Corrin took the gold-foiled envelope from Jaye's hand. Her fingers barely brushed the thick cardstock.
She walked past Jaye and stepped into the elevator. Brooklynn followed closely. The doors slid shut, cutting off Jaye's triumphant smile.
Minutes later, Corrin walked into the underground parking garage. She opened the back door of the bulletproof SUV and got in.
Brooklynn got into the driver's seat. She started the engine. She glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Corrin's pale face.
Corrin tossed the invitation onto the empty leather seat beside her. She closed her eyes.
"Drive straight to the penthouse," Corrin said.
The SUV pulled out of the garage and merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic. Corrin leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Her stomach rolled with every stop and start of the vehicle.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. The screen lit up with an internal email from the Carlisle Group. It was an urgent personnel transfer request from Lachlan Carlisle.
Corrin opened the email. She scanned the text. Lachlan was trying to place three of his loyalists into the finance department right before the upcoming family trust dinner.
A cold smirk touched Corrin's lips. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen. She typed a single word: Denied.
She hit send.
The SUV pulled into the private underground garage of the Carlisle estate's luxury high-rise. The car stopped smoothly.
Brooklynn got out and opened the rear door. She reached out a hand.
Corrin ignored the hand. She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the concrete. She walked straight to the private elevator.
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse. The massive living room was filled with cold, modern art pieces and sharp-edged furniture.
Ivan Nieves, the loyal butler, walked out of the kitchen. He carried a bone china tray.
He saw Corrin's exhausted posture. He set the tray down on the console table and took her coat.
"Ms. Mcknight," Ivan said. Deep lines of worry creased his forehead. "Did the clinic find the cause of your stomach pains?"
Corrin looked at the older man. She kept her face completely blank.
"It's an ovarian cyst, Ivan. Nothing serious."
Ivan sighed. "You are losing too much weight. And Mr. Carlisle will be late again tonight. Another business dinner."
At the mention of Grayson, Corrin's hand twitched. She pressed her palm flat against her stomach.
Ivan picked up the tray and carried it to the long dining table. He lifted the silver dome.
A bowl of steaming French consommé sat underneath.
The rich, heavy scent of boiled meat and marrow hit the air.
Corrin's throat seized.
She spun around, turning her back to the table. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
"Is something wrong?" Ivan asked. He took a step toward her.
Corrin took a slow, deep breath through her nose. She forced the nausea down. She turned back around and gave Ivan a stiff nod.
"I'm fine."
She walked to the table. She pulled out a heavy wooden chair and sat down. She picked up the silver spoon.
Ivan stood nearby. "Lachlan Carlisle has been making a lot of moves regarding the family trust fund lately. The board is getting anxious."
Corrin dipped the spoon into the broth. She brought it to her lips and swallowed. The hot liquid hit her stomach like a stone.
She put the spoon down. "As long as I am here, Lachlan will not touch a single cent of the group's money."
Ivan looked at her. His eyes held a deep, quiet pity. He knew she was fighting a war for a man who did not love her.
Corrin picked up the spoon again. She forced down three more mouthfuls. The nausea clawed at her throat.
She stood up abruptly. "I have work to do."
She walked quickly to the study. She stepped inside and locked the heavy oak door behind her.
She walked straight into the attached bathroom. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.
She threw up everything she had just forced down.
When her stomach was completely empty, Corrin sat back on the cold tile floor. She leaned against the wall. She looked up at the mirror.
Her face was ashen. Her eyes were red.
She placed both hands over her flat stomach. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes hardened into dark, sharp glass.
