Moving to my desk, I start sorting the mail and organizing the calendar. That’s when I notice that Rush’s entire morning has been blocked off for a meeting.
I pick up my head, looking at his now-closed door.
Who is he meeting with that I didn’t schedule and don’t know about?
Apprehension zips down my spine as my mouth twists into a frown. “Rachel, did you schedule a meeting for Mr. Smith this morning?”
She crosses from her desk to mine. “Yes. Gris called a half hour ago and told me block off the time.”
A pit settles in my stomach. Why was Rachel in charge of this? A myriad of questions start swirling in my head. Did I really mess up sleeping with Rush?
Am I going to be fired?
Was he just letting me relax this morning or does this portend to bad things?
The phone rings, but before my hand has even made it to the receiver, it stops, the call light displaying that call has been connected in Rush’s office.
I stand, not sure what else to do, as I stare at the light. “Do you know why it’s been blocked off? Who the meeting is with?”
“He didn’t say. He just told me to block it?—”
But we both stop as Rush’s door opens. “Ms. Hope,” Rush calls from the doorway, his tone clipped. “A word.”
“Of course, Mr. Smith.” I give Rachel the slightest glance before walking toward the door. He opens it wider, allowing me in, before he closes it behind me.
“Everything all right?” I ask once it’s clicked closed.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gestures for me to sit. My legs are full of lead as I take the two steps to the chair and slide into the seat.
He takes the chair next to me. “We’re about to have a hostile visitor.”
For a moment, my chest unwinds, relief making me slump in the chair. This is a work thing that has him so tense. It’s not about our personal relationship at all. “Hostile in what way?”
He frowns. “Hostile, in that I just stopped him from skimming millions off my construction project. Hostile in that I outbid him for this contract to begin with.”
All the air whooshes from my lungs. He can’t mean it. I grip the arms of the chair, just trying to remain upright. “Vigo Sinclair is coming here? Now?”
“That’s right,” he pushes up from the chair, starting to pace. “I have no idea if he’s here to threaten me, cajole me, try to kill me—” He stops by my chair, his hand coming to my shoulder. “I jest. Not even Vigo is that bold.”
He’s bold. Bold enough to do any measure of things. But even if he’s not coming to hurt Rush, what will he do when he finds me?
The intercom buzzes and Rush moves around the desk, pressing the button. “Yes?”
“A Mr. Vigo Sinclair is here to see you, sir. He’s not listed on the schedule, but he claims?—”
“Send him up.”
Rush’s words echo through me, my entire body vibrating with them as my whole body breaks out in a cold sweat. In a minute, less, Vigo will be here. Am I just supposed to serve him coffee? Will he recognize me?
Of course he will. We were married for nearly three years.
Bile turns in my stomach as Rush lets go of the intercom button and moves to his office door, swinging it open and stepping out of the room, but I am glued to my chair.
I can’t go out there. Can’t face him.
The room spins and I touch my forehead with a trembling hand. My forehead is cold and clammy as I tip my head, my hair falling around my face.
I lift my head and feel vomit rising up my esophagus. Shooting up from the chair, I force my legs to work, as I dash out the door and run behind Rush toward the bathroom.
