Hudson(11)

“Huh. You sound even more like Alayna Withers than I thought.”

Here’s where I slip. I make my grand mistake and I know it before I start speaking and yet I can’t stop myself. “What do you mean?”

Celia’s eyes light up and I understand exactly why. Just like that, I’ve shown my interest. I’m exposed and there’s nothing I can do to take it back. She’s won. I try to convince myself it’s a small victory, but without being aware of exactly where my disclosure will take me, I already know that it’s not small at all.

“If you’d read the file,” she says calmly, “you’d know.”

So I’m stuck. Either I prod her to tell me or I ask for the file back. Both will expose my intrigue further.

Or I could ask her to leave. If I do, I’ll have to let it all go. Forget my own agenda. Forget the woman with the brown eyes and the hold she has on me.

That hold, though, is unyielding. I can’t let Alayna Withers go just yet. And if I usher Celia out, I will lose my chance to be privy to her plans. I’ve lost no matter what. Now I have to regain ground, take control of the situation.

I rise and head toward the elevator that goes only to my private loft, offering Celia a one-word directive as I do. “Upstairs.” I don’t look to see if she follows me. I know she will and sure enough, she slips in beside me just before the doors close.

“Just like old times,” she mutters under her breath.




I swallow my disgust. It feels directed at her, but it’s actually for me. It sickens me that I’m here again, that we’re sneaking away to discuss matters that have nothing to do with business. As we arrive at the loft, I attempt to stifle the notion that this simple action means that I’m conceding to anything. “This is an inappropriate conversation for my office. That’s all.”

My attempt was futile.

“Exactly,” she gloats. “Like all the conversations we’ve had here in the past.”

I can taste the disgust again at the back of my throat, its bitter flavor very real in my mouth. Though the loft had been everything from a f**k pad to a place to crash after a long day at work, it was always first and foremost our place—mine and Celia’s. Early in our gaming days, it had become our headquarters. We planned and schemed here. Used it as my address to keep our subjects from invading my personal space.

This isn’t the same. I brought Celia up here to give her the impression she was winning. To lower her guard. It was my play. Only, the memories throw me off-kilter as well. I’m prepared for that. Sometimes you have to lose a pawn to save your king.

I head to the refrigerator. Without asking, I pull out a bottle of water knowing it’s Celia’s beverage of choice. I hand it to her and head to the bar to fix my own drink. This encounter requires Scotch. It’s fortunate my schedule is free for the rest of the day. I quickly down two fingers of amber liquid and turn back to my guest. “Let me have it.”

She sits on the couch. “The file or the story?”

“The file.” I’m not interested in her story. It will be twisted to her liking. I take the file from her outstretched hand. She expects me to sit next to her. I take the armchair instead.

I open the folder again with a steady hand. Inside, I have the shakes. I have no idea how I’ll be impacted by what’s in here, but I fear I’m about to fall down the rabbit’s hole. That’s how much I’m affected by the mere idea of Alayna Withers. Settled into the leather at my back, I begin to read.

My eyes scan through the documents. There’s the usual info—copies of her credit report, her birth certificate, a death certificate for her parents. I don’t spend much time on these, only to note her age—twenty-six until November—and confirmation that she does indeed work at The Sky Launch.

Celia’s quiet at first as I read. She knows when to give me space and when to push, but she can’t help commenting when she sees that I’m looking at a copy of Alayna’s latest paystub. “She’s staying there. At that night club. Even after graduation.”

I won’t ask how she knows this. If it’s true, and I’m sure it is if Celia’s sharing it, I would have found it out too. “Why?” I ask instead.

“She wants to use her MBA to move up in management. Take over the place one day, was my impression.” Celia takes a sip of her water. “I chatted with the owner there when I inquired about doing a redesign for them.”

Celia’s worked fast. I’m impressed.

There’s more that she wants to say so I prod her. “And the owner just shared info on his employees?”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t want to be the owner anymore. He’s selling. Asked me if I knew any buyers and highlighted a couple of his key staff to incentivize anyone with interest. I told him I might know someone.” She sits forward, excitement in her features. “There’s your in, Hudson.”

This news rouses me and I’m already looking for excuses to make the purchase. Isn’t it good business? If you can’t get the employee you want, then buy the employee’s company?

Maybe I made that rule up. But I’m a leader in innovative business practices. It could still be an acceptable principle even if I did make it up.

Still, I’m not moved to action. I don’t need Celia to pursue this route if I choose it.