CHAPTER TWELVE
Laurel reached back and pulled her hair around so that the strands fell over her right shoulder. The elevator was taking its sweet old time arriving. It wasn’t good to stand here idle, seeing as her thoughts were spinning around at a million miles per hour.
“No luck?”
She didn’t have to ask Smith what he was talking about, considering he was already aware that she’d left Grace several messages this morning and had continued to try to reach her friend on the drive into the office. Smith had insisted they ride together. It had worked to her advantage, considering she’d been concentrating on trying to call Grace, but now it left her stuck here at the office without a vehicle should she need one.
“No. Cynthia hasn’t heard from Grace, either.” Laurel breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator doors gradually opened as if they had all the time in the world. Smith held his arm out against the door, allowing her to enter the carriage first. “If she’s not here, I might need to borrow your car.”
“Anything you need.” Smith pressed the correct floor number before stepping back to join her. They had gotten ready together this morning, even saving water by using the shower at the same time. Actually, they hadn’t saved any water in her estimate. It was cold by the time they were done. “Are you good to go?”
Smith was subtly asking if she was okay with the two of them walking into the office together. Sure, there had been numerous times in the past when they’d driven into the garage at the same time. It had been nothing but a coincidence then, but now that the word was out? It was on purpose and it made a statement.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Laurel bit the side of her cheek as she pondered on what the next few minutes would entail. She hated being the center of attention in most situations. She was always able to work better flying under the radar, and that included her personal life as well. “Are you? I mean, are you sure you want to make our relationship public knowledge? We can still—”
She hadn’t expected Smith to step forward and reach out to hit the stop button with the palm of his hand. But she was prepared for when he backed her up against the wall of the elevator, though her heart did race at the thought that they might be a little late for this morning’s briefing if he didn’t hurry.
“I took you to Sunday dinner to meet my family.” Smith was so close that all she could do was stare into his dark eyes, so filled with arousal. “There is no going back for me, Laurel.”
This weekend had changed everything.
She didn’t want to admit that something good had come out of this tragedy. No one deserved to die the way Brad had, and it wasn’t fair that he’d died at such a relatively young age. She would give anything to turn back the clock and not find him in such a brutally murdered fashion.
But there was no going back for Brad.
Just as there was no going back on this path she and Smith had found themselves on. Truthfully, it sounded as if he’d been parked there all along, waiting for her to give the all clear so that he could put the car in drive and press on the gas pedal.
Today? The sun was shining, her feet were up on the dashboard, and the wind was in her hair. No, she didn’t want to go back even one miniscule mile.
Spending time with his family had made her realize they were no different than her own. As a matter of fact, Alice Gallo and Brenda Calanthe would most likely get along famously. It had been easy to see that Alice cherished her family, flaws and all. She’d doted on Smith, yet had been stern with Sebastian and his ridiculous antics.
As for Solomon, Alice had put him in his place when needed before showering him with praise on other matters. It was a tactic Laurel had employed with difficult clients on more than one occasion. Alice’s son-in-law, Todd, had not been treated any differently than any of the other siblings.
It was clear to see that the only difference between the Gallos and the Calanthes was the addition of truckloads of currency…said to be the root of all evil. And that would only become a problem should Laurel allow it to happen.
“If you smear my lipstick again, you’re going to have to cover for me at the meeting while I go to the restroom and freshen my makeup,” Laurel whispered, wondering when the elevator had turned into a sauna. A shrill ringing sound suddenly came from somewhere outside the closed doors. No, she didn’t want to change a thing right now other than getting them moving. “It’s one thing to admit we’re involved with one another, but it’s another to be unprofessional in the elevator.”
“And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Smith asked, lowering his head until she felt the searing heat of his lips against the side of her neck. Excitement traveled through her at lightning speed, causing her to tighten her grip on her briefcase. She tilted her chin slightly to the right so that he had full access to her collarbone. The light nip from his teeth all but had her on edge. “I guess we’ll have to continue this after the market closes.”
One thing was a staple in the financial industry, and that was no one got any personal time during market hours. Stocks didn’t stop trading because a person had a dentist appointment or got sick. That specific detail was hit home by the fact that the employees of Manon Investments were going into work on a Monday after the fund’s portfolio manager had been murdered.
Laurel had time to even her breathing after Smith reactivated the elevator, the doors eventually gliding open to reveal Paul.
