Mary Wilson - The C.e.o. and The Secret Heiress

She parked her sports car down the street in a public garage, gathered up her small leather tote bag, her purse and her portfolio, then walked up the block along the Christmasy street. The drive had taken forever last night with Matt, but now she seemed to get to LynTech in the blink of an eye. She took a breath, then stepped into LynTech, crossed the lobby filled with the scent of pine from a towering Christmas tree, to head for the elevators near the back. She first went up to the executive level and was thankful that she’d remembered there was a ladies’ restroom immediately to her right in the corridor.

She stepped inside the sitting area done in lavenders and pale turquoise, spotted a small couch and crossed to it. She slipped her tote and the envelope behind the overstuffed pillows, stood back, glanced at herself in the mirrors that lined the walls, then with a flip of her curls, slipped back out into the corridor.

A gray-haired man in a navy uniform was coming down the hall and stopped when he saw her. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“I’m Brittany Lewis. I have an appointment with Mr. Terrel,” she said quickly, then motioned to the offices her father had used for so many years. “Is that his office?”

“No, ma’am, that’s Mr. Holden’s office,” he said, then motioned in the opposite direction. “Mr. Terrel’s down there, the third door on the right.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, then passed him to head to Matt’s office. The thick carpet in the monotoned corridor muffled her footsteps. She stopped by the double doors labeled simply M. Terrel. She pushed back one of the doors, and, as she stepped into the reception area, her heart started to pound.

“Please let him not be here,” she prayed as she looked around the large space, starkly modern in design, with glass and black marble in sleek lines and very little of it. There were a few shelves, a couple of plants, a tiny Christmas tree, all silver and blue, sitting in front of low windows and a huge reception desk. A woman sat behind it, working at a computer, and she looked up as Brittany went farther into the room.

“May I help you?” she asked as she turned toward Brittany.

“Miss Lewis to see Mr. Terrel.”

The woman looked at her for just a fraction of a second too long, before she fell into her “professional” face with a nice smile. “Oh, Miss Lewis, I’m sorry. Mr. Terrel isn’t in yet.”

Brittany was surprised at the degree of relief she felt at not having to face Matt. She smiled, hoping that the expression didn’t look too forced. “Oh, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said with determined politeness. “I was supposed to be here yesterday, but got held up in London. The Season’s in full swing and the parties and shopping….” She rolled her eyes expressively. “Well, you know how it can be.” She waved her free hand. “But I made it, finally.”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.