Nightingale (19 page)

“But these Oomph colors look really great, really vibrant,” Piper said.
 

She unscrewed a red lipstick from the kit and showed it to me. My nose twitched, and I caught an acrid whiff of sulfur, a disgusting, noxious smell that left me nauseated.

“Ugh.” I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t put that on your hand, much less your lips.”

“Why not?” Piper asked.

“Because it smells like a rotten egg.”

Sabrina leaned over and sniffed the lipstick. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Trust me,” I said. “It reeks. It must be a bad tube or something.”

Piper put the lipstick away, and we talked more about the two makeup companies. I opened my mouth to ask Sabrina another question, when she leaned over and grabbed my chin. She had a strong, firm grip, like she could crush my head with her bare hand if she wanted to. It was a little unsettling, as was the critical look she gave me.

Sabrina tilted my head from one side to the other. “You know, you have beautiful skin. What do you use on it?”

“Just soap, water, and sunscreen.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “No exfoliators? No moisturizers?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Peppermint lip gloss is about as close to makeup as I get.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Sabrina said.

#

I left Piper and Sabrina and arrived at Wesley Weston’s building five minutes before ten. Weston Corp. had its headquarters in one of the downtown area’s many skyscrapers, right next to
The Exposé
. One Weston Square was a bit shorter than the other buildings, but more than made up for it with its unique architectural design. The outside reminded me of wedding cake—one with square, even layers stacked and twisted at varying angles on top of each other.

I pushed through the revolving doors and looked up. The inside of the building was a hollow oval, with wide, carpeted ramps crisscrossing up to the top floors. A big sign screaming
Get Some Direction Here!
hung over the information desk. I signed in as a visitor and got a plastic pass to clip to my coat. The guard behind the counter directed me to an elevator in the corner of the lobby, marked by a big bronze arrow.

“That goes up to Mr. Weston’s private office.” The guard fixed his gaze on Rascal, who poked his nose out of my jacket once again. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave the dog down here.”

“The dog’s coming with me,” I said. “Believe me, I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

After his barking fit, Rascal had settled down, but I’d spent the rest of the night breathing in puppy chow breath. I’d drifted off about two in the morning, only to be awakened by a tongue bath at seven, and Rascal’s breath had gotten worse overnight. Ugh.
 

After meeting with Piper and Sabrina, I’d headed to my office, hoping to leave the puppy with Chloe, but she’d already gone over to the Bigtime Public Library to check on the details for tonight’s dedication. I tried to leave Rascal in my office until Chloe came back, but he’d let out another pitiful whine as soon as he realized what I was up to. So, I brought him with me. That way, at least my furniture wouldn’t get chewed, peed, or pooped on.
 

The guard opened his mouth to argue with me, but I cut him off.

“Listen,” I said, giving him the hard, cold stare I reserved for Kyle Quicke. “Mr. Weston has hired me to plan a very important shindig for his company. I have to put together the party of the year in less than a week’s time. So you can either let me go upstairs with the dog and do my job, or I can turn around and go back to my office. And
you
can explain to Mr. Weston why you wouldn’t let me up to see him.”

The guard paled at my words, as I knew he would. I’d gotten pretty good at reading folks over the years, learning how much pressure to apply, when to berate, when to cajole, when to just ask nicely. There was nothing an employee feared worse than upsetting his boss, even if that boss was a certifiable angel of hope, faith, and charity.

“Go right on up, ma’am,” the guard said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
 

“That’s what I thought.”

#

I got into the elevator and pushed the button marked
Penthouse
. Like most of the city’s wealthier citizens, Wesley chose to do business on the very top floor of his building so he could have a commanding view of the significant piece of Bigtime that he owned.
 

The elevator doors
pinged!
open, the abrupt sound stabbing my brain. I winced and rubbed my temples. It was a good thing the party was being held at the convention center. Hopefully, today would be the only time I had to ride in this noisy elevator.
 

I stepped outside, expecting to find myself in a hallway or antechamber manned by a secretary. Instead, the elevator opened into a massive room that took up the entire top floor. Thousands of square feet stretched out in front of me, decorated here and there by clusters of plaid couches, leather chairs, and metal tables.
 

But the waterfall was what caught my attention.
 

Jagged black rocks made up one entire wall of the penthouse. Water flowed down the rocks and formed a gurgling pool. That pool, in turn, became a stream that cut across the floor, flowing under a bridge. The smooth, round arch contrasted with the sharp points of the rocks. Ying and yang, as it were.
 

I closed my eyes. The steady hiss of the waterfall drowned out the ambient noise from the rest of the building. A bit of spray wafted onto my face, cool and refreshing.
 

The room also smelled strongly of mint. My eyes flicked to the other side of the bridge, where Wesley Weston sat behind a desk made of silver metal and sleek blue glass. Today, the businessman wore a pair of gray corduroys topped by a cobalt-blue sweater. He bent over his desk, staring at some papers. Spotlights dangling from the ceiling picked up the dark chestnut streaks in his hair and highlighted the sexy stubble on his chin.
 

I stood there, staring at Wesley. He must have sensed my gaze because he looked up from his desk.

“Abby,” he said. “Right on time.”

“It’s a bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.”

“Please, come in.”

I crossed the bridge and walked to the desk. It took several seconds. Wesley’s eyes followed my progress, making me feel awkward and self-conscious. I hurried my steps and stumbled over my own feet, having to grab on to the bridge for support. Rascal let out a warning bark, not wanting to be squashed. I righted myself and walked on, trying to ignore the hot, aching blush screaming across my cheeks. Finally, I reached the desk.

