Not that she was his, Daniel pointed out to himself.
“Surprise, surprise. And he wants a royal audience with you, you lucky dog.”
Lydia ducked her head and went inside. As she slid the glass door closed, he thought she would look back. She didn’t.
Left on his own, Daniel narrowed his eyes on the construction site across the valley.
If only she knew the truth, he thought with a hard smile. The wolves were more than just his business to get involved in.
But he needed to keep that to himself for the duration of his stay. Especially from the likes of her.
LYDIA WALKED INTO Peter Wynne’s open doorway. Knocking on the jamb, she waited until the man looked up from his phone.
In the lull, she studied the crown of his sandy-blond hair. He kept it short-and-straight and in a rigid side part, swooping the strands over the top where things were getting thin even though he was only in his late thirties. Likewise, the rest of him seemed to be prematurely aging, his navy-blue blazer and gray flannel slacks, his button-down and club tie, not the kind of thing men of his generation wore.
It was like someone had dropped him in the present from a Men’s Wearhouse ad, ca. 1987—
With a curse, he slammed his cell phone facedown and looked up through his steel-rimmed glasses—only to do a double take like he’d been slapped.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
She put her hands up. “I’m sorry, but you asked to see me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Oh, Candy. “Well, since I’m here, I need your signature on the new employment contract—”
“Just sign for me.”
Lydia frowned. “My signature isn’t authorized for—”
“My name. Sign it.” He waved her off and went back to his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”
Lydia glanced behind herself. Then shut them in together. He was texting fast, his fingers flying over the screen.
When he looked up again, he frowned as if he were confused. As if he might have lost track of time—or forgotten that he’d dismissed her.
“What now?”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I know we don’t know each other outside of work, but something is clearly going on.”
Peter Wynne took a deep breath, in the way somebody did when they wanted to be left alone and had the sense that screaming at the top of their lungs was going to have the opposite effect.
“I’m fine.” His eyes went back to his phone. “I’m just busy getting ready for the board meeting next month.”
“So you’ve seen the financials?”
When he just started texting again, she went across to his desk, planted her hands, and leaned in. “The last time you were in here for a full day was a month ago. I don’t need the details, I don’t require an explanation—what I’m looking for from you is either a resignation or a recommittal to this organization. You’re the executive director—”
Now, the curse was exhausted. “I really don’t have time for this right now—”
“It’s not about what you need. It’s about everything that can’t happen around here unless you step aside or get your shit together. This organization has to have a leader and you’re the one we’ve got on our letterhead. Something has to change, and I’m giving you an opportunity to make the choice before I make it for you.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“The board can. And they don’t know how absent you’ve been because I’ve been doing your job. That can change with a phone call.”
Peter put his phone facedown again. As he sat back in his chair, there was a creaking noise. “Fine, I’ll sign the paperwork for the employment contract, if you bring it now. And then I have to go.”
Lydia stared at the man. He had lost weight, and it had been a while since he’d had a haircut. One side of his collar hadn’t been buttoned and there was a stain on his tie.
“Jesus Christ,” he snapped. “What is your problem.”
“You’re scared,” she heard herself say. “What’s happening, Peter.”
“Get out. Right now.” He raised his voice. “I’m serious, Lydia. You and I have never had a problem before, but if you don’t lay off, we’re going to have a big one.”
Slowly straightening, she shook her head. “I’m going to go to the board. Just so you and I are clear. This can’t go on.”
“You’re right about that,” he muttered as he checked his phone and got to his feet.
“So you want me to go and have you fired?”
“I don’t have time to argue with you. Sign the shit for me—and get out of my way.”
The man came around his desk and barged past her, his shoulder knocking into hers. And that was when she smelled him. He hadn’t showered in days.
Opening his door, he walked off. Out in reception, Candy said something to him, but there was no response. Or one that was too mumbled to track—