“Ah. Well, unfortunately I can’t help you if you’re not on the books. You’ll have to call his assistant and schedule something… if you have his number.”
She did, but her father didn’t like texting and calling him gave her phone anxiety. Her hands trembled faintly. Maybe she could tell her mother she’d tried, and that would be enough to quell her outrage. She could even look for some cheaper luxury apartments, look into movers, and get a whole portfolio ready to have the inevitable argument with her mother about relocating.
Sam stepped up beside her, leaning an arm over the counter. His hair fell rakishly past one ear, tickling his high cheekbones.
“I think you’ll want to call up to Mr. Sinclair,” he rumbled, flashing a brilliant smile at the woman.
She stared blankly at him for a moment, clearly drunk on his preternatural beauty. Her mouth worked before words finally came out. “I-I can’t just call up to the CEO’s office. I just work at the front desk. I could lose my job if I piss him off.”
“You won’t,” Ophelia said, holding up her hands peaceably. “I promise, you’re not going to get in any trouble.”
The tentative headway they’d made with the woman seemed to sour as she remembered Ophelia was there. “Listen, Miss?—”
“Mr. Sinclair is her father.” Sam leaned toward the woman, drawing her back into his orbit. “And Ophelia has something urgent to discuss with him.”
“Ophelia?” The woman’s eyes bugged in her head. “You’re his daughter?” Her look turned appraising, and Ophelia knew the moment she was found lacking. “No. No way.”
“My name is Ophelia Sinclair,” she grated, suddenly pushed past the point of niceties. “My father is Sebastian Sinclair, and when I get up to his office, I’m going to let him know that”—she squinted at the woman’s chrome nametag—“Lacey from the front desk refused to let me speak to him.”
Lacey paled, eyes darting to Sam for confirmation.
He nodded seriously.
She snatched up the gleaming metal phone set into the desk, stabbing a number of buttons in rapid succession.
“Yes, this is Lacey at the front desk. Would you please let Mr. Sinclair know that there’s an Ophelia Sinclair here to speak with him? Yes, I’ll hold.”
Lacey’s gaze darted nervously up to Ophelia, as though she was sure she was about to be told off for falling for a scam. Instead, her eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll send her right up.”
She hung up the phone, staring at Ophelia with open disbelief. “You… you can go right up, Miss Sinclair. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Satisfaction suffused her. She didn’t often wield the clout of her father’s name—well, she didn’teverwield it, actually—but there was a sort of headiness to the sudden politeness that followed it.
No wonder her mother was so addicted to being perceived as important.
“Thank you,” Ophelia said politely, offering the woman a smile despite her earlier doubts.
Lacey’s shoulders sagged as she returned the gesture.
There. Her mother would never have done that.
Sam followed her toward the security line, and she braced a palm on his chest to stop him. Her eyes darted toward the metal detectors. There was no way she was going to explain why she had an unregistered android out of uniform in her father’s place of business.
“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Just don’t talk to anyone.”
“I’m coming with you.” He took a step forward despite the weight she put behind her hand.
The soles of her sneakers squeaked as he forced her to slide back.
“No,” she said emphatically. “You can’t.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, walking right past her. “I don’t want to be parted from you. Just follow my lead.”
“Yourlead?”
She sputtered as he dropped her hand and put his own between her shoulder blades. His posture changed, stiff and alert, somehow giving him the air of being even more absurdly tall. He steered her toward the security guard standing next to agate meant to bypass the detectors, looking into the distance and cupping a hand over his ear as they approached.
“Yes, we’re about to go up now,” he murmured to seemingly no one.
