“You’re meeting Ms Bartell?” He sounded intrigued.
“Yes,” Maddie said, uncertain as to why that was unusual.
“In Ms Bartell’s office?”
“Why?”
“How long have you been working with Ms Bartell?”
“Um, it’ll be a month tomorrow. Why?”
He met her eye in the rear-view mirror and looked impressed. “I have driven her for a long time. It is not often people visit her there. Only her inner circle, or so I gather. So it’s a bit unusual. That’s all.”
“Oh, well, it’s an emergency. It was supposed to be Felicity.”
“Ah, I see.”
They lapsed into silence, as Amir picked up the pace through New York’s well-lit streets.
Maddie became more and more anxious as the drive continued. Eventually, they pulled up before a gleaming round tower. “Is this…” The big B on the side of the building answered her question. “…it?”
“Yes, Ms Grey,” Amir said. “I am instructed to wait for you. But feel free to take your time.”
“Thanks.” Maddie jumped out and headed through large rotating glass doors. A set of seven-foot-tall, glass security doors loomed in front of her.
The security guard beside it rose, eying her suspiciously.
“Maddie Grey to see Elena Bartell.” She slid her fingers into her pocket to retrieve her security ID.
“Yes, Ms Grey, I was told you were on your way. Sign here.” He examined her ID, as Maddie signed the visitor’s book. He pushed a button. As the doors opened, the guard passed a silver card to her. “Insert this into the elevator next to the EP button.”
“EP?”
“Express to penthouse. It’s just below the H button.” Before she could ask, he added, “For helipad.”
Maddie nodded and tried to look cool about the fact she was visiting someone who owned a building with a helipad on it. She headed for the elevators he indicated and glanced around while she waited. No expense had been spared. The floors were polished marble. A series of sofas were black leather. The landscape art on the walls was sublime, probably the real deal.
The gleaming doors opened, and Maddie stepped inside. Soft, classical music was playing. Reflective, black glass surrounded her. She slid the card into the EP slot, and the whoosh was instant. The numbers flew by… 20, 25, 30, 35… Maddie’s stomach dropped, and the soothing music failed to do its job. Finally, the elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Maddie pulled the card out, pocketed it, and stepped forward.
Springy, luxurious carpet cushioned her boots. The elevator sat in the centre of the room, like a doughnut hole, ringed by a curving walkway. All around stretched a 360-degree view of New York. Frosted glass walls, coming out at right angles from the windows, divided the space into wedges.
Directly in front of her was one wedge containing a low, white leather sofa—a Mies van der Rohe reproduction. She recognised the iconic design from the one in Simon’s dad’s office. A pair of garment bags was slung