Chapter 3 - Whispers Across the Street
"Alden terminated my contract five minutes ago," I said, the words catching in my throat despite my best efforts.
Mason did not blink.
"On what grounds did Alden Remington terminate the chief architect of my portfolio?"
"I spilled coffee on his white shirt near the reception area," I answered plainly.
Mason looked at Sam, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod of confirmation before staring down at his polished boots.
"Miss Lively is with me," Mason told the guard, reaching out with both hands and effortlessly lifting the cardboard box from my grip.
"Mr. Caldwell, I'm under direct orders from Alden to ensure she leaves the premises," Sam stammered nervously.
"Then tell Alden that if he has an issue with Miss Lively’s location, he can come down to the sidewalk and remove her himself," Mason replied coldly.
He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and guided me into the elevator, pressing the lobby button with decisive force.
The doors sealed us in, cutting off the whispers of the fortieth floor.
As we descended forty stories in total silence, I could hear the faint humming of the elevator cables.
We exited through the revolving glass doors into the chilly Manhattan drizzle.
Mason did not summon his black town car, which sat idling near the granite curb with a waiting chauffeur.
Instead, he carried my box across Lexington Avenue, shielding it with his trench coat until we reached a modest corner diner.
The vinyl booths were worn, the air smelled of fried onions and roasted chicory, and no corporate spies were lurking in the corners.
He slid the cardboard box onto the bench beside him and signaled the waitress for two mugs of hot black tea.
"I don't think I can stomach another drop of coffee today," I admitted, rubbing my temple where a vicious headache was building.
"Tea it is," Mason said softly, leaning his elbows on the laminate table.
"Now tell me the real reason you were escorted out of that building, Harper."
"It really was the coffee, Mason," I sighed, staring out the streaked window at the towering gray monolith across the street.
"Alden has been looking for any excuse to push me out for eighteen months, ever since his father suffered that mild stroke."
"He thinks you're a threat to his consolidation of power," Mason observed, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the tabletop.
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"He thinks I know where the bodies are buried," I corrected him, looking directly into his cold blue eyes.
"And frankly, Mason, I know exactly which accounts he's been looting."
