Chapter 3 The watchful gaze
Iris came out of the private door the next morning. It felt like her stomach was tied in a knot. The polished marble hallway looked like a runway for Graves Enterprises. She held bag until her knuckles turned white. Her plain blue blouse and black pants looked very out of place. She didn't sleep at all last night after the fight last night. Lucien's words had repeated over and over until morning- claims of protection, of an accident, of eight years spent silently watching. Visible anger, frustration and hurt were still etched on her face. Her green eyes were shadowed with weariness, her lips set stubbornly, and an unwelcome flutter played under her ribs making her despise herself a little more.
At the end of the hallway, a young assistant dressed in a black suit awaited her with a tablet in hand. "Miss Vale? Mr. Graves has asked me to take you to your new post immediately. Your things from downstairs are already up here."
Iris managed a curt nod. "This is only temporary, I'm filing a complaint with HR today."
The assistant smiled only slightly. "Very well, ma'am. If you'll follow me."
Her new desk was positioned directly across the hall from Lucien's penthouse apartment, enclosed in a glass office so that she could see the outline of his massive black desk through the transparent wall. There was no escape from his gaze, and no privacy for Iris. A sleek monitor, comfortable black office chair and one black rose in a glass vase were placed on her new desk. A note beside the flower read, in masculine black ink: For the fire that will not fade.
She snatched the rose from the vase and threw it in the trash can next to her desk, her hands shaking uncontrollably. The petals rained down on the white liner of the can like black blood. She felt her strength waver slightly as her heart beat furiously against her ribs. How dare he? How dare he barge into every area of her life, only to leave gifts as if this were some cruel game of courtship.
Before Iris could even reach her new desk, the door to Lucien's office slid open with an almost imperceptible whoosh. He stood there dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, a shadow cast over his tall, athletic frame. His dark black hair was perfectly styled, his storm-gray eyes already locked on hers. When her gaze met his, a jolt shot through her. Fear coursed through her, spiking her pulse. An unfamiliar heat spread low in her belly, and a peculiar ache blossomed in her chest.
"Good morning, Iris," his voice was smooth and deep, traveling across the short distance between them. He stepped inside without an invitation, his movements fluid and predatory. "You look exhausted. The new mattress in your residences will likely be much more comfortable tonight."
Her cheeks burned. Embarrassment and anger mingled. "You went through my apartment while I was in there last night? You touched my things, my clothes, my books?"
"They have been relocated and improved for your safety." He stood inside her glass office, his height making him tower over her. His gaze flickered over her body, lingering on the rise and fall of her chest, and the white knuckles of her hands gripping the edge of the desk. A hunger she could almost sense sparked in his eyes before it was extinguished. "The building is now under full surveillance, Miss Vale. Access will not be permitted. A car is at your disposal for any reasonable excursions."
Iris laughed, a short, brittle sound devoid of mirth. She planted her hands on her hips, lifting her chin in a show of defiance although her legs trembled. "Any reasonable excursions? So, what am I, a prisoner with certain privileges? This is insane, Lucien! People don't just get promoted to the CEO's desk overnight. HR will have a field day with this!"
"HR is me." He leaned against the glass wall, crossing his arms over his wide chest, the fabric of his suit taut. A possessive satisfaction was etched on his face, but there was also a hint of concern in his eyes for her obvious weariness, and an unknown, almost tender emotion that made her breath hitch. "Sit. Your first task awaits you on the monitor. I expect you to finish it by noon. Then we'll work on establishing the boundaries of your new role."
She remained standing. "I'm not your puppet to control, Lucien. Last night you spoke of the accident, of watching me. You haven't offered a single piece of evidence."
His jaw tightened, and a muscle ticked near his ear. He strode the distance between them in two silent movements, stopping close enough for her to have to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The air between them thickened with an unbearable tension. His hand slowly lifted, stopping just short of her face, as if he was holding back an impulse. "Proof? Fine."
He reached into his pocket, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He tapped a few buttons on his phone, then turned it to face her. A grainy, but unmistakable video began to play. It was surveillance footage from eight years ago, showing a younger Iris, her hair longer, her eyes brighter, laughing as she left a small caf. Then, the camera switched to the opposite side of the street, where a dark SUV sat idling. A figure in the shadows watched her. The time stamp coincided with the date of the accident.