“Lark Monroe.” I hold out my hand.
"She’s my executive assistant." Brody’s voice is cool.
The man takes my palm. "James Hamilton."
“I know.” I politely incline my head.
He has a well-known cooking show, and the media can’t seem to get enough of him.
"We have a friend in common. Harper Richie. She’s one of my BFFs.”
"Right." A peculiar look comes over his features. Huh? I get the feeling there’s something between him and Harper. Damn, I really need to catch up with her and my other friends.
Brody steps forward between us.
It forces James to release my hand and move back.
Brody hands my bag over to me.
"What are you doing here?" Brody inclines his head.
"I assume, I’m here for the same reason you are?"
"This is my update meeting with Gramps.”
"Which he asked me to sit in on.” James raises a shoulder.
“Eh?” Brody seems taken aback. “He asked you to sit in on this meeting?”
James shrugs. “I told him it was highly unusual, considering this is a business meeting, but he insisted. And when Arthur gets like that?—”
“No one can change his mind.” Brody firms his lips.
"This way." Otis leads us to the closed door and pushes it open. Rows of books on the wall reveal it to be the library.
I follow the men inside and step into warmth. A massive fireplace burns brightly, taking up a good portion of the wall opposite me.
The flames throw light over the man who occupies the throne-like armchair in front. A blanket covers his legs.
A cane leans against the chair but seems almost incongruous with the ruddy cheeks and the full head of steel-gray hair that the older man sports. This must be the infamous Arthur.
He nods his chin in the direction of the men. The imperious gesture reminds me of my boss. “Brody, come closer, boy."
I stifle my chuckle at my boss being referred to as 'boy.'
Said 'boy' leads me a few steps forward. I know the exact moment the elder Davenport notices me for his eyes gleam.
"You must be Lark Monroe.”
I nod. "I’m his executive assistant." My voice comes out thinner than I intended.
There’s something about being under the full force of Arthur Davenport’s gaze that makes my spine straighten and my palms go clammy. His eyes are sharp, assessing, like he’s measured me and debating whether I pass muster.
I can see where Brody gets his domineering attitude.
"Arthur Davenport." He bows that full head of hair.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Pretending a confidence I don’t feel, Istraighten my spine, smooth my skirt, and flash him a polished smile as I approach the couch opposite him.
