Page 10 of Trade It All (The Barrington Billionaires 3)
“Yes,” she answered with a nervous laugh.
“Do you want me to take you back to shore?”
She scooted closer against him. “No way. I’m loving this.”
Me, too.
“Mr. Barrington, I’m covering for Ms. Cleary today.” A woman’s voice brought Lance back to the present. She was a mousy brunette with large, thick glasses. An unwelcomed unknown. His regular secretary was on maternity leave, and the temp agency had assured him the woman who had worked for him for the past two weeks would continue there until she returned. Apparently not.
“What’s your name?” Lance asked impatiently. He was already distracted enough without adding the annoyance of training someone new.
“Ms. Niarchos.”
Lance rubbed the back of his tense neck. It wasn’t her fault he was having a shitty week. “Just answer the phone for now. There should be a notebook on the desk with guest log-in information. If I need anything I’ll send you an email.”
Instead of leaving as Lance had expected, the woman walked over to one of his bookshelves and picked up a notebook. “I used to have a journal just like this.”
“Please don’t touch anything in my office.” With a few purposeful strides, Lance was beside her, taking his aunt’s journal out of her hands. Her eyes narrowed slightly, then her expression went blank again. Lance was detail-oriented. It’s what gave him an advantage with people as well as architecture. There was something about her that didn’t fit with the way she presented herself. He’d heard of architect firms planting informants in the offices of their competitors, but he’d never come across it in person. He dismissed the thought as paranoid. “I left some envelopes on your desk this morning. Please make sure they get in the post by noon.”
“Absolutely.” The woman smiled again but didn’t turn to leave. “Have you read it?”
Lance looked down at the journal in his hand. It had belonged to his mother’s sister, Patrice. Emily had read it and thought some of the entries were disturbing enough that she’d wanted to ask Sophie about them. Lance and Kenzi had decided it was better if they read the journal themselves. Kenzi said she’d found nothing but the ramblings of an old woman. Lance hadn’t read past the first few pages. He’d never known his aunt and had no interest in reading about her life. “No.” He turned and put it on his desk.
The secretary met his eyes boldly. “You should. The one I had was chock-full of scandalous secrets. I’ve always wondered why people write things down if they don’t want anyone to know about them. People can’t help it, I suppose. If they know something, they can’t keep it to themselves.”
The whole conversation felt odd, so Lance ended it. “That’ll be all, Ms. Niarchos.”
“Of course, Mr. Barrington.” With that, she left his office, closing the door behind her. Lance returned to his desk and started his computer. On impulse he opened the cover of the journal. Inside he found a black business card that hadn’t been there before. All it had on it was a white phone number. He closed the journal and strode to the door. His secretary was no longer at her desk. Irritated he called down to the Human Resources department to ask where she was. He felt an unusual sensation of unease when he was told there’d been a mix up with the temp agency. No secretary had been sent that day, but one would be there within the hour.
“Then who the hell is Ms. Niarchos?” Lance asked impatiently.
“I’m sorry, who?”
He called down to his security desk and told them that an unauthorized person had been in his office. He wanted IDs checked and a copy of the security tapes for his floor. He was even less happy a few minutes later when the head of his security informed him that there was a glitch in the camera system that morning. Nothing had been recorded.
None of it made sense. Yes, he’d just gotten a huge contract with the city of Boston, but that wasn’t a secret. He picked up the black business card and called the number on it. When he heard someone answer he said, “Who the hell are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter.”
“It does when you pretend to work for me. Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, but what you consider a security system is.”
“If I catch you in my building again—”
An unapologetic laugh. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Barrington. Just read your aunt’s journal.”
What the hell? “What are you talking about?”
“I’d do the legwork for you, but I’m trying not to get involved. I have to say, though, I’m a little disappointed in your family’s lack of curiosity.” The line went dead. When Lance tried to call it back it rang through to a voicemail box that was full.
He called again but no one answered. What the hell?
Lance ran a hand through his hair. If the day wasn’t already crazy enough, it had just taken a bizarre turn. He sat down and opened the journal with the intention of reading it when his phone beeped from an incoming text.
Kenzi. Having lunch at the Bancroft with Dax, Clay, and Willa. She took the job.
No. Not going to happen. Lance dropped the journal into his computer bag, sent out an email to cancel his one o’clock meeting, and strode out of his office.
He sped across town to the restaurant, tossed his keys to a valet, and only slowed his pace once he entered the restaurant. He spotted Willa almost instantly and went to the table without stopping to speak to the hostess.
Kenzi stood when she saw him, “Lance, what a great surprise.”
So that’s how we play this? Okay. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I was about to have lunch alone. Mind if I join you?” He shook Dax’s hand in greeting.
“We’d love that,” Kenzi exclaimed.
Lance pulled a chair over from another table and placed it between Clay and Willa. He accepted a menu from a server and ordered a quick sandwich since the others already had plates of food in front of them. After handing the menu to the server, he looked at Willa, but she didn’t meet his gaze. It gave him a moment to appreciate the simple beauty of her. Her hair was neatly pulled back, exposing the delicate, delicious curve of her neck. His eyes widened as he noted the delicious way her blouse was undone. From where he was he could see the curve of her breast. Would it still fill his hand perfectly as it had all those years ago?
“What brought you to this side of town?” Clay asked drolly.
Step one: keep Clay and Willa in Boston. “Clay. I’m starting a preliminary assessment of the city properties abutting the capitol building. I could use your experience with modernizing the historic ones to code.” Lance accepted a glass of water from the server.
Kenzi sat forward. “I thought you said—” Her eyes darted around the table, and she dropped what she was about to say and instead said, “That’s fantastic.” She turned to her friend. “Willa, you love old buildings. I bet you’d also be an asset to the project.”
Willa looked across at Clay. “I’m sure I’ll be too busy to add anything else to my plate yet.” With her hands still carefully folded, she directed her next comment to Lance. “I read an article about the Capitol Complex. It’s a daunting responsibility.”
“I like a challenge,” Lance said while looking her directly in the eye. The air was charged with the sexual tension that was always present with Willa. Even something as simple as sitting next to her in a restaurant was enough to set his heart beating wildly in his chest. When she shifted in her chair, her leg brushed against his briefly, and he could have sworn it affected her as much as it did him. He cleared his throat and thought about which parts of the project might lure her to it. “It’s more than just renovating buildings; it’s creating another place for people to come together. Not commercial. The city wants to celebrate the diversity of the community. My task will be to weave the past with the present in a way that showcases Boston’s history while valuing the flavor of what it represents today.”
Kenzi added, “The project could change the heart of the city for generations to come. Wouldn’t it be amaz
ing to be part of something like that, Willa?”
Willa looked down at her plate as if to compose herself then said, “I’m sure it would.”
Clay took a sip of his wine before saying, “Too bad she already has a job.”
Dax ordered a shot of whiskey.
Lance tensed, but forced his tone to remain calm. “Working for you, Clay?”
“Yes,” Clay said, twirling his glass between this fingers. “She’s my personal assistant.”
“What happened to your last one?” Lance asked between gritted teeth.
Clay shrugged. “Never had one. Didn’t think I needed one.” His eyes lingered on Willa’s face for longer than Lance liked. “Until I heard Willa was looking for work.”
