Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,54
Lorna.”
I pushed the tall door aside and stepped inside.
Like most of the tower, Mr. Sparrow’s office had the stunning floor-to-ceiling windows. Despite the darkening sky and twinkling lights beyond the large panes, they didn’t capture my attention, not as much as the man who had invited me here.
Mr. Sparrow was seated behind a large wooden desk with ornate carvings. Compared to the rest of the apartment’s furnishings, including the others in this office, it seemed ostentatious and out of place.
The desk did, not the man behind it.
Mr. Sparrow tipped his chin toward the two plushy upholstered accent chairs opposite the desk. “Have a seat.”
Before sitting, I removed the envelope with the currencies and placed it on his desk. When he didn’t speak, I did as he asked, sitting near the edge of one of the chairs. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason for my posture. Maybe I was poised and ready to run back to the floor below.
Truly, with the way my heart thumped erratically in my chest, I wasn’t certain of my next move.
After I was seated, he spoke, “That money is yours. It was given to you.”
I gripped the chair’s arms, bracing myself to respond. “Thank you. I believe it was given in expectation of my departure. I didn’t leave. Therefore, the money isn’t mine.”
Sparrow leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk before him. His jaw clenched as he stared my direction. Moments passed. His fingers intertwined until they loosened, and his arms folded one over the other on the desk’s surface. I imagined the ticking of a clock. Maybe it wasn’t my imagination. Hell, there could be a clock, a grandfather clock or a mantel clock. I wasn’t sure, and I was too nervous to peer about. Finally, he spoke, “That expectation has been replaced by others.”
“The expectation for me to leave?” I asked, clarifying.
Sparrow pushed back his chair and stood in one fluid move. He took a few steps as he spoke, “Lorna, since your arrival, I have been busy. There were and are more things happening than I could possibly articulate. Due to those preoccupations, I believe I have been” —he stopped walking and looked directly at me— “aloof.”
My lips came together, wondering if I should agree or suggest more descriptive adjectives.
He asked, “What do you know about me?”
Lorna
Nine years ago
Mr. Sparrow’s question lingered in the air as I searched for words, knowing that my brother’s name was no longer welcome in conversation while simultaneously wondering how honest Mr. Sparrow expected me to be. “I know you met...everyone while in the army.” I chose the word as a way to include my brother.
Sparrow nodded.
“I know that you’re the heir to Sparrow Enterprises.”
He nodded again.
“I know that after your father died, your mission as well as the others’ has been to seamlessly take over his dealings.”
Mr. Sparrow gripped the back of his chair. “And you learned all of this from...?”
I shrugged. “Everyone.” I thought about that. “Not so much Patrick. And everyone never gave me specifics. I was given enough pieces that I put it together. Am I wrong?”
Sparrow stepped away from the desk and walked toward the windows. “Your assessment isn’t inaccurate.” He turned back toward me. “I had everything planned.”
My mouth grew dry.
“Nothing” —he looked around the room and out to the city— “...was left to chance. I’m a very particular planner down to the minutest detail.”
“Except for me,” I said. “I wasn’t planned.”
His dark eyes met mine. “Not entirely. You weren’t in my plans. The thing is, if I try to think back, you were planned by him. He’d never hidden the fact he had a sister whom he cared about. Out of all of us, he was the one with a real connection. I didn’t try to understand—or take the time to consider—that his love and concern would affect me in any way.”
I swallowed the emotions he was evoking.
“When he brought you here, I told myself it was temporary.”
I began to stand. “Mr. Sparrow—”
He lifted his hand, stopping me. He waited.
With an exhale, I resumed my seat.
“The plan I made for you in England,” he said, “wasn’t done in haste or out of malice. It wasn’t a bad offer.”
My head shook. “No, it wasn’t.”
His gaze went to the envelope on his desk before returning to me. “You’re here now, and I have wrestled with how we can make it work.”
“You don’t want me to leave?” I asked.
“This isn’t about wanting or not wanting. You aren’t leaving.”
“But you—”
“Lorna,” he interrupted, “even if I