“Smith, I need to speak with you in my office. Right now.”
Paul didn’t wait for Smith to answer him, but instead, turned on the heel of his dress shoe and marched back through the opened glass doors. It was easy to see Marilyn in her usual spot, staring at her computer as if nothing unusual had occurred.
“Laurel?” Smith must have called her name a couple of times, because he was looking at her with concern. “Are you going to be alright?”
Laurel didn’t want to set foot across the threshold, knowing the location of her office would take her directly down the same hallway leading toward the large office at the end of the corridor where she’d found Brad’s dead body. Nausea rolled over her stomach as flashes of memory hit her like a sledge hammer repeatedly.
“Of course,” Laurel finally managed to reply, holding her head high in spite of what lay before her. She tugged on her suit jacket to make sure it was firmly in place and took a deep breath. It was easier to divert her attention to the upcoming confrontation Smith was about to endure from Paul. It was more than obvious that he’d found out about Smith’s future plans and the fact that they didn’t involve Manon Investments. “The question is…are you going to be alright with Paul?”
Smith flashed her a confident smile, surprising her when he leaned in for a kiss. Only he didn’t press his lips to hers, not stopping until his warm breath was caressing her ear.
“After the innovative way we made my shower work out in our favor this morning, I’m ready for just about anything.”
Laurel stared off unfocused after Smith as he strolled away, easily recalling how the hot water felt against her…
“I need to talk to you,” Grace muttered rather harshly, not stopping as she walked past Laurel after getting off the elevator. She even shot a frustrated look over her shoulder as she rounded the corner to the left.
“Good morning, Marilyn.”
Laurel greeted the older woman just as she did every other morning. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that Marilyn’s eyes were bloodshot and her nose was pink from where she’d been wiping it with a tissue. A sudden wave of residual grief came over Laurel. She’d always compartmentalized things like this, but there were times it slipped out of one of those slots.
“It’s just so different without him here,” Marilyn whispered as her eyes welled up with more tears. She sniffled and wiped the tissue underneath her eyes. “And now Paul has so much on his plate now.”
“This is when we have to be the strongest,” Laurel advised gently, reaching over the wooden counter to pat Marilyn’s hand in comfort. “Brad would want this company to continue in the wake of his passing.”
Laurel figured Marilyn understood the way this industry worked, and that a hedge fund manager was the fund. Without him, it all disintegrated. Hopefully in the most organized fashion possible. Paul could try and bring another big name on board, but it was highly unlikely that would happen in time to keep the clients happy. The chances were that Paul would try to capitalize on the Gallo name in some fashion. Maybe even attempting to convince Smith to stay and take up the reins in Brad’s place, at least in the short term. Laurel understood her words to Marilyn were rather empty, but the sentiment was there.
“Just so you know, I’m having lunch brought into the office today. I can’t imagine what today will turn out being like.” Marilyn cleared her throat and tossed her tissue into a trashcan she had underneath her desk. She sniffled one last time before straightening her shoulders, taking Laurel’s advice about continuing their jobs regardless of their grief. “Meredith is stopping by around noon.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Laurel smiled sympathetically before walking toward her office. Her heels clicked on the marble tile before making contact with the plush carpet that lined the corridor. Unfortunately, her subconscious must have recalled that specific night. The hallway seemed to narrow with each step she took farther down the passageway, her focus solely on Brad’s office door at the very end. It was closed with a small strip of yellow crime scene tape across the frame and an adhesive tamper seal at eye level on the knob side.
“Honestly, I’m surprised they even allowed us the ability to come in today.”
Laurel rested a hand over her heart, which was now beating hard against her chest.
“Damn it, Cynthia,” Laurel murmured, resisting the temptation to swing her briefcase at Cynthia, who’d silently appeared out of nowhere. “You scared the shit out of me, woman.”
“God, you two take forever.” Grace was standing in Laurel’s open doorway, tapping her royal blue heel against the threshold. Her blonde hair wasn’t as perfectly contained the way it usually was on any given workday. A few of her thick tresses had escaped the clip she used to keep her hair back, similar to the way Audrey Hepburn styled her hair back in the ’60s. “I’m having a serious crisis here.”
Cynthia handed Laurel a to-go cup from the café downstairs. She’d known they both would need the extra shot of espresso.
