I give him a small smile. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to meet Dallas at his office. He needed to give me something, but I got confused. I don’t remember where it is and I was hoping to find a directory so I could figure it out without bothering him.”
The man frowns. “I’m sorry, but he stepped out.”
There are probably hundreds and hundreds, if notthousandsof employees in this building. I highly doubt that the security team keeps tabs on all of them beyond watching them go in and out of the metal detectors. Considering I’ve caught glimpses of my husband carrying a gun at times—I pointed it out once and he said it was for protection, and that work was dangerous sometimes which makes sense if some crook tried to steal a car from the garage—I don’t even think he goes through it. He must have a way around it… which would also explain why the security team is on a first name basis with him.
Or, you know, it’s because he lives in the penthouse and probably pays their salary or something…
“Oh. He must’ve had to go to the garage. Maybe he left it upstairs for me…?”
His face gives nothing away as the guard considers me for half a second. “I could bring you up there, if you’d like. Show you where his office is.”
My face breaks into a genuine smile. “Really? That would be great!”
He nods. “Right this way.”
Together, we go into the elevator. I watch him select the floor, slightly surprised that he selects the one directly below our penthouse. I shouldn’t have been. If he inherited the penthouse and the office from his dad, it would make sense that they came together. With that much wealth—and I try hard not to think how loaded he must be in case he thinks I only ever married him in the first place for money—he could own half the building and I’d just nod and say ‘sure’.
The man stands at attention, hands folded behind his back, eyes straight ahead as the elevator takes us up again. I nibble nervously on my thumbnail, waiting for him to call bullshit on my excuse. He doesn’t, though. Instead, as the elevator doors open, he gestures to an open door on the right.
“There you go. Loni should be in there. If Dallas left something for you, she’ll know about it.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s my job.”
He salutes me, and as he does, I notice the ruined skin on his palm, just like Dallas’s, right before the doors close again.
Huh. Another member of the secret society. They’re like fucking ants:everywhere.
Shaking my head, I tiptoe toward the open door. I haven’t met Loni yet, though I’ve wanted to. I’ve heard so much aboutthe wife of Dallas’s cousin, and I remember him saying in passing that she works as a secretary in the Fortress. I was under the impression that, like Dallas, Adrian was her boss.
Now that the security guard said that Loni should be inDallas’s office, I’m beginning to realize I got that way wrong.
I’m prepared to give Loni the same story I gave the guard. Hopefully, she thinks that Dallas forgot to tell her that he left the fictitious ‘something’ in his office. That’ll give me the chance to look around his private space while he’s not around and, even more hopefully, assuage some of my lingering curiosity.
Only, when I step into the office, it’s completely empty.
Oh, I see a desk. It’s set to the left, with a computer monitor for a desktop, a keyboard, and a handset phone covering most of the desktop. Basic hotel-style covers the walls. Like upstairs, the floors are hardwood, and there’s a hint of perfume in the air that tells me Loni was here earlier, but she’s gone now.
Other than the desk, I see two visitor’s chairs along the wall, plus a closed door. Figuring Dallas’s office must be behind it, I strode over to the door, giving the knob a turn. It doesn’t go anywhere.
Locked.
It’slocked.
Great.
You know what? I should leave. That’s what a good wife would do. I can’t get into his office, which was my whole reason for coming down here, and neither Dallas or Loni are here. It’s just me?—
—me and unsupervised desktop.
I bite the corner of my mouth as I look at it. I hate to admit it, but curiosity has been growing inside my chest for ages now, pressing against my ribs. Dallas made me promise not to use my phone to look myself up or see if I can find anything about my past.
He didn’t say anything about borrowing her secretary’s computer…
It’s a flimsy rationalization. I know that. He’s trying to protect me, but the longer I’m living without my full memories, the more I can’t shake the feeling that he’shidingsomething. I mean, he said looking into my history could overwhelm my mind while it’s still healing, but the more I think about it, the less that explanation makes sense.
Wouldn’t a trigger like that be enough to jolt a few memories back into place? Seems like it to me.
