Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Not the stillness of composure. The stillness of someone who'd just been told that the floor they were standing on was not, in fact, a floor.
Kelly had asked if she was alright.
Chelsea had looked up at her, and the expression on her face—-
"I'm fine, Kelliebear." The voice was Chelsea's, same pitch, same gentle cadence. But the brightness was gone. The scattered warmth was gone. She was speaking the way people spoke when they were reading from a script they'd written for someone else's benefit.
It was the most frightening thing Kelly had ever heard from her.
"I don't know how her stepmother found out, but she got to Mrs. Cannizzaro, and whatever they talked about, it had her—-" Kelly paused, choosing the word that would convey the most with the least room for misunderstanding. "It changed her. I'm sorry, sir, this is my fault, I should have—-"
"It's fine, Kelly. You haven't done anything wrong."
Something in his voice made her go still.
She'd worked with powerful men for most of her adult life. She knew the sound of controlled fury, of cold calculation, of men rearranging the world to accommodate a disruption they hadn't foreseen. Olivio Cannizzaro's voice was none of those things.
It was the voice of a man who'd just been told something he already knew.
"Thank you for letting me know."
The line went dead.
Kelly lowered her phone and looked at the closed door of Chelsea's office, behind which a girl who called her Kelliebear was sitting in silence, and Kelly pressed her back against the corridor wall, closed her eyes, and stayed there.
Thank you for letting me know.
The same words. Three times in less than an hour, from three different people, and each time they came out of his mouth they meant less and cost more, and Olivio could hear himself saying them the way you heard yourself in a recording, recognizing the voice but not the person, aware that the sounds were correct and the meaning was gone.
He reached the lobby.
Amanda was there.
He noticed her before she noticed him, the older receptionist, the one who'd been at the front desk for a decade. She was standing near the elevator bank, and the expression on her face was one he'd never seen on a member of his staff: the expression of a person about to do something that frightened them because the alternative frightened them more.
She stepped into his path.
Amanda's hands were shaking.
She tucked them behind her back because she wasn't the kind of woman who showed her hands when they were shaking, and she wasn't the kind of woman who stepped in front of billionaires, and she wasn't the kind of woman who got involved in things that were above her pay grade and beneath her notice, and yet here she was.
Because of a girl who greeted her like a friend.
That was all it took. A girl in Mary Janes who had every reason to hold a grudge against the two women who'd dismissed her on her first morning in this building, and who instead said hello to them every single day as if the dismissal had never happened, not with the pointed warmth of someone proving a point but with the genuine, baffling warmth of someone who simply didn't know how to hold things against people.
Amanda had watched Rhea's face after Chelsea left this morning. She'd watched the younger woman's thumbs moving over her phone with a viciousness that went beyond venting. And then, twenty minutes ago, she'd overheard enough to put the pieces together, enough to understand that information about Mr. Cannizzaro's business dealings and his wife's schedule had found its way to someone who shouldn't have had it.
She could've reported it to HR and gone back to her desk.
Instead, she was standing in front of a man who could end her career with a phone call, because there was a girl upstairs who was hurting, and Amanda couldn't live with the knowledge that silence made her complicit.
"I'm sorry to just—-to approach you like this, Mr. Cannizzaro—-"
"It's fine. What is it you want to tell me about my wife?"
Amanda's eyes went wide. "H-How—-"
"A long story."
She gathered herself. "I just found out that another employee might have been sharing information about your business deals and Mrs. Cannizzaro's schedule. Enough for someone to put things together and cause trouble."
His face did something she'd never seen. Not anger. Not the cold, executive fury she'd braced herself for. Something moved behind his eyes that she didn't have a word for, and it was there for only a moment before it was gone, replaced by the composure that was as much a part of this man as the suit he wore.
"Please report everything you know to HR."
"Sir—-"
"Thank you for letting me know."
And for the third time, the same words left his mouth, and this time he heard them the way Chelsea would've heard them, as gratitude that was also grief, as politeness that was also a man holding himself together with both hands because if he stopped holding, the thing inside him that was trying to come apart would succeed.