“Ah, there it is.” Makenna’s voice croons delicately as she flips the lever for her blinker.
I look at the massive structure before me, and I can’t help wondering if she got the address wrong. “Are you sure?”
She taps her thin finger to the ripped receipt she has the address written on. “This is what Shane gave me. Oh!” She points to the sign towering over the expertly manicured landscaping. “Yeah, that’s the name. Fields and Lehman Analytics.”
Okay, then. Maybe he’s their groundskeeper or a maintenance man or something. I follow her up to the front doors, quietly observing the modern beauty of the building. Nothing like the aged brick buildings downtown, it has about six stories, completely wrapped in tinted glass and gleaming metal. Its bold, sharp lines are aesthetically pleasing. It reminds me of something you’d see in one of those futuristic action movies. Let’s just hope it isn’t full of robots.
Makenna holds the solid glass door open for me, and I follow her up to the reception desk, where she asks for directions. “I’m looking for Wesley Baxter’s office. Can you point me in the right direction?”
The stiff woman at the desk looks quite displeased. Or constipated. Fiber, lady. It works wonders. “Is Mr. Baxter expecting you?”
Mr. Baxter? Oh, this is hilarious.
“Yes, I believe so.” Makenna practically shrinks under her scrutinizing, accusatory gaze.
“One moment,” she snaps impatiently. She picks up the phone and punches a few buttons. Her hair is pulled impossibly tight into a neat bun on the top of her head. Yeah, that might be the source of the bitchiness, too. “Sandra. I have a couple of . . . ladies here, claiming to have an appointment with Mr. Baxter. Can you confirm?”
I roll my eyes. Damn, if I don’t hate pretentious people.
“I see. I’ll send them up.” She cuts her eyes back to us and points to the bank of elevators at her side. “Fifth floor. Check in with reception there.”
Finally, curiosity gets the better of me. “What the hell does he do?” I ask when the elevator door closes.
“I’ve never discussed it with him in detail, but I guess the general idea applies to all of them.”
“Which is?”
She scrunches up her face, looking at me like I’ve completely lost it. “Uh, money.”
The ding sounds just before the shiny metal doors slide open. This lobby looks much like the one on the first floor, just on a smaller scale. But the receptionist actually stands when we exit, walking around her desk and extending her hand with a warm smile. I’m guessing she’s around my mom’s age. Her short, dark hair is styled into big curls, and even though she’s dressed in a fitted pencil skirt and sky-high heels, she looks at us as if we’re equals.
“Welcome to Fields and Lehman, ladies.” She shakes both of our hands enthusiastically. “If you’d have a seat right over there in the waiting area, Mr. Baxter will be with you in just a moment. Can I get you a drink while you wait? Water, tea, coffee, soda . . . we have whatever you would like.”
“No need, Sandra. I’m here.” That dark voice sounds from behind her. “Thank you.”
She nods with a soft smile and steps away. No, she fades away, as well as everything else in the room. All I see is him, or at least I think it’s him. Sure, his face is the same, minus the sexy stubble I remember. But from the neck down, he’s not the tall, moody stranger in worn jeans anymore. He emanates power. Control. His charcoal suit is crisp and perfectly tailored to his lean frame. His bright blue tie is the same color as his eyes. He looks older somehow. More mature.
“Makenna. Callie. Good to see you.” His greeting is stiff and formal. Weird. “Why don’t you come into my office for a minute?” He turns to the receptionist, who stands as he addresses her. Again, weird. “Sandra, please hold my calls.”
“Yes, sir,” she answers respectfully.
We follow him down a long corridor into a corner office. It’s freaking huge. A modern gray couch with lemon yellow pillows sits against the wall, and two matching chairs face his desk, which is a gleaming structure of metal and glass topped with a computer monitor the size of a flat screen TV. On the other side of the room, four televisions cover the majority of the wall space, each displaying various news channels and stock data. But two of the four walls in the room are nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, lending a very open and sleek quality to the room.
“Have a seat.” He motions to the two chairs before sitting in his own. “Bottle of water?”
“No, thanks.” Makenna doesn’t look fazed at all. Why am I the only one who is completely weirded out by all of this? “Here’s the envelope you needed.” She pulls it from her bag and places it on the edge of his desk.