Page 15 of His Stolen Queen
I signaled left before turning down Main Street. It was almost five p.m., and the streets were starting to get congested with rush hour traffic. At this time, I would usually be heading in the opposite direction, toward the suburbs where David and I lived in our cute three-bedroom house. I was eager for a hot bath and dinner, followed by my feet on David's lap as we binged our latest series together. Right now, we were in the middle of season three ofLost.
Because my childhood and teen years had been filled with upheaval and loneliness, catching up on the latest pop culture moment hadn't been on my radar. David had taken it upon himself to slowly introduce me to shows and movies I had missed.
Unfortunately, with this traffic, all of that would have to be pushed back at least an hour or two. A last-minute meeting request by a client came through, one I couldn't turn down.
"Hey, babe. You on your way home?" David's voice penetrated the quiet of my vehicle.
I twisted my lips in a grimace as I checked my side mirrors to switch lanes. "Sorry, honey, I had a meeting pop up last minute, so I'm gonna be late home."
"A meeting this late? You don't usually accept last-minute requests."
I slowly stepped on the brakes as traffic slowed to a halt. "Yeah, remember that penthouse at Empire Gates? The owner's finally in town. He requested a meeting at the site about forty minutes ago."
Empire Gates was a multimillion-dollar project. I had been involved in big-money projects before, like the hotel resort in Whistler, but that was nothing compared to the Empire Gates portfolio. I was over the moon and a little surprised when my small company's design brief was chosen.
I knew through the grapevine that larger design firms had thrown their hats in the ring alongside mine, yet Spaces by Alice was chosen. When word got out that we were spearheading the Empire Gates project, the work started to pour in. So, no, even if I wanted to, I couldn't turn down this meeting, no matter how inconvenient it was.
"Oh, wow. You finally get to meet him, huh? I wonder what kind of guy buys the most expensive piece of real estate in the city to renovate."
My lips quirked in a wry smile. "Some fucker who's got more money than sense, that's for sure." Whoever this mogul was, he wasn’t satisfied with the space as it was, which was pretty impressive to start with. He ripped everything out and started from scratch. All via his efficient and very serious assistant, Von.
The lights ahead turned green, and I just managed to make it through as they turned amber. The black-and-white high-rise of Empire Gates came into view, and a trickle of ice slid down myspine, giving me a slight shiver. I frowned and scratched at an itchy spot on my neck.
"Hey, I'm about to pull up. I'll bring some takeout home."
"Nah, I don't want you stopping. Text me when you're on your way home, and I'll order in."
I smiled, already knowing that he'd order my usual Thai. "Okay, sweetie. Love you, see you soon."
I turned into the narrow driveway leading to Empire Gate's underground parking garage before rolling my window down to identify myself to the security team. I had only been here twice, so even though I was highly annoyed to receive a last-minute meeting request from an eccentric and mysterious billionaire, I was also eager to see how the renovation was progressing.
I had quite a few projects that were pulling me in different directions. As the creative director, I was always present during the initial consultation, where we walked through ideas with potential clients. And I also participated in the business development meetings. However, once both parties signed off on a design plan, I handed it off to one of my senior or junior interior designers, depending on the project’s size.
This particular project, which I had internally nicknamed The Phantom Penthouse since the owner was nowhere to be found, was currently overseen by two of my senior designers whom I trusted implicitly. I checked in with them at our daily morning meeting and had a separate catch-up in the middle of the week. I was more than confident that everything was on track. I hoped Mr. Angelou was satisfied, and if not, I would have no trouble bringing up the forms and design concepts he had his assistant sign off on.
As I rode the private elevator up to the penthouse suite, that same odd trickle climbed up my spine, causing that spot on the side of my neck to pulse again. It was like a phantom itch that I couldn't find and had only gotten worse as the day progressed. Imade a mental note to check my washing detergent when I got home. Perhaps David had switched brands when he'd last done our grocery shop.
The doors slid open with a quiet swish, and I entered the sparse hallway. For such a vast place, progress had been surprisingly fast. My heels echoed against the newly installed dark wooden floors as I ambled through the space, noting each feature.
I breathed deeply, inhaling that addictive scent of fresh wood and paint. I always loved that smell.
My footsteps faltered as a new scent invaded my senses. It was slightly spicy, a mix of leather and sandalwood, with the most enticing undertone I couldn't quite discern. I took another deep breath, biting back a moan as the delectable aroma wafted over me. What the hell was that? Whatever it was, it made me want to bottle it and spritz it onto my pulse points. Maybe the owner had a discreet fragrance on a timer that sporadically sprayed the room.
My footsteps echoed as I continued through the large space. The penthouse was over eight thousand square feet and spanned two floors. It had five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a kitchen, a private elevator, a dining room, and a three-thousand-square-foot outdoor patio, with rooftop views of the city.
It also boasted a games room, a study, an office, and a great room. I wasn't sure whether Acheron Angelou had a family, as there was very little information on him online. His personal assistant was also tight-lipped about what the penthouse would be used for. Not that it was any of my business. As long as he paid the invoices on time, he could use it as a sex dungeon for all I cared. I had only been informed that Mr. Angelou acquired properties worldwide and wanted a base rather than staying in hotels. Personally, I thought an eight-thousand-square-foot penthouse was a bit much for a property that would rarely beused, but that was rich people for you. They burned their money on the most frivolous things.
But one thing I couldn't accuse Mr. Angelou of was having bad taste. The decor he meticulously chose was dark, Gothic, and moody. It could easily lean on the gaudy side of tastes, but instead, it was elegant, decadent, and moorishly sexy.
While dark was a recurring theme, Mr. Angelou chose to use black sparingly; instead, focusing on dark, vibrant colors that were rich and dramatic. The rooms had mixes of emerald green, deep burgundy, ruby red, dark blue, and gold.
He picked bold and elegant materials for his couches, bedding, and drapes—silk, satin, and velvet. Every piece of furniture was bespoke and created by a mix of his personal supplier and our own. He also had a few ornate display pieces coming in from Italy and Romania. It was my dream furnishing, and if David weren't so turned off by "dark and morbid," I would've decorated our home as such.
Because of the ornate and bespoke furnishings, the project would take an additional two months than anticipated to complete. I planned to oversee the last few weeks, but I was pretty happy with what my team had achieved so far.
I strolled toward the panoramic windows, drawn by the dramatic backdrop of the orange sky against the cityscape. It really was the most spectacular view, even though the window’s darkness slightly obscured it.
Mr. Angelou had chosen to tint the windows and added black-out shades that lowered at the touch of a button. It was an odd finish but seemed fitting for someone whose presence hung over me like a stormy cloud.
