“No, miss.” Marcus took her hand and squeezed. “You have to stop him.”
Chapter 21
Kat wasn’t sure what was going on then, but she’d spent too much of her life as the girl with the plan to sit on the sidelines of whatever was happening. She pushed through the halls of Hale Industries, the cubicles and conference rooms spiraling out like a maze, and she didn’t know where to go. So she stopped, heart pounding. And listened.
“Gloria, red looks good on you,” someone said.
And there he was. Hale was strolling easily down the center aisle, slapping a man on the back and asking, “Hey, Jones, how’s the baby?”
“Hale,” Kat said, struggling to catch up. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go home, Kat,” he told her, never breaking stride until he finally came to rest in front of the woman who sat stoically guarding the corner office.
“Mr. Hale,” the woman said, a little too much emphasis on the word Mister for Kat’s liking. “I was not expecting you today.”
“Hello, gorgeous.” Hale smiled and sat on the corner of the woman’s immaculate desk. “I tried to stay away—I really did. But I knew you were up here, and I just had to come say hi.”
“Delightful,” the woman said. “And you brought a guest.”
She slid her icy glare from Hale to the girl behind him. Kat shifted and was acutely aware of the fact that the skirt Gabrielle had chosen for her was too short. She wanted to rappel down the elevator shaft and disappear.
“I had to show off the empire. So, have you missed me?” Hale reached down to polish the Hale Industries Employee of the Year plaque that sat beside the woman’s computer. “I’m sure you must have missed me.”
“It was a struggle, sir. But we’ve managed.”
“Glad to hear it.” Hale winked, then he walked toward the wide, sweeping stairs that led to the floor above.
“Go back to the launch, Kat,” Hale said once they reached the thirty-eighth floor. This time there was no receptionist, no guard. So Kat and Hale walked, unbothered, to the big mahogany double doors that read W. W. HALE V in gold embossed letters, and Kat recalled what Marcus had told her.
“So, this is your office?” Kat pointed to the words; but then Hale turned the doorknob, pushed, and bumped right into the heavy wood.
“Or not,” Kat said when, again, the door didn’t budge.
“Seriously, Kat. You can go. Now.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
Hale pulled a small leather-bound tool kit from the backpack he carried, and two seconds later, the door was swinging open.
“I’m through talking.” He pushed inside a room with plush couches and tall windows, silk curtains, and an oil painting of an English manor. It didn’t look like the heart of a cold, corporate world. It was more like a sitting room. A parlor.
Hale walked to the empty desk, plopped the backpack down on top of it, and rummaged inside.
“I like your office,” Kat tried again. She couldn’t bring herself to face him, so she reached out to let the curtains run through her fingers. “Did you use a decorator?”
“Yeah. My grandmother,” Hale said, and Kat went still.
She hadn’t thought about exactly where they were, but the reminders were everywhere. The tall bookshelves behind the desk were covered with family photos and books, plaques from assorted charities, and mementos of a life well lived. But only one frame sat on the desk. Kat reached for it, looked down on a fourteen-year-old Hale in a uniform she recognized, a burgundy cardigan over heavy gray trousers.
“I don’t miss those sweaters,” she said, remembering the way the wool itched against her skin during the three months that she had run from her world to Hale’s.
Hale took the photo from her, placed it facedown on the desk. “I don’t miss anything from Colgan. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a small window and a lot to do.”
“What, Hale? What are you going to…” But Kat trailed off when she saw what had been in the backpack. Cable and harnesses, a small device used to open windows. Kat’s heart began to race.
“Hale, when you said you had work to do, did you mean your kind of work or our kind of work?”
“What’s the matter, Kat?” Hale ran the cable through its harness and secured the other end to a load-bearing beam in the corner of the room. “Don’t you like being out of the loop? I know I did.”