“Shut my door,” Laurel ordered, closing the distance to her desk and setting her briefcase on her chair. The files she’d come in for Friday night sat directly in the middle of her desk, as if taunting more memories to return. She did her best to ignore them as she leaned against the corner of her desk. “Grace, I had to hear from Smith that you’re involved with Rye Marshall. What the hell? I thought we were friends.”
“Don’t even go there with me, Miss It’s Only Great Sex,” Grace reprimanded, pacing the short distance to the window overlooking the busy street below. “Rye and I knew each other long before I came to work for Manon Investments. We, well, we were involved for a while back in college. And out of college, but it’s been over for some time.”
“Were you up front with Detective Nielsen about your former relationship with one of our top competitors?” Cynthia asked, having taken the guest chair. Hardly anything ever ruffled the woman, and she was in total control over her emotions this morning. Her call to Gareth must have gone well or the police were now working another angle besides Gareth Nicollet’s harmless threat from last week. That angle could very well end up being Grace herself. “If so, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“That’s just the thing.” Grace spun around to do another loop. The carpet would likely lose its color from all her pacing, but it wasn’t as if they were all going to be here in a year anyway. “I lied.”
Laurel wasn’t sure why she’d decided to take a drink of the vanilla latte Cynthia had brought at the precise moment. Grace’s admission had Laurel inhaling in disbelief, causing the unfortunate response of the hot liquid getting sucked down the wrong tube. Her coughing fit didn’t stop Cynthia from addressing the major issue they now had to deal with in order to make sure Grace didn’t go to jail.
“Why the hell would you lie to the police?” Cynthia asked, uncrossing her right leg from its comfortable position. She only ever did that when something bothered her or got underneath her skin. Fortunately, she snagged Laurel’s coffee in the same motion. “What were you thinking?”
Laurel managed to get herself somewhat under control before reaching for her vanilla latte again. A part of her wished Cynthia had thought to add something stronger than an additional espresso shot, but that wouldn’t have been acceptable in the office at seven o’clock on a Monday morning.
“I was thinking that I needed to protect Rye from suspicion,” Grace practically spit back. She leaned up against the far wall, having lost all the color in her face. That was evident by the stark streak of blush on either cheek. “I was supposed to have dinner with him Friday night, but he—”
“Back up a second,” Laurel directed, now having received enough oxygen in her lungs to join the conversation. “You said you were involved with him a long time ago. So why were you having dinner with him Friday, and what do you mean by supposed to? Where was he?”
“One thing led to another a while back, but I didn’t think it was appropriate given our careers.”
“I’m glad that thought actually crossed your mind,” Cynthia said wryly, sitting back in her chair with a shake of her head. No one had ever promised her that her role as compliance officer would be easy. “Do you know how this is going to look to that detective? Laurel, you need to call that woman who sat with you during your interview with Detective Nielsen. Grace is going to need someone with her when she explains why she wasn’t exactly forthcoming during her session earlier.”
Laurel realized that she couldn’t do that for Grace, but that didn’t mean Meg Preston still couldn’t be able to have someone else handle this small problem. Okay, it wasn’t so small, but it was still manageable.
“Wait,” Laurel said, buying herself some time to figure out what she could say regarding Smith’s lawyer. Meg had told Smith that it would be better for Josh to have another attorney. “Exactly why weren’t you forthcoming, Grace? I mean, why did you lie for Rye in the first place? And why didn’t you tell us what the hell was going on?”
“I know why she didn’t say anything to me about the man.” Cynthia must have had time to process the mess Grace had gotten herself into, though Laurel still needed time to catch up. Cynthia crossed her legs and settled back into her chair. “I would have told her that she was crazy, even by my rather unorthodox standards. It’s one thing to mix business and pleasure, but quite another thing totally when you could be accused of corporate espionage and murder.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You didn’t say anything to me when you found out I was seeing Smith,” Laurel pointed out, ignoring Grace’s outburst. She was rightfully upset, but she still hadn’t explained why she would lie for the man. It made Laurel realize how fortunate she was that Smith had told the truth regarding her alibi. “Oh, and I met his parents at Sunday dinner…just for the record.”
