Chapter 9
Eve pulled her hand back as if she had been burned.
"No," she said quickly. "No, sir."
Delos didn't break eye contact. He opened the folder, but he wasn't reading. He was breathing.
He took a subtle breath in.
Under the heavy scent of the room, there it was. A faint trace of vanilla and jasmine.
He looked at the diamond choker around her neck. It was tight. Aggressive.
"That's a bold piece of jewelry, Miss...?"
"Harmon," Eve supplied, her hand instinctively flying to her neck. "Eve Harmon."
"Eve," Delos repeated. He didn't believe her.
He snapped the folder shut. He turned to Marcus.
"This proposal," Delos said, tapping the blue file. "It's the only intelligent thing I've seen today. Vet it."
Richard let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. "Thank you! Thank you, Delos!"
Delos ignored him. He looked at Eve one last time.
"You have a very... distinct perfume," he said.
Eve felt the floor sway beneath her. "It's common. Drugstore brand."
"I don't think so."
Delos turned and walked out.
Eve grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. She felt like she had just run a marathon.
"You did it!" Julian grabbed her shoulder, shaking her. "He took it! What did you say to him?"
"Let go of me," Eve whispered.
"He liked you," Julian said, his eyes gleaming with a new, gross idea. "He couldn't take his eyes off you."
"I need air."
Eve pushed past him. She limped out of the conference room and headed for the terrace. She needed cold air. She needed to escape.
She stood on the balcony, gripping the railing. The New York wind whipped her hair.
She had survived. He hadn't recognized her. Not fully.
The glass door behind her slid open.
Eve turned, expecting Julian.
It was Marcus.
He blocked the exit. He wasn't smiling.
"Miss Harmon," Marcus said. "Mr. French would like a word."
Eve's heart stopped. "I... I have to go. My father is waiting."
"Mr. Harmon has already been informed," Marcus said. "He was very eager for you to accept the invitation."
Of course he was. Richard would sell her to the devil for a stock option.
"Where?" Eve asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"His private lounge. This way."
Marcus held the door open. It wasn't a request. It was a summons.
Eve walked past him. She felt like a prisoner walking to the gallows.
They walked down a private corridor, away from the noise of the party. The carpet was thick, muffling her footsteps.
Marcus stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door. He knocked once, then opened it.
"After you."
Eve stepped inside.
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