Or she had been.
“They’re here, Mr. Mitchell,” his driver said, speaking quietly.
Lennox stretched his neck. “Good. Wait with the car.” Ideally, he’d be leaving that building with Brinley on his arm. But he had no way to know if she was in-office, and he wasn’t going to wait to take care of his necessary business. He would find her regardless.
The pair of attorneys he had called for met him on the sidewalk. “Everything’s prepared to your specifications, Mr. Mitchell,” the younger male said as he patted his briefcase.
The elder of the two turned his head to scrutinize the building. “You’re sure about this, Lennox?”
Lennox grunted, busied his hands with buttoning his suitcoat, and said, “What it is today is potential. Potential that its current ownership is severely underutilizing.”
“If you say so.”
Lennox didn’t take the tone of uncertainty personally. He’d worked with the demon too long to make that mistake. He strode forward, leading the way into the poorly labeled and worse maintained building.
They were met with a small, sparsely furnished, unmanned lobby space and a handwritten note taped beneath a tap bell telling them to ring the bell for service. As if it were some two-star motel.
Lennox felt the scowl return to his face and continued past the lobby space, down the adjacent hall and around the sharp corner. The rest of the building opened up into a wide common area that was brighter thanks to numerous overhead strips of fluorescent lighting and occupied primarily by double-wide banks of cubicle offices. From his position he counted at least eight. His search had told him there were a total of twelve employees, plus one owner, for a total of an unlucky thirteen names attached to the business. They were definitely operating at minimum capacity.
Worse, somehow, was that it smelled like a locker room. Someone had open, half-finished fast-food on their desk while they chatted on the phone. Another had what looked like a cheap air freshener designed for small, enclosed spaces dangling precariously from the corner of their monitor. One person looked up at him as Lennox and his pair of lawyers walked past and the pen he’d been holding slipped from his fingers.
There was a defined path around the cubicle station, with doors leading off the wall in three different places. One was partially open and revealed a restroom. Another was closed and bore no label, so Lennox assumed that was the owner’s office. The one tucked at the most out-of-the-way spot simply had the lettersHRprinted across the frosted glass of the door. So at least the company was making an effort on that front.
The general clamor of voices died down until only those making necessary phone calls remained talking. All eyes seemed glued to him as he stepped up to the unlabeled door. He ignored the stares, rapped a single knuckle on the frame one time, and pulled the door open.
“What?” the man behind the desk snapped as the door swung wide. He was scribbling something on a paper and didn’t bother to lift his head. “How many times do I have to tell you assholes not to just barge in here when I’m working?”
Lennox made room for the lawyers, waited until the door had been shut again, and stepped forward. He tucked his hands in his pockets and frowned at the already irritating man behind the desk. There’d been no sign of Brinley on the floor and exactly one unoccupied cubicle. He was trying very hard not to jump to conclusions about that.
Aloud, he said, “You’re going to want to pay attention to this, Neil.”
The man’s hand finally went still and he lifted his head. “Excuse—” He cut himself off, eyes blowing wide and darting between the three of them repeatedly. Every time his focus seemed to settle on Lennox, a bead of sweat popped out on his forehead and he looked away again. “Shit. Lennox Mitchell.” He shoved to his feet and wiped his palms on the sides of his pants like a nervous school boy. “Neil Waters,” he said as if introducing himself were necessary, holding out one hand. “Wh-what can I do for you, Mr. Mitchell?”
Lennox dropped his stare to the proffered hand but made no effort to take it. “I’ll be blunt, Neil. I’m prepared to buy out your business, property and all, right now.” He tipped his head toward the silent men at his side. “These are my lawyers. All you have to do is accept the check and sign the papers. Of course, if you want to call in a lawyer of your own to go over the contract first, that’s your prerogative. But my generosity won’t last, so I wouldn’t drag your feet if I were you.”
Neil sputtered, his face going pale. “I don’t understand,” he said on an exhale. “You want to … buy my paper?”
Lennox pulled one hand from his pocket and motioned the younger attorney forward.
The eager-to-please young man stepped up, propped the briefcase on the edge of the desk, and swiftly unlocked it. He didn’t ask a single question before withdrawing a plain folder and from there extracting a single, crisp paper. He held the paper out toward Neil patiently and finally said, “All our terms are explained here, Mr. Waters.”
Neil looked between them one more time before reluctantly tugging the paper closer.
Silence held in the room as he read it over.
The bottom edge of the paper crinkled in his grasp and he looked up again, color returning to his face as indignation took over. “Where the hell do you get off? If I sign this, I’m agreeing to forfeit my entire career!”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the younger lawyer said smoothly. “You could freelance or work beneath someone else if journalism is truly your calling, but owning and operating would require you to move out of state.” He swiftly slid the check across the desk.
Neil’s eyes locked onto it, watching as it neared him with something like apprehension. “This is…”
“My most generous offer,” Lennox said. “Your retirement package on a silver platter.”
Neil stared in visibly agonized silence at the check, hand hovering partially over it as though he were afraid to touch it. “You think,” he finally started, speaking slowly, “you can just … buy me out?” He lifted his gaze again and dropped his tightly curled fist to his side. “This is my life’s work!”
Lennox hummed. “Then perhaps you should have treated it better.”
Neil rounded on him. “Who do you think you are?”
