I nod, his words quieting the buzzing in my veins.
Matthew drives into the underground parking lot of a sleek tower of glass and steel.He finds a spot and turns to me, his hand still covering mine.“Ready?”
I take one final, fortifying breath and give him a determined nod.“Ready.”
He smiles, a silent acknowledgment of my courage, before we get out of the car.
I can do this.
The air in the underground lot is cool and still.Matthew retrieves the heavy stacks of petitions from the backseat, holding them securely between his hands as we walk to the elevator.
The ride up is silent.The only sound is the delicate chime announcing each floor.The mirrored walls reflect a distorted version of us: a man in a power suit holding a large stack of papers, and a woman who looks far more composed than she feels.
The doors slide open onto a vast, silent reception area.Polished marble floors reflect the cold, recessed lighting from above.A massive, modern desk sits before a towering wall of glass with a panoramic view of downtown Madison and the glittering expanse of Lake Monona.Behind it, a perfectly poised woman looks up at us with a calm, professional gaze.
Matthew, clearly unfazed by the opulence, walks us forward.“Morning, Janice.Is he in?”
“Yes, Mr.Warren.He’s waiting for you.”Her gaze drifts to me for a fraction of a second before she gestures toward a set of sleek leather chairs.“Please have a seat.I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
We sit.The silence in the waiting area feels heavy, expensive.I clasp my purse tightly to stop my hands from shaking.Matthew sets the petitions securely in his lap and reaches over, his hand covering mine.
“He’s just a man, Amy.”He leans closer, so only I can hear.“A ruthless businessman, yes.But he’s also a husband and a father.”
“A father?”
Matthew nods.“Twin girls.Heading off to university in a few weeks.”
Before I can say anymore, a chime sounds from the receptionist’s desk.
“Mr.Bancroft will see you now.”
Janice leads us down a wide corridor, the patterned carpet swallowing the sound of my heels.She stops before a pair of towering mahogany doors and gives us a polite smile.
“Mr.Bancroft is just finishing a call, but he said you can go on in,” she informs us before turning to walk away.
Matthew gives my hand one last, firm squeeze.He reaches for the heavy handle, pushing one of the doors open and holding it for me.
I take a deep breath and step into the lion’s den.
The office is far more intimidating than anything I had pictured in my mind.A cavern of muted tones, rich leather, and polished marble, dominated by a desk so large it looks more like a modern monolith than furniture.This room is designed to make a person feel insignificant.As I walk toward the two leather chairs placed like an offering before the throne, that is exactly how I feel.
Insignificant.
And there, behind the desk, is Harold Bancroft.
His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled, his suit impeccably tailored.He’s leaning back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear, his expression one of intense concentration.He sees us enter, but his sharp eyes show no flicker of acknowledgment.
Matthew, unruffled, places the heavy stacks of petitions on the low table between the chairs and gestures for me to take a seat.
I sink into one of the leather chairs, my back ramrod straight.
Bancroft speaks one final, terse command—“Get it done”—and ends the call, placing his phone down on the desk.
He looks up, his gaze landing on Matthew.“Morning, Matthew.”
“Good morning,” Matthew replies, smoothing his hand down his tie as he seats himself in the other chair.
Harold’s eyes slide to me, narrowing slightly, his jaw tightening.“I didn’t realize it was bring-your-assistant-to-work day.”
