He found every meeting starting the following week and added Armi to all of them. He waited, and as expected, the phone he’d been given after he’d been entered into the Kings’ system began to ring.
“Hayden Porter.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his lips. “May I help you?”
“This is Larry White, Mr. Geiger’s personal assistant. Why did you add Mr. Winters to Monday’s budget meeting?”
He lazed back on the sofa. “Well…let me think. Don’t you think the owner should know how the team’s money is being spent?” He waited a beat. “Unless there’s something to hide.”
“What? No,” he denied vehemently. “Of course not. I’m appalled at your insinuation.”
Hayden pounced. “Who said it was an insinuation?”
He repeated, almost word for word, the same conversation with Whitmore’s PA and all the others who called with similar questions. By the time he finished, Armi’s calendar for the next month was filled, and Hayden took a break for dinner. He picked up a grilled-chicken salad and brought up his dry cleaning from the delivery room in the lobby. While eating, he searched online for more on Armand Winters—both his personal and his professional life.
There was little information aside from the usual pedigree—prep schools, ivy league college. He’d worked at one of the major CPA firms in the city for five years after graduation, then left. After that, not much except…
“Bulgaria? What the hell is there?”
Fascinated, he began to read.
**
Eight a.m. on Monday morning found him entering the offices of the Kings. He seemed to be the only one there. It was a little later than his usual, but he’d made several stops along the way. He set his bundles on the reception desk and frowned.
“Why does it still say ‘Randolph Winters, Owner and CEO’? That should’ve been changed weeks ago.” Annoyed already, and he hadn’t even set foot past the entrance, he pulled out his phone and made a note to himself:Call to have replacement sign ordered for Armand.
Gingerly, he picked up the packages, and with his shoulder, pushed open the glass doors leading into the office area.
“How is this possible? A huge organization and no one’s in at eight a.m.?” He shrugged. “Well, just gives me a chance to do what needs to be done.” First thing was to make coffee and turn on his computer. After setting up his desk as he liked—computer monitor on the left, inbox on the right, and all black pens—he started on his tasks. He placed the several dozen roses he’d purchased at seven that morning in the slim crystal vases that luckily hadn’t broken during his travels. On his desk, he set the candy-pink Queen Elizabeths, the front receptionist desk held two vases of sunny Michelangelo yellows for cheerfulness, and the last and largest were in Armi’s office. Beautiful, lush, peach Peace roses.
Hands on hips, he surveyed his arrangements with satisfaction.
“I thought I’d find you in early.”
He turned to see Russell Anders several feet away. Watchful eyes met his.
Hayden turned on the charm. “Good morning, Mr. Anders. Yes, but I’m amazed no one else is. Almost eight thirty, and I’m the only one here. Color me surprised.” He said it with an easy smile and took a seat behind his desk to arrange his desk drawers. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”
“I figured to get in early to help you acclimate.”
About to dismiss him, the old adage about catching more flies with honey than vinegar sprang to Hayden’s mind. “That’ssovery nice of you. May I offer you a cup of coffee?”
Anders nodded. “That would be great, thanks. Cream, no sugar.” He pulled over a chair and sat. Waiting.
He prepared the cup and handed it to Anders, then took the seat behind his desk, the friendly smile never wavering. “So, tell me what I should be prepared for.”
Anders took a sip, grunted with satisfaction, and set the coffee on Hayden’s desk. “I like Armand. I really do.”
Hayden kept the mug to his lips, listening. He was waiting for the “but.”
“But,” Anders continued, “he’s a little…different.”
Hayden raised a brow, allowing what he hoped was an invitation to continue “Oh?”
Perhaps sensing a camaraderie in his willingness to gossip, Russell hitched up his slacks and wheeled his chair closer. “Even as a child, he was…soft. Unable to stand up for himself.”
“I think he’s very nice. And sweet.”
Anders’s lips twitched. “He is. A very nice kid.”
