Chapter Two
Bastian
Out of Darkness
Je suis absent. Je ne suis pas présent. I am not fully in the present.
A wave of déjà vu crests over me as I pass through the double glass doors and into the expansive, marble-clad foyer of GeoRock Inc.’s New York office tower. It feels strange being back here, even though it’s a secure fortress of my own making. This is my company. My domain. So why the fuck is it damn near suffocating?
I draw a deep breath, determined to go on; to let this bullshit feeling pass and root myself firmly in the here and now, not the ghostly realm of the past. I don’t have time for that anymore; enough years were wasted mourning the dead.
My Nunn Bush soles echo against the gleaming tiles as I approach the tower’s security. The guards look at me with odd expressions, their eyes unwavering as I come to a stop directly in front of them.
“Mr. Kingsley,” the head guard says, a smile of sudden recognition carving across his bearded face. “Welcome home, sir.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” It’s only a part-lie. I am happy to be back in the land of the living, but even Goliath had a weakness. Mine is my son, Mica, who I left with Celine’s family back in Roussillon. There’s an ocean between us that may only get wider in time.
I shake off the specter of Celine once more, my face going from civil to stern in seconds, so these guards don’t forget the kind of man their boss really is.
The head guard must have noticed the shift in my temperament because he waves off the man with the body scanner, and steps back, almost with reverence, to let me pass.
“Have a pleasant day, sir,” he says with a nod.
I don’t return the gesture—I’m not here to make friends with employees—and proceed to the elevators behind the security desk. The C-suite on level 49 is my stop, but I can barely remember what my office looks. If anything has changed, I won’t know it. Furniture, carpeting, even the view could be different. The Big Apple never stops growing, and in this scenario, the Apple takes a bite out of me, not the other way around.
New York City demands my presence with the opening of the new mine site in South Africa. I’d given my Executive Board the reins in my absence, trusting their judgment on most matters, including the approval of new projects. I’d been consulted on this one, however. The entire company knew I’d have trepidations about re-entering the South African market. The guilt and pain had hung over me like a shroud since the collapse of the previous mine near Pretoria seven years ago. The one that took everything from me; my reputation, my sanity, and my precious Celine. She and sixteen others lost their lives in the disaster, and it wasn’t just the world that had screamed for answers. I had too.
My publicists gave the media only enough to satisfy them to back off; give me time to disappear and lick my wounds. The press releases said that the causes were unknown and under investigation, and in a series of timely leaks, told the masses that Celine died of a mysterious ‘jungle fever’ born in the humid African ecosystem.
I shake my head. Such merde the public is fed. No one knows the whole truth, and they never will, if I can help it. The success of this new North Cape mine will be instrumental in lifting the ugly cloud of suspicion that hangs over GeoRock.
With a soft chime, the polished steel doors open before me. Suddenly the paneled cabin of the elevator reminds me of the last day I’d stepped inside the main shaft of the mine at Pretoria, and I hesitate, mild panic edging under my skin. I shrug it off and step into the cab. I have no choice but to go forward; like I said, enough time has been wasted on things that can’t be changed. I don’t have time for regret or indecision anymore.
As the heavy doors begin to slide closed, I hear a clatter of footsteps and a voice from outside. “Hold the elevator please!” It’s breathy and desperate, and on reflex, I press the appropriate button on the control panel.
A tiny bundle of swirling female energy appears at the entrance and practically falls into the cab, panting for breath.
“Thanks,” she says, glancing my way hastily. “I owe you one.”
I can’t help but smile, a whirlwind of fresh eagerness pouring off of her, like the one I used to have. Shit, that feels like it was centuries ago now. Where did I lose that along the way? I look at this young woman who’s, at least, half my age, and I suddenly feel ancient; washed up and burned out.
The cab starts its express trip upward, and she fusses with her skirt and blouse that have gone askew in her sprint from wherever she came from. Her shiny, brunette hair skims her shoulders in a carefree style that only under twenty-fives seem to be able to pull off, then straightens and turns her face to mine. Her startling blue eyes pierce me like a Zulu spear. Their color stirs one word in my geologist’s brain… Aquamarine. Pure and luminescent like the precious stone, and ringed with a band of deep blue-gray. Their exuberant clarity is on the verge of lightening my mood when suddenly they darken and her dainty, pink-glossed lips part in surprise.
