Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
His brusque voice cuts me off. “I know who you are.”
My brows furrow. “We’ve never met,” I clarify. I’m sure of it.
“You look just like your brother,” he explains.
He takes me in for another moment—assessing, no doubt—and then Kendra finally reaches us.
“I’m sorry! My bag spilled.”
Ignoring her apology, Hudson waves us through, and we enter his domain. I’ll be honest, it’s less hostile than I was expecting. No burning hellfire. No extreme blast of heat. Not even a single stray black cat. On the contrary, there’s a light floral scent in the air and beautiful furnishings artfully arranged in the sitting area, but I doubt Hudson had anything to do with the hospitable environment.
Past a series of offices, he knocks on an open door, drawing the attention of a tall black-haired woman sitting at her desk.
“Sophie, they’re yours, though I’d like a quick word with Scarlett before you start.”
The woman—Sophie Smith, I assume, from her plaque on the wall—nods and invites Kendra to come into her office.
Hudson looks at me and says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral director that we can go to his office down the hall. On the way, we pass more offices before we dead-end at another smaller sitting area, this one circular. His own personal space. There’s a coffee station on one side and a desk on the other. We walk past Hudson’s receptionist, a tiny older woman wearing a pink wool blazer and matching skirt. She looks up as we pass, her pale blue eyes assessing me over the top rim of her glasses. She smiles then goes back to sipping her tea.
Interesting.
At the threshold of his office, Hudson allows me to enter first. I catch the subtle scent of his cologne, and then he shuts the door behind us and I get sidetracked. I survey the space quickly because I’m nosey and god knows when I’ll get another chance to be in here. I fully plan on rectifying this wrong the first chance I get. By the end of the day, I’ll be on Amaya’s service and Hudson will be somewhere, I don’t know…weeping, probably.
His walls are paneled and lacquered in blue-gray paint that I love. His desk is made of deep brown wood—an antique from the looks of it. There’s a wall of built-ins housing what looks to be an entire law library. Across from that there’s a door that likely leads to a personal bathroom. Ah, the perks of being a partner.
Two large landscape paintings are hung beneath gallery lights on opposite walls, similar in style to a few I saw out in the hallway and sitting area. They’re abstract and full of my favorite colors, sage green chief among them. In another life, I’d enjoy asking him about them, maybe even inquiring about the artist, but that’s definitely not happening here and now. I’ve been summoned for unclear reasons, but I am sure they don’t have anything to do with idle chitchat.
Hudson’s gone behind his desk and taken a seat. Failing to offer me one is yet another thing to add to my growing list of grievances.
Worse still, he doesn’t immediately get on with it. He leans forward, drops his elbows onto his desk, and looks me over. I manage about three seconds of his undivided attention before I transform—yet again—into a firecracker. I have a short fuse this morning. Blame it on the bird.
With my bag hiked up on my shoulder, it’s easy enough to cross my arms. “If you’re hoping for an apology concerning what just happened in that conference room, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
For even more dramatic effect, I cock my chin in a show of resolute stubbornness and defiance.
I wish I could say I never behave like this, but truth be told, you don’t survive growing up with three arrogant older brothers without finding some way to defend yourself. On top of that, I also spent my youth at an intensely exclusive private school filled with kids practically salivating at the chance to take advantage of my every weakness. My mouth has always gotten me into trouble, but when dealing with authority figures, I can mostly rein it in. It’s been years since it’s landed me in hot water like this.
I guess Hudson is just special.
“Not good at delivering apologies?” he asks mildly. “I’m not surprised.”
Well there it goes, the last ounce of decorum left between us.
“Right. Let’s just cut to the chase then, shall we?”
His lip quirks before it flattens into a harsh line. “I brought you into my office to let you know that on top of doing any and everything requested of you by Sophie Smith and the other senior associates, you will also take ownership of any tasks I give you. Consider it a sort of favoritism in reverse.”
Favoritism.
Ah.
I now understand clearly what this is. No doubt, he thinks this turn of events will cause me to erupt with protest, but at this point in my life, I’m utterly resigned to my fate. Here’s the funny thing about nepotism: everyone always assumes having influential parents opens every door for you, but for every door it opens, it also slams one directly in your face.