“He’s expecting you, Ms. James,” Susan said with a genuine smile. “Please follow me.”
James? You had to give them a fake name to even get near him, the voice inside her head said, jeering. Walk away before they toss you out on your ear.
“Shush,” Maggie whispered to herself.
But the sarcastic little voice in her head wouldn’t stay silent as Maggie followed the charming receptionist down the wide, plushly carpeted halls. And as if to amplify the mental taunts, everywhere she looked there were signs that the MacLaren brothers had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Huge posters of the latest MacLaren products hung on the corridor walls as she passed. Lush plants grew in profusion. Glassed-in office spaces boasted state-of-the-art furnishings and technology.
Maggie was even treated to the occasional stunning view, through wide windows, of the gleaming San Francisco Bay in the distance. Just in case she forgot that this was the penthouse suite of the office building owned by the MacLaren Brothers of Point Cairn, California. As if she could.
Despite her best efforts, Maggie felt a tingle of pleasure that Connor MacLaren had done so well for himself.
Yeah, maybe he’ll give you a nice, shiny medal for doing him such a big favor.
Maggie sighed and glanced around. The receptionist was many yards ahead of her down the hall, and Maggie had to double her speed to keep up. How long was this darn hallway anyway? Where was Connor’s office? In the next county? She should’ve left a trail of bread crumbs. If she had to leave in a hurry, she’d never find her way out. Heck, she could wander these corridors for years. It was starting to feel as if she was stuck on some kind of never-ending death march.
Stop whining. Just turn around and walk away before it’s too late.
If she had a choice, she would take her own subliminal advice and hightail it out of there. She’d taken a big risk coming here and now she was regretting it with every step she took. Hadn’t she spent half of her life avoiding risks? So why in the world was she here?
Because she didn’t have a choice. She was desperate. Truly, completely desperate. Connor MacLaren was her last hope.
But he hates you, and for good reason. Walk away. Walk away.
“Oh, shut up!”
Susan stopped and turned. “Is something wrong, Ms. James?”
Yes, something’s wrong! That’s not my real name! Maggie wanted to shout, but instead she flashed a bright smile. “No, absolutely nothing.”
As soon as the woman continued walking, Maggie rolled her eyes. Not only was she talking to herself, but now she was arguing with herself, too. Out loud. This couldn’t be a good sign.
Her life truly had descended to the lowest rung of the pits of hell, not to be overly dramatic about it.
Even the cheery receptionist had caught on to the desperation vibe that hung on Maggie like a bad suit. She had taken one look at Maggie’s faded blue jeans and ancient suede jacket, and smiled at her with so much sympathy in her eyes that Maggie wouldn’t be surprised to have the woman slip her a ten-dollar bill on her way out.
Treat yourself to a hot meal, sweetie, Maggie imagined the woman whispering kindly.
Unquestionably, Maggie had been hiding out in the remote hills of Marin for way too long. Glancing down at her serviceable old jacket and jeans, she realized that she’d lost the ability to dress for success. Her boots were ancient. She hadn’t been to a beauty spa in more than three years. True, she hadn’t exactly turned into a cave dweller, but she certainly wasn’t on top of her fashion game, either. And while that wasn’t a bad thing as far as Maggie was concerned, it was probably a mistake not to have factored it in when she was about to go face-to-face with one of Northern California’s top power brokers.