“Oh,” she says, backing into the wall. “Mr. K-Kingsley… I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you,” she stammers.
My own lips purse in amusement. “That appears to be the theme of the day, so far. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?”
“Snow, Mara Snow,” she says, recovering a little. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, sir.” She actually blushes right in front of me, her creamy clear complexion sprouting rosy blooms on her cheeks and forehead. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen something so ingenuous. It reminds me of watching a water lily open in a hidden jungle pool. Rare, marvelous, and breathtaking to behold.
“Likewise, Mara.” I nod in an aloof, professional manner; one that I’ve honed over a lifetime, and conveys absolutely no emotion or intent.
“It’s my first day,” she confesses. “I’m a new geology intern here at GeoRock, and I’m a little nervous.”
Geology intern? Didn’t see that coming. It’s almost a damn crime for such a pretty thing to be cooped up in a dreary lab, sieving and categorizing samples. There has to be some HR mix-up. How could this lovely, little sex-on-legs possibly be interested in rocks? It seems to contradict nature—a bright, showy flower condemned to the dull depths of subterranea. The proverbial canary in a coal mine. It reminded me of… No. No, I told myself. Don’t go there. I’d caught myself lapsing into visions of Celine once today already, and it’s barely eight o’clock in the morning. Even once was too much, if I had any chance of getting on with my life and saving my business empire.
Yet this spritely nymph does remind me of her; there is no getting away from it. The same sleek brunette hair, delicate features, and a knockout figure that no lab coat in the world is going to disguise. Perky tits and long shapely legs—exquisite gams that deserve better than the sensible but unfortunate flats she’s currently wearing on her feet. A pair of shimmering satin stilettos would accentuate the curve of her calves. All of that wrapped around a keen, analytical brain. That was Celine to a T.
“No need to be nervous,” I say, my eyes fixating on her upturned collar that she missed realigning over the lapels of her sweater. On instinct, I reach out and touch it, sliding my thumb and forefinger along the stitched edge and adjusting the fold. I press it neatly into place, my hand inadvertently skimming the smooth line of her jaw. She visibly shivers, and I blink to make certain I’m not hallucinating. Was that a quiver of revulsion or attraction? Something in me hopes it’s the latter. The blue jewels of her eyes hold mine for a long moment, and what I see within feels deep and untapped, like an undiscovered seam of precious gems.
Aquamarines.
The elevator cab slows, nearing its destination, and brings this surreal moment to an end. Then it occurs to me that the lab is in the basement. I break our oddly hypnotic connection to glance at the control panel. We’ve gone straight to the top floor without interruption.
“Were you looking for the geotechnical analysis department?” I ask. “If so, I’m afraid you’ve gone up a few floors too many.”
“Oh,” she says swiftly, snapping out of our mutual trance and following my gaze to the panel where number 49 has just lit up. The cab comes to a halt and the chime sounds. “Oh, yes I… Darn it.” She babbles, a look of panic mixed with embarrassment coloring her face. “I guess I took the wrong elevator.”
The doors slide open, and I take a step forward, bracing them open with my arm. “Well, Miss Snow,” I say. “I hope the rest of your day goes better than your mastery of hydraulic lifts.”
“Thanks… me too,” she replies, flashing a weak grin that’s both adorable and sexy as all hell, but doesn’t quite hide the mortification over her mistake. I smile inwardly, hoping she didn’t take offense to my uncharacteristic display of sarcasm. After all, she’s no security guard. I wouldn’t mind “getting to know” her more, and I don’t mean in a professional capacity.
“Well, good luck and welcome to GeoRock,” I say, but keep my voice stiff and businesslike. I turn away and step off the elevator into my cushioned CEO’s enclave before I can say anything else out of character.
Through the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, directly across from where I stand, the gleaming vista of Manhattan is spread out before me. It sparkles even through the smog that’s descended on the city. But the view isn’t nearly as stunning as the wide-eyed blue gaze of the girl I’ve just embarrassed in the elevator. I suck in a big breath and let it out again, coming to the realization that it’s more than my first day back on the job, too. It’s the first day of my new life, and time to let go of the past.