“I didn’t say anything about you and Smith, because it was all in-house and rather entertaining. You…wait. You met his parents? Oh, my God!” Cynthia had what Laurel referred to as the Cheshire grin, though her lips were as red as her nails. The color went really well with her jet-black hair that was framed toward her face. “Have you finally seen the blinding light and—”
“Could we focus here, please?” Grace practically yelled, her hands now in fists at her side. “Rye was supposed to come to my apartment for dinner Friday night. He was running late. He got to my place around eleven o’clock.”
Laurel and Cynthia both stared at Grace as the time she mentioned sunk in deep. As deep as the hole she was about to find herself in with the police.
“Grace, you realize that the time frame is—”
“I know what the time frame was for Brad’s murder, which is why I lied to the police. And I’m not sure I’m going to say anything further.” Grace tucked the blonde curl back behind her ear and closed her eyes to regain her composure. “Rye swears he had a flat tire driving from his house to my apartment. I believe him, but the police wouldn’t. Why would they? He’d be a perfect suspect. They could wrap this whole thing up with a tidy little bow.”
Laurel tilted her cup and drank a healthy amount of her vanilla latte. Three intelligent women had somehow allowed three men to screw up their lives. That wasn’t fair. She swallowed back her guilt at thinking something so negative about Smith. He’d done everything in his power to make sure she was alright this weekend. He’d somehow barreled past the barriers she’d had in place, and their future looked bright and shiny compared to some.
Well, somewhat bright.
They still needed to address the fact that Smith would like for her to work with him after Manon Investments eventually closed their doors. She wasn’t sure that was all too good of an idea, but she also couldn’t see herself leaving Minneapolis for New York if there was another offer on the table. For one, there was her mother. Two, she and Smith had started to build something that could actually be called a solid foundation of sorts.
“He wasn’t dripping with blood, was he? I mean, you should still tell the police,” Cynthia said, sipping her coffee in between her bit of advice and her insane question. “The city has a million security cameras. Surely there’s a way to prove that Rye had a flat tire somehow.”
“And what if Brad’s real killer figures out that I can’t give Rye an alibi? What if he or she somehow manages to wipe the footage off those cameras, as well? What then?”
“I think we’re giving this murderer too much credit.” Laurel had never been a huge conspiracy theorist. Normally, neither was Grace, but stress could do strange things to a person. The thing of it was, they were all under a great amount of stress losing one of their own. It didn’t help that the police were treating them all as suspects, but they also had a job to do. “You should—”
A knock came at the door, startling all three of them into silence.
“Yes?” Laurel called out after a moment, sharing a look between the two other women. The stock market didn’t open until nine-thirty eastern time, and they were still around five minutes out from their daily morning meeting. She quickly walked back around her desk and dug out Meg’s business card. “Grace, here is Meg’s number. Give her a call and see if she can recommend someone to accompany you down to the station.”
“Laurel?” Marilyn poked her head around the door. Her red nose indicated she’d yet to really gather her composure. “Paul is asking for everyone to assemble in the trading room as soon as possible.”
All three women waited until Marilyn closed the door before speaking.
“No,” Grace responded to Laurel’s offer, doing her best to tame her loose strands before dealing with whatever Paul was about to throw their way. Laurel couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with Smith. “Keep the business card. I’m not saying anything to anyone. My imagination was running away with me. No one is going to try and frame Rye or implicate me in any way.”
Laurel and Cynthia attempted to talk over one another, both of them agreeing that Grace needed to reconsider her stance on providing Rye with an alibi. Cynthia even added on that Paul would eventually discover that Grace was involved with his biggest competitor and call her onto the carpet, per se. It was better to face this head on like Laurel should have done with Smith from the very beginning.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I honestly think silence is the best course of action here.” Grace took a deep breath before stepping toward the door. “Let’s hope we’re being called together right now because there was a break in the case, and they caught the suspect. Maybe the police have captured Brad’s killer, and then we can all get back to our lives without any more drama.”
One by one, they filed out the door. Laurel couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the yellow crime scene tape strewn across the entrance to Brad’s office along with that official-looking seal with two signatures scrawled on it with a sharpie. It still wasn’t real that he was gone, and it was certainly harder to accept that his demise had been in such a horrific fashion.
Grace was right in a way. Everything could return to somewhat normal operations with an arrest and a decent plan for the future. Laurel wasn’t sure what that blueprint looked like at this very moment, but it would be a start to put the Power Point up and get a glimpse of the design.
Would it hold New York City?
Or would Smith and the life he offered be the centerpiece of her future?