(RILEY)
I stood across the street from Mr. Hayes's building, staring up at the tall structure. It was intimidating and spoke of wealth—all tinted glass and concrete looming over the city, reminding me of the man who lived within it. Cold, remote, unreachable. I shivered a little as I looked at it, wondering why I was there.
The building was about a ten-minute walk from the home, and I was on time. It hadn't been a good visit with Penny today; she had been upset and agitated, refusing to eat or talk to me, and I ended up leaving early. I was disappointed. She had been good all week, and I had hoped today would be the same; that I'd be able to talk with her as we used to, but it hadn't happened. Instead, it just added to my stressful, odd day. I left the home feeling despondent, and unsure as to why I was going to see Mr. Hayes.
Mr. Hayes.
He had already confused me asking me to his home this evening. His behavior the rest of the afternoon proved to be equally bizarre. When he returned from his meeting, he asked me for another coffee and a sandwich.
Asked me!
He didn't demand, he didn't sneer or slam his door. Instead, he stopped in front of my desk and politely requested lunch. He even said thank you. Again. He hadn't come out of his office the rest of the day until he left, when he stopped, asking if I had his card. At my murmured, "Yes," he nodded his thanks and left, not slamming the door.
I was beyond puzzled, nerves taut, and my stomach in knots. I had no idea what I was doing at his home, much less why.
I inhaled a calming breath. There was only one way to find out. I straightened my shoulders, and crossed the street.
Mr. Hayes opened his door, and I tried not to stare. I had never seen him look this casual. Gone was the tailored suit and crisp white shirt he favored. In its place, he wore a long-sleeved, thermal shirt and jeans, and his feet were bare. For some reason, I wanted to giggle at his long toes, but I tamped down the odd reaction. He indicated for me to come in, stepped back, allowing me to pass. He took my coat, and we stood staring at each other. I'd never seen him look uncomfortable. He gripped the back of his neck, clearing his throat.
"I'm eating dinner. Would you join me?"
"I'm fine," I lied. I was starving.
He grimaced. "I doubt that."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're too skinny. You need to eat more."
Before I could say anything, he grasped my elbow and led me to the high counter separating the kitchen from the living space. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the high, padded stools.
Knowing better than to argue with him, I did. As he moved into the kitchen, I looked around at the enormous, open space.
Dark wood floors, two large, chocolate brown leather sofas, and white walls highlighted the vastness of the room. The walls were undecorated, aside from a massive TV hung over the fireplace—no personal photos or knickknacks. Even the furniture was bare—no cushions or throw blanket anywhere.
Despite its grandeur, the room was cold, impersonal. Like the set of a magazine spread, it was well appointed and pristine, with nothing giving a clue about the man who lived in it. I glimpsed a long hallway and a set of elegant stairs that I assumed led to the bedrooms. I turned back to the kitchen—it was similar in style and impression, dark and light combined, and void of personal touches.
I repressed a shiver.
Mr. Hayes set a plate in front of me, and with a smirk, opened the lid on a pizza box. I felt a smile tug on my lips.
"This is dinner?"
Somehow, it seemed too normal for him. I hadn't had a slice of pizza in ages; my mouth watered looking at it.
He shrugged. "I usually eat out, but I felt like pizza tonight." He lifted out a slice and slid it on my plate. "Eat."
Too hungry to argue, I ate in silence, keeping my eyes on my plate, hoping my nerves wouldn't get the best of me. He ate steadily, devouring the rest of the pizza, aside from a second slice he put on my plate. I didn't object to it or the glass of wine he pushed in my direction. Instead, I sipped it, enjoying the smoothness of the deep red merlot. It had been a long time since I had tasted such a good wine.
When we finished our strange meal, he stood, discarding the pizza box, returning fast. He picked up his wine, drained his glass, and paced for a few minutes.
Finally, he stood in front of me. "Miss Le Fay, I will reiterate from earlier today. What I'm about to share with you is personal."
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He tilted his head to the side and studied me; I had no doubt he found me lacking in every way. Still, he continued.
"I'm leaving Anderson Inc."
My jaw dropped. Why would he leave the company? He was one of Ruzek's golden boys—he could do no wrong. Ruzek bragged about Mr. Hayes's talent and what he brought to the company all the time.
"Why?"
"I was passed up for partner."
"Maybe next time . . ." I stopped talking when I realized what this meant. If he left and they chose not to reassign me, I was out of a job. Even if they did reassign me, I would be taking a pay cut. Either way, I was screwed. I could feel the blood draining from my face.
Mr. Hayes held up his hand. "There won't be a next time. I have an opportunity I'm exploring."
"Why are you telling me this?" I managed to ask. "I need your help with this opportunity."
I swallowed. "My help?" I was even more confused. He never wanted my personal help.
He stepped closer. "I want to hire you, Miss Le Fay."
My mind raced. I was sure, if he moved on, he would want a clean break. He didn't even like me. I cleared my throat. "As your assistant at your new opportunity?"
"No." He paused, as if thinking about his words, then spoke. "As my fiancée."
All I could do was to stare at him, unmoving.