She stood, feeling a little sick to her stomach, but also a little relieved. It had been a hard, not very fun day, and it would be good to put this place and this experience behind her.
Even though she would wonder about Cullen Sharpe and that strange smile he’d given her, and perhaps a part of her would regret not getting to see more of him. Something about the man was captivating, and it wasn’t just his incredible looks and his wealth.
As she was leaving, she saw Lucas sitting in a cubicle about four rows off, and he looked up at them with a quizzical expression.
“You’re going? They cut you?” he asked, seemingly almost comically worried.
She started to nod, but Emma Marks spoke loudly. “No, she’s not being cut. But you will be if you don’t mind your own business and get back to work.”
The tall blond started walking as Ivy wondered what was happening if she wasn’t being let go.
“I thought I was being fired,” Ivy said.
Emma laughed bitterly. “I don’t get it. All you do is sit there looking ditzy, and you get rewarded. Just when I think life can’t get any more unfair, I’m proven wrong again.”
“Rewarded? What do you mean?” Ivy asked.
“Mister Sharpe asked to have you brought to his office. He wants to see you. Again.” Emma’s voice dripped with jealousy and resentment.
“He’s probably firing me personally.”
“If only that were the case,” Emma retorted. “Then the universe would actually make sense again.”
They walked to a bank of elevators and got inside. Emma held her badge to a sensor and then pressed the button for the eleventh floor.
Ivy tried to imagine what could be the reason for Cullen Sharpe’s request that she come to his office. It couldn’t be anything good, that much was certain.
The elevator ride was completely silent, as the blond supervisor stood next to Ivy and fumed. Emma’s bad energy radiated outward like a toxic cloud.
Why does she despise me so much? What did I ever do to her?
That was beside the point now, however. Emma Marks was small potatoes.
The doors pinged and opened into a white hallway that was carpeted and wide. It had a different feel from the lower floors.
Emma didn’t step out of the elevator. “Off you go,” she said. “Have fun.”
Ivy stepped out and then turned to look at her supervisor. “Where do I go now?”
The blond woman just gave her a sarcastic wave. “Buh bye!” she said, as the doors swished closed.
Bitch. Total bitch.
Ivy was angry, sick of being treated like crap for no reason at all. She turned away from the elevator and examined her surroundings. The hallway stretched out in both directions and then branched off into unknown territory.
She decided to just pick a direction and go with it. Eventually, she’d come across someone and ask that person where to go.
Walking briskly, she tried to breathe and keep calm.
You don’t know what he wants. It could be something silly.
Maybe he’s going to tell you to pay his dry cleaning bill.
That thought made her smile a little. As she got to the end of the hallway, she came to a closed door with one of those sensor pads.
Great. I don’t have security clearance.
Still, she took her own badge and held it up to the sensor, which stayed red.
“Fuck,” she swore under her breath.
Was Emma Marks just screwing with her—playing some kind of prank?
She was about to turn around and go back to the elevators when a voice spoke out of an intercom near the door. The sound was so sudden that she jumped in response.
“When the light turns green, you can come inside,” the crackling voice said through the intercom.
That voice was familiar, despite the distortion from the intercom’s speaker.
It’s him. It’s Cullen.
Her heart instantly began galloping like a panicked horse let loose within her chest.
A second later the red light turned green and there was the familiar click that signaled the door unlocking. She grabbed the cool handle and pulled the door open.
She blinked instinctively as she entered an office so large that it defied description.
The place was big enough to live in, and perhaps he did live there.
Plush wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor. Large couches were placed in various locations, along with leather chairs, and a floor-to-ceiling fish tank with colorful fish swimming around coral reef chunks was set against the far wall.
Tall glass windows stretched along the perimeter of the office, giving whoever was in the room a view overlooking the Charles River and the bridge spanning Boston and Cambridge.
Against that backdrop, atop a slightly elevated platform, sat Cullen Sharpe behind his massive black desk. The desk was of the same onyx, reflective material that the conference table had been made of.
The CEO was studying the enormous dual computer monitors that sat on his desk. His gaze was intent and focused, and she felt a bit of relief that he wasn’t yet watching her.
“Ivy Spellman,” he announced, still watching his monitors.