“You never know.” He paused as they rounded the short foyer hall and the space opened up on either side of them. A desk built into the far wall off to the left came into view. His next words were quieter, but no less confident than ever. “What matters is you have nothing to be afraid of, beautiful. Not anymore.”
It shouldn’t have been that easy to zap the tension from her system. It certainly never had been before. But her half-curled hands relaxed as if something inside her instinctively believed him—believed that this man dictated what did and did not have the authority to frighten her.
A woman popped up over the top edge of a curved computer monitor, as if only then noticing the three of them. “Wait! You can’t just walk through here!” She scurried out from around the also-curved, nicely polished desk until she was standing adjacent to them. Not quite in their path, but inarguably ahead of their position. She smoothed a hand down her pencil skirt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Matsunaga doesn’t take walk-ins. He’s a very busy man.”
Reiko wasn’t sure if it was presumption or the fact that the woman was speaking directly to Santino like the rest of them didn’t exist, but to her surprise, she found the exchange fueled her fire rather than her nerves. “We’re not walk-ins,” she said, projecting her voice. “I’m his daughter, Reiko Matsunaga. He’s expecting me.” She could have added that she was a bit early, but she didn’t feel it was necessary.
Her father always had harped that earlier was better.
The woman Reiko presumed to be her father’s secretary finally turned her attention to Reiko and made a very strange face. It looked like she was trying to hold in a laugh and yet at the same time was absolutely horrified. She folded both arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes in a glare. “You thought I wouldfall for that? Without even offering proof? I’ve worked in this office for four years, honey. Mr. Matsunaga has no daughter.” She snapped out an arm, pointing past them. “Now leave immediately or I’ll call security.”
Reiko sucked in a breath. She really shouldn’t have been surprised that the secretary who’d replaced the one who’d gone behind her father’s back in reaching out to her had been kept in the dark about her existence. But it seemed like that didn’t add up to him calling her over for a meeting.
Not if the meeting was honest.
The secretary’s expression melted into a glare at their lack of instantaneous movement and she turned toward her desk.
“You don’t want to do that,” Santino said, the subtlest of warnings lacing his tone.
She froze and glanced back at them. “And why not?”
Reiko angled her gaze up at him, too. Mostly because his face was much more appealing to look at than the secretary who kept glaring at her and denying her existence simultaneously.
The grin on his face was not the warm and seductive one she was familiar with. It was strange how different such a similar expression could be. “Maybe you should just tell your boss Santino Guerra’s in his lobby, and this is the only time I walk peacefully through the front door.”
“S-Santino … Guerra?” The secretary’s face had drained of color when Reiko looked her way again. The woman moved a hand up to the base of her throat, heaved a breath, and said, “Yes, of course, Mr. Guerra. Please give me just a moment.” She rushed back around her desk and picked up the phone. Her next words were hushed and spoken in hurried Japanese, but the lobby itself was quiet, so Reiko had no trouble understanding her.
Santino leaned down until his lips were beside her ear. “All I got from that was ‘sorry’. What’s she saying, beautiful?”
Reiko bit back a smile. When he’d said he’d learn the language, she had assumed he’d meant he would be starting from zero. Apparently, she had been wrong. She whispered back, “She’s apologizing for her interruptive call and informing him that you’re here. And getting lectured, I think.”
The secretary hung up while she was speaking, and Santino straightened once Reiko’s explanation was done.
Not ten seconds later, the inner office door—a semi-invisible design on the far wall—flew open and Reiko’s brother stepped out. He was wide-eyed and almost frenzied looking. It wasn’t an expression Reiko ever remembered seeing on him before. But then, she hadn’tseenhim in a very long time.
He came up short, his eyes snapping from Santino to her and his nostrils flaring. “What is this?”
The secretary leaned over her computer. “Ah, th-this is—”
Hiroto shot out a hand to silence her, never taking his glare from Reiko.
Reiko offered him a smile he didn’t deserve. “Ohayo, ototo.” It was the greeting she’d once always given him, and it felt poetic to offer on what she had decided—regardless of everything else—would be the last time they communicated. No matter what Santino chose to do with her brother, she was done with him and his annual guilt, too.
Hiroto’s lips curled up in a sneer. “I see you’ve found nerve. How repulsive.” His expression fell as quickly as it had appeared and he shifted his stare to Santino as if Santino weren’t literally holding her. “Mr. Guerra, apologies.” He stepped slightly aside and motioned to the office. “My father has time for you now.”
“Hn. How gracious.” Santino moved them forward as one.
Hiroto again held out his arm, this time with his extended palm practically in Reiko’s face. “Justyou, sir. This filth is not allowed.”
Both of her eyebrows shot up. Reiko was a bit surprised he was being so openly hateful.
Santino reacted as if he’d seen it coming. He latched onto Hiroto’s extended wrist and spun Hiroto bodily until her brother was on Santino’s opposite side, arm twisted behind him, almost as if they were dancing. Santino spoke in a firm but controlled tone that carried over Hiroto’s startled, yelping outcry. “No, little brother, we will all three be going inside. I’m calling a family meeting, and if you’re smart, you’ll watch your fucking mouth.”
He gave Hiroto a shove, causing Hiroto to stumble in ahead of them, then guided her with him at a calm pace. Armando’s presence fell away from their backs a moment before the door clicked shut, and Reiko realized he would be staying outside. Santino didn’t seem startled or bothered, so she chose not to question the choice.
She wasn’t familiar with her father’s office, of course. She’d never seen the inside of it. And it may have been her mood, but she wasn’t overly impressed. He’d done a tacky job of layering Japanese décor over pre-existing, Western-modernist architectural design.
Hiroto had backpedaled all the way to the far side of their father’s desk, where he stood, rubbing his arm and glaring silently.