“It’s nice to see you again, Abby.”

“You too, Mr. Weston.”

We shook hands, and the familiar, inevitable tingles rushed through my body, tumbling from my hand down into the soles of my feet.

He smiled. “Please, call me Wesley. Everyone does.”

“Okay, Wesley.”

His gaze fell on my chest, lingering there. Was he checking me out? My heart started to pound—

Until an insistent
yip-yap
reminded me exactly what—or rather who—he was looking at.

“And I see you brought your dog, too. How are you today, little fella?” Wesley asked.

Rascal let out a happy bark and squirmed around, trying to leap out of my vest and onto Wesley. I unbuttoned my coat, grabbed the puppy, and put him on the ground. Rascal darted under the glass desk and pounced on the brown tassel on Wesley’s loafer.

“Sorry about bringing him,” I said, laying my coat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “I was going to leave him with my assistant, but she’d already gone out to a job site.”

“It’s not a problem.” Wesley shook his foot to make the loafer tassel wiggle back and forth. Rascal growled, his eyes fixed on the waving scrap of leather. “Like I said before, I like animals.”
 

“Well, thank you for understanding.”
 

“No problem.”
 

He leaned down and scratched Rascal’s ears. The puppy grunted and leaned into the businessman’s leg. I stared at Wesley’s fingers as they sank into Rascal’s fur. I remembered the feel of those long, hard fingers trailing down my body. The exquisite torture they had wrought in their wake—

I shifted in my chair, an ache building between my thighs.

“Is something wrong?” Wesley asked.

“Of course not. I was just admiring your, um, office.”
 

He quit petting Rascal and took the chair behind his desk. The puppy decided to go exploring, sniffing his way along the carpeted floor.

My eyes flicked to Wesley’s desk. Papers and grainy black-and-white photographs of a woman covered the surface, along with what looked like lab reports. Wesley saw me staring at them, picked them up, and flipped them over. The obvious lack of trust didn’t bother me. He could have been looking at company secrets. Not exactly something you wanted to share with a woman you thought you’d just met yesterday.

While he shuffled around papers and photos, I latched on to the first thing that popped into my mind to fill the silence. “You know I haven’t been in this building since the city sold it to help pay for the damage done by Morgana Madison and her alter ego, Malefica.”

Morgana Madison had been one of Bigtime’s richest women and the owner of the newspaper,
The Exposé.
But she’d also had a darker side, moonlighting as Malefica, the leader of the Terrible Triad, the city’s most feared ubervillain team. As Malefica, she’d had all sorts of superpowers, including telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with her mind. As Morgana Madison, she wielded almost as much influence. But Malefica, aka Morgana, had disappeared a while back after being in a building-leveling battle with the Fearless Five. At least, that was what the rumor mill kept spouting. Nobody knew exactly what had happened to Morgana, but her assets had been auctioned off to help pay for improvement projects around the city.

“It’s been a long, slow job, but we’re almost done with the renovations,” Wesley said.

“It’s very impressive,” I admitted, staring at the waterfall. I could close my eyes and listen to the sound of falling water all day long. “Especially the waterfall. It’s just gorgeous.”

“You like it that much?” he asked.

“Oh yes.”

I felt Wesley’s eyes on my face, so I kept staring at the waterfall. And I realized there was something strange about it—a pattern hidden in the rocks. It almost looked like two giant cracks cut down the middle of the fall. I squinted harder, trying to bring the jagged rocks into supersharp focus, but the tumbling water obscured whatever benefit my enhanced eyesight might have provided.
 

“Are you sure your waterfall is structurally sound?” I asked.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It sort of looks like it’s cracked in the middle.”

He hesitated. “Oh, that’s just a pipe that goes farther back into the wall. The builder didn’t do quite as good a job at hiding it as he said he would. You must have very good eyes. Most people don’t even notice it.”

His voice was calm and as smooth as the water spilling down the wall, but he’d caught his breath before he’d spoken, almost as if I’d uncovered his greatest secret. I already knew he was Talon. What could he be hiding that was bigger than that?

I cleared my throat. Time to get on with business. I pulled out the thick binder that contained the information on the rock ’n’ roll theme I’d dreamed up. I’d converted my notes to glossy pages full of charts, graphs, and seating arrangements. I’d even done some quick mock-ups of what the convention center would look like, should Wesley approve my theme.
 

I know some folks would have done a fancy display on their laptop or tablet, but I still liked doing paper presentations. I felt like seeing something on paper made it seem more real and helped people better visualize their events. Plus, it just made it easier for folks to flip back and forth to the pages and points that interested them the most. But I’d also e-mail the information to Wesley when I got back to my office, so he could have an electronic copy as well.
 

“Now, about the party,” I said, starting with my usual pitch. “I came up with an idea for the theme that would reflect the hip vibe. If you could review it now, I would appreciate it. Given the amount of time left, I need to start calling people and finalizing orders today. Even then, I have to warn you that I might not be able to get everything you want.”

“That’s fine,” Wesley said. “This was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Usually, I prefer to act rather than react to business problems, but Octavia O’Hara surprised me.”

“You didn’t think she’d steal Polish away from you?”
 

Wesley leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You’ve done your homework.”

I smiled back. “Another bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.”

“I’m starting to like your bad habits.”

His golden eyes met my green ones. He wasn’t even touching me, but tingles swept through my body, and I began to ache once more.
 

“To answer your question, no,” Wesley said. “I didn’t think Octavia would get Polish considering the generous offer I made Paul Potter and his family. But this isn’t the first time she’s bested me. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”