Five minutes to four, Lacey Stevens and Reagan approached my cubicle as Lacey decided against pleasantries. “Mystic, if you and Reagan will follow me,” she instructed, no ‘please’ or anything.
I followed behind her and Reagan with my back straight and my head held high. There was no way I was going to give off scared, little rabbit vibes. If I had any hope of saving my job, I had to prove I was strong enough to fight for it. Besides, I knew what I was doing when Reagan had started dumping her projects on me. I really couldn’t blame anyone else for the predicament I was in now.
But, hell, I wasn’t even sure if we were even in trouble. Who’s to say they weren’t pairing us up for an upcoming project? It was possible.
At least, it had been until I stepped into a conference room that wasn’t empty. I moved on autopilot behind Lacey and Reagan as Lacey sat in the first right side chair, and Reagan next to her. I took the second left side chair as, hands down, one of the most gorgeous men I have ever set eyes on sat at the head of the conference table.
He looked like he was carved from stone as his grey eyes made direct contact with each one of us as we situated ourselves. He had hair as black as night and it made his eyes pop out like a swirling mist. I noticed his brows seemed groomed, but something told me this man did not pretty himself up. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t give a shit.
About anything.
He had a perfectly sculpted face that you only saw on movie stars like Matt Bomer or Henry Cavill. And, even from his seated position, you could tell he was tall. He was definitely over six-foot, but I wasn’t sure by how much. His suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders like he was meant to always be wearing suits, and I could tell, if he stood up, his entire suit would fit him to perfection. He screamed class, money, and power.
He also looked pissed as hell.
I wanted to weep with anxiety. This wasn’t good. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t a peon, and he wasn’t here because this was a good thing. Glancing quickly at Reagan confirmed it. She looked scared, and Lacey looked constipated.
Lacey addressed Reagan first, and then me. “Reagan, you’ve met Mr. Cavanaugh,” she clipped out before looked my way. “Mystic, this is Mr. Cavanaugh, owner and CEO of Cavanaugh Industries.” Her eyes darted towards Mr. Cavanaugh. “Mr. Cavanaugh, Ms. Mystic Anderson.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Looks like I was getting fired today after all.
I watched as he ignored the introductions and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his lap, casual as could be, but anything but. “Ms. Anderson, do you know why you’re here?”
I wanted to laugh. If that wasn’t a leading question, I didn’t know what was. Luckily, I wasn’t stupid. A bit reckless? Maybe. Stupid? No. “No, Sir, I don’t.” If Reagan wanted to throw me under the bus, so be it. But I wasn’t going to throw myself under the damn thing.
He looked over at Reagan. “Ms. Contreras, do you know why you’re here?”
I watched as Reagan smoothed her skirt with her hands-probably wiping away the guilt sweat-then place her arms perfectly over one another on the tabletop. “I’m not sure, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
Mr. Cavanaugh leaned forward, placing his arms across the top of the table in the very same manner as Reagan. “You’re not sure? Does that mean you might suspect why you’re here?”
Her pretty features started to contort in panic. “Uh, well, I mean....” She glanced over at me for some help, but the last thing I was going to do was help a scorpion sting me. “Uhm, well…no, Sir. I...actually, I don’t know why I’ve been called in here today-whywewere.”
Lacey sat silent as Mr. Cavanaugh’s silver gaze danced back and forth between me and Reagan. “Well, Ms. Contreras, you’re here to explain to me why your projects have Ms. Anderson’s name on them. And, Ms. Anderson, you’re here to explain why your name is on Ms. Contreras’ projects.”
Oh, shit.
Chapter 20
Gage~
Iknew Lorcan was a busy man, but I also knew I was one of his few exceptions.
While Stymic Financial Holdings was a money purse, Cavanaugh Industries was more diverse in what they did and represented. And when I was looking at the Darwin proposal, I had seen that Lawrence had included Cavanaugh Industries in the architecture phase of his proposal. I wanted to get Lorcan’s gut feeling about Lawrence Darwin.
I dialed my friend, and as always, he answered the phone. “Changed your mind about the party?”
“No,” I automatically replied.
Lorcan chuckled. “What do you want?”
“You got some spare time to discuss Lawrence Darwin?”
“Aaahhh, so he hit you up, too?” he replied, knowing where this was going.
“Yeah, and I gotta say, I have some reservations about all this.”
