it was a pile of ashes did I run water over it, letting it wash down the drain.
I’d never forget her words. I’d never forget the smudged ink from the tears my mother had shed while writing the letter. I didn’t need a physical reminder of my past life because somewhere, in the back of my mind I was already worried that my past wasn’t going to remain in the past, no matter how much I tried to keep it there.
The next morning, I woke up in my hotel suite at The Rex. It took me a moment to process where I was—I’d been bouncing around so much it was hard to feel settled.
Autumn sunlight streamed through the curtains I hadn’t bothered closing the night before. I’d wanted to wake up with the sun. I looked at the alarm clock. It was just past seven. I got up and showered and was just about to call room service for breakfast when my work cell phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Genevieve: Meet me in my office in an hour.
I sent back a confirmation text and then ordered breakfast. There were a few items of clothing in my closet, and I was able to piece together a decent outfit. I wore the black ballet flats Tiffany had called out for.
Five minutes prior to my meeting with Gen, I grabbed my cell and suite key and left the room and headed for her office.
Annika smiled at me as I arrived. “You look like you slept well.”
I paused and then nodded. “I did.”
“You can go on in. She’s ready for you.”
“Thanks.”
I knocked on the door of Gen’s office and then entered. The woman didn’t know the meaning of dressing down. She was in what I was learning was her signature look. Another black, form-fitting dress, sheer black hose and three-inch stilettos.
She was perched on the arm of the leather couch and in the matching chair was a man with dark curls. His green eyes peered at me with interest as I came into the room and shut the door.
He rose slowly and I noted the breadth of his shoulders and the three-piece suit he wore.
I frowned in confusion.
“Eden,” Gen greeted. “Thank you for coming.”
It was a formality, of course, since I worked at The Rex and Gen was my boss.
“Ramsey Buchanan,” the man said in a Scottish brogue, stepping forward and holding his hand out to me.
I took it as I studied him.
He reminded me of Hadrian. Not physically, the two men were not built similarly. And I could tell Ramsey wore his suit and polish comfortably, unlike Hadrian—who seemed like he would’ve been content wearing animal pelts and carrying an axe covered in the blood of his enemies.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmured.
He gestured to the empty chair across the coffee table and I sat.
“You don’t know who I am,” he said.
I shook my head.
“I run The Dallas Rex.” He studied me. “I watched your interview with Genevieve.”
“Watched? You mean I was being filmed?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“Honey, you’ve been filmed from the moment you stepped out of the town car outside The Rex,” Genevieve said dryly.
Ramsey knew, then. About my past and why I’d come to The Rex for help.
“The reason I’m here,” he continued, “is because something unusual has happened. You’ve been offered an exclusive contract with a client.”
“I don’t understand…”
“The client you were with at The Mansion,” Ramsey added.
“Hadrian?”
“Yes,” Genevieve said.
A thrill of excitement shot through my belly, but I forced myself to remain visibly unmoved. Cold. Detached.
I wasn’t sure continuing any sort of relationship with Hadrian was a good idea. In fact, I knew it wasn’t.
“We’re not at liberty to divulge specifics. He wants to be the one to discuss the contract with you directly, and of course your compensation,” Genevieve continued.
“What about my training period?” I asked.
“If you agree to his terms, then you’ll forgo the training period until you come back to The Rex,” Gen said.
I blinked.
“You can get on a plane this afternoon and be in New York to have dinner with him this evening if you agree to meet with him.”
“He’s in New York?”
“He had some business to deal with,” Ramsey said. “But he wants to meet with you immediately.”
I wondered if his business had to do with the phone conversation I’d overheard.
“If you’re concerned about your safety—” Gen began, as though I had failed to hide my emotions.
“I’m not,” I interrupted. “He wasn’t forceful. He treated me…it was fine.”
“Fine?” Gen