Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Ms. Marks?” She stops in front of me, her brow furrowed. My lips part as I nod at her.
“That’s me.”
“Very good. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Barbara Olson, Mr. Archer’s assistant. Come along now. Mr. Archer is in such a mood today, which isn’t necessarily uncommon. But seeing as you’re a bit late, I wanted to warn you.” She grimaces, and it doesn’t matter how peaceful this place is, all good feelings are gone, and I am instantly on edge again.
Barbara starts to walk into the building, and I follow suit.
I try to remain calm as the doors automatically open, but when I step inside, I’m having a tough time keeping my cool as a whispered, “Wow,” escapes my lips.
If I thought the outside was special, it has nothing on the inside.
Clean lines.
All glass.
Plush vegetation everywhere.
Trees, flowers. It’s as if we’re on the mountain.
But it’s the smell that does me in. It smells like a warm summer day. A crisp fragrance of flowers but not overwhelming. No, it’s a perfect balance. Hints of jasmine and lemon. If I closed my eyes, I might almost think I’m standing outside.
It’s truly like nothing I have ever seen before.
I refuse to show my awe, so I keep my head held high, back straight, and follow her through the lobby. The hallway is large, open, and all glass as well.
It’s strange because, from the outside, you should be able to see inside, but the glass is reflective.
It’s a mirror. The reflection of the trees bounces off it.
We continue to walk. The sound of our heels should click in the air, but there is only silence.
“Why is it so quiet?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“I’ll let Mr. Archer explain the details of his vision. But it is rather remarkable, isn’t it?”
Eerie is more like it.
I don’t answer. There’s no reason to. She knows as well as I do that there are no adequate words to describe this place.
I’m not paying attention when she suddenly turns, and we enter this beautiful, grand conference room that overlooks the atrium entrance of the building.
“Please wait here for Mr. Archer to finish his phone call, and then he’ll speak with you about the property. We have a tour set up for you with one of the property managers, and then later in the week, I have time scheduled for you to interview Mr. Archer before you leave.”
“Thank you, Ms. Olson. I appreciate your help.”
“My pleasure. Just be calm as you speak to him and don’t take any of his negative attitude personally. He most likely won’t listen to what you have to say. He’s a very driven man. He doesn’t seem to care about anyone but himself and his beloved project.”
“Okay,” I draw out as she walks away, and I’m left alone.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath, and then I step toward a chair at the massive glass table. As soon as I do, my gaze shifts around the space, trying to take it all in. This room, again, is floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything is white, the floors blending into the glass. It feels like I’m standing on a cloud. As I gaze around the space, my eyes land on a man standing in the hallway.
My breath hitches when his features come into focus.
His picture didn’t do him any justice.
Frozen in place, I stare at him, holding on to the chair in front of me as my knees are weak.
There, in a white Henley and blue faded jeans, is Cain Archer.
In the picture, he was wearing a suit, but now, obviously dressed casually for work, well . . . All I can say is holy hell.
I don’t move to sit. Nope, I just continue to stare at him. Gawk is more like it. That is, until he notices me in the conference room. His head lifts from whatever he’s looking at on the phone in his hand, and when he does, his piercing brown eyes lock on mine.
If a look could knock a person on their ass, I’d be a pile of limbs on the floor.
It feels like time stands still as we both stand there, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking.
Stop staring. You look like an idiot.
Drool is probably dripping from my mouth by how thirsty this man is making me.
Not a good look for a professional journalist.
I will myself to pull away, but I’m in a trance, and I can’t.
Still staring at me, he walks into the room. “Barbara, will you please come back in here?”
There must be a speaker system set up, as within another minute, Ms. Olson has returned.
“Yes, Mr. Archer, did you want me to bring coffee or water for your meeting?” Barbara’s voice cuts through the air. Mr. Archer coughs, shakes his head, and severs our connection.
Instantly, I feel lost without it.