café.
Daniel’s commanding voice drifted toward her as she strode down the hall. “I can see this is something I have to take care of myself. Give me an hour.” He sounded thoroughly vexed about something, so this probably wasn’t the best time to approach him with a request. But what choice did she have?
He was hanging up the phone as she rounded the corner and tapped on his open office door. “Daniel, can I have a word with you?”
“You can have ten words, as long as you can walk and talk at the same time.” He stood and went to the antique armoire in the corner, where he had several sets of clothes on hangers—suits, tennis clothes, polo clothes. He grabbed one of the suits at random, pulled it out and hung it on the door. Then he started peeling his clothes off.
Elena was used to this sort of thing from him. She turned around and faced the wall. “Is something wrong?” Dumb question, Elena. Of course something was wrong. And she’d just wasted three of her ten words. She never knew if Daniel was serious about things like that. She’d always had a hard time deciphering his dry sense of humor.
“You could say that. There’s a possible leak in Reactor Number Four.”
“Oh, no.” That was all Daniel needed—some kind of radioactive leak in the new power plant Logan Oil had recently acquired. Logan Energy, she reminded herself. The corporation had changed its name as it refocused on alternate forms of energy.
“I’m almost positive it’s an equipment malfunction and not an actual leak,” he said, more to himself than her. “But it’s something I feel the need to micromanage.”
“Understandable. But, Daniel, there’s a man here who really needs to talk to you.”
“You’ll have to reschedule his appointment. Is it that guy about the intern program?”
“No, he’s coming later. This man doesn’t have an appointment. But—”
“They why are we even talking about him? Tell him to make an appointment.”
“He tried, but apparently the online form tripped him up, and Daniel, he seems so desperate. I feel you should listen to him.”
“Desperate about what? You can turn around.”
She did. He was in the process of tucking a crisp white shirt into his suit pants. Without being asked, she searched in the bottom of the armoire for an appropriate pair of shoes. It was one of the things she was good at—anticipating his needs. She enjoyed her job, but it was demanding, and she was always glad that, at the end of the workday, she could clock out and his wife, Jamie, could take over. Not that he ordered Jamie around the way he did Elena.
“His brother is in prison for killing his wife, and—”
“This is about Project Justice? Did you tell him to go online—”
“He said he’s done that. But he had trouble with the form, and there’s a deadline involved—”
“Death row?” Daniel knotted his tie without even using a mirror.
“No. Life in prison. But—”
“An impending execution is the only excuse for anybody not going through the proper channels. Elena, you know the rules. Frankly, I’m surprised that you’re bothering me with this.”
She felt properly chastised. But if Daniel could just talk to him for five minutes... Okay, she was pulling out the big guns. “I’d consider it a personal favor.” She didn’t ask him for much. He worked her hard, but he also paid her well and demonstrated his concern for her well-being every day.
That made Daniel stop. “Elena. I can’t today. This isn’t an ordinary crisis. If we can’t get the new power plant on line, on schedule, it will cost us millions of dollars. And if this is more than a gauge malfunction—well, it could be a lot worse.”
Logan Energy’s foray into alternative energies was a gamble, but Daniel thought it unwise to keep all his eggs in the fossil fuel basket. He wanted to do his part to reduce carbon emissions, too. Naturally he was more anxious than usual.
“Tell this man that if he can’t manage the form on his own—though frankly a trained monkey could do it—he can ask for assistance. If someone really needs Project Justice’s help, they’ll persevere.” With that, Daniel strode toward the stairs, leaving her in his wake. “Call Randall and have him get the Town Car ready.”
Clearly this conversation was over.
She hated the thought of going back to Travis Riggs and telling him that a meeting with Daniel was impossible. It made her boss sound so unfeeling, when really he wasn’t. He just had so many demands on his time that he couldn’t accommodate everyone; he had to set priorities.
Well, Elena wasn’t going to give Travis the bad news over the intercom. That was just too cold. She understood what it was like to be desperate. At a tender age, she’d experienced the real risk of her father going to prison simply for speaking his mind. How much worse must it have been for Eric Riggs’s little girl to lose her father to incarceration?
Brandon, one of Daniel’s security guys, had come back from lunch, and now she could take her lunch hour. She threw a blazer on over her dress and exited the house through the massive front door. She made her way down the driveway, belatedly recalling that cobblestones and high heels didn’t mix very well. She ended up taking off her shoes and walking in her bare feet. As she approached, she saw he was still standing there. How long would he have waited?
* * *
TRAVIS WAS GETTING himself worked up. Who did this guy think he was, making him stand at the gates like this, not even letting him onto the property? Travis wasn’t some criminal planning to steal the silverware.
Daniel was probably inside his climate-controlled mansion finishing off his filet mignon and caviar lunch, planning whether to spend his afternoon playing polo or tennis. Travis had heard that he actually owned his own string of polo ponies, like freaking Prince Charles or something.
Who cared about some poor schmuck standing out in the street? Let him wait. How long did it take to ask someone whether he could see a guy for five minutes? If Daniel was going to turn down Travis’s request, why couldn’t he just do it already? Then Travis could move on to his next strategy.
He wasn’t sure what that strategy would be, but he wasn’t giving up. Maybe he would go to the media, point out how cold and heartless the supposedly philanthropic Daniel Logan really was.
He saw a flash of blue coming toward him and refocused his eyes. It was a woman in a blue dress and a blue jacket. Carrying her shoes. A tall, shapely woman with long, golden-brown hair and the bearing of a queen. Could it be? Could this be the owner of that incredible, exotic voice from the intercom?
The closer she got, the more sure he became. Her looks were as exotic as her voice. Was she Brazilian, maybe?
She raised her hand in a little wave, but he was too transfixed to wave back.
“Mr. Riggs?”
“Still here.” He was amazed his voice sounded so normal. “You’re letting me in?”
“No. I’m letting
