Cara walked into the lobby of Austin Media like she owned it. She was wearing a sharp black blazer over her dress, sunglasses on. She headed straight for the private elevators.
She tapped her access card against the reader.
BEEP. A red light flashed. Access Denied.
She tried again. Red light.
She laughed, a short, dry sound. He had already cut her off. He was efficient, she'll give him that.
A security guard, a man she had brought coffee to three times, stepped forward. "Ms. Clay, I'm sorry, I can't let you up."
Cara took off her sunglasses. She didn't plead. She stared him down.
"I am here to return Mr. Austin's house keys," she said loudly. "Unless you want me to leave them right here on the floor where anyone can pick them up?"
The receptionist behind the desk looked panicked. She picked up the phone. "Mr. Wong? Ms. Clay is here. She's... causing a scene."
Two minutes later, Burrel came out of the elevator. He looked tired.
"Cara, please," he said, trying to steer her toward a side room. "He's in a meeting."
"Is it a strategy meeting on how to rehabilitate Ms. Newman's image?" Cara asked. Her voice carried across the marble lobby. Heads turned.
Burrel winced. "Come with me."
He swiped his badge. They rode the elevator in silence. The numbers climbed. 40. 50. 60.
"He's busy, Cara," Burrel said softly. "Mr. Austin cut his London trip short. An urgent matter regarding Ms. Newman came up."
"Busy rekindling old flames?" Cara asked.
The doors opened. The top floor was all glass and steel. Cara walked past Burrel's desk. Through the glass wall of the main office, she saw him.
Brittain wasn't in a meeting. He was sitting alone at his desk, reading a document. He looked annoyed, not busy.
Cara pushed open the heavy glass door. It didn't slam, thanks to the expensive hinges, but it made a solid thud.
Brittain looked up. His brows knit together. "Who let you up here?"
Cara didn't stop until she reached his desk. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring of keys-the penthouse, the Hamptons house, the Malibu villa.
She slammed them onto the mahogany desk. The metal jangled violently.
Brittain looked at the keys, then at Cara. His expression was bored. "What is this tantrum, Cara?"
She didn't sit. She towered over him, or tried to. She pulled the printout of the airport photo from her bag and slid it across the desk.
"Your muse is back," she said. "I'm returning my badge."
Brittain glanced at the photo. He didn't look guilty. He looked irritated that his privacy was breached.
"It was just a ride from the airport," he said. "You're overreacting."
Cara laughed. It was a bitter sound. "A ride? Your hand is on her waist, Brittain. You don't touch friends like that."
He stood up then. He was tall, looming over her. The air in the room grew heavy.
"Watch your tone, Cara. Remember who you are talking to."
Cara straightened her spine. She looked him dead in the eye.
"I know exactly who I am talking to," she said. "My ex-boyfriend. That's my new identity."
