The office was silent, save for the hum of the air filtration system. Braxton sat behind a desk that cost more than most people earned in a decade. He stared at the phone on the mahogany surface.
I've come down with something severe.
He picked up the phone, turning it over in his hand. He had been with her yesterday morning. She hadn't been sick. She had been cold, angry, and desperate. But not sick.
"Geoff," he said, not looking up.
His executive assistant stepped forward. "Sir?"
"Cancel the dinner reservation for tonight."
"Yes, sir. And regarding Ms. Sinclair's text?"
Braxton smirked. It wasn't a happy expression. "Let her wait. Let her think she's pulled one over on me."
The door to his office flew open. Eleanor Kensington marched in, her heels sinking into the thick carpet. She was a woman made of hairspray and diamonds.
"Braxton," she snapped. "Why haven't you approved the floral arrangements for the engagement party? The Vanderbilts are asking questions."
Braxton set the phone down, screen down. "I have a company to run, Mother. Flowers are your department."
"This merger is the company's business," Eleanor hissed. "If you mess this up with your... indiscretions... the board will have your head." She paced to the window. "And there are rumors. About that boy."
Braxton went still. The air in the room dropped ten degrees. "Which boy?"
"The bastard," Eleanor spat. "Ansel. He's back in the country. People are talking. They say he's looking into the trust."
Braxton's jaw tightened. Ansel. The half-brother his father had tried to hide. The one variable Braxton couldn't control.
"I'll handle Ansel," Braxton said, his voice low and dangerous. "Get out, Mother."
Eleanor glared at him but turned to leave. "Fix your tie. You look like you've been in a fight."
She slammed the door.
Braxton looked at Geoff. "Run a trace on Ansel Neal. I want to know where he is, who he's meeting, and what bank is backing him."
"On it."
"And Geoff?"
"Sir?"
"Pull her location data from last night. I want to see just how far her 'home' is from that bar in Brooklyn. Then keep an eye on Elodie. If she leaves her apartment, I want to know."
Elodie stood in front of the mirror in the hotel lobby restroom. She smoothed down her suit jacket. She looked professional. Detached.
She checked her phone one last time. Radio silence.
It was unnerving. Braxton was a micromanager. He tracked her expenses, her location, her calls. For him to ignore a claim of illness was out of character.
Unless he didn't care anymore. Now that he had Caroline.
The thought stung more than she expected.
She walked out of the restroom and toward the elevators. The hotel smelled of lilies and old money. She pressed the button for the fourth floor.
The elevator was lined with mirrors. She stared at herself. Just get the money, she told herself. Get the cash, pay the bill, survive another month.
The doors opened. The hallway was long and quiet. She walked to Suite 402.
She raised her hand to knock. Her heart was beating a strange rhythm against her ribs. A warning.
She ignored it. She knocked.
