desk was the infamous Lucian Delacroix.
His head was buried in papers, sleeves rolled up, and…were those tattoos swirling down his arms?
My stomach flipped without permission.
He finally looked up with those dark, smoldering eyes when he noticed I haven’t moved from my position in front of the door.
He slowly dropped the pen he’d been holding and leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing lightly against the leather armrest, just…watching me.
I swallowed without thinking.
He currently has that dead resting face on.
I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but he sure looked tired.
Really tired.
My eyes drifted to the empty coffee cups lined up on the table.
Jesus.
How many had he gone through already?
“Well,” he said, voice rough like gravel sliding over velvet, effectively dragging my attention back fully to him, “you have my attention, Ms.
Sterling.
Why did you ask to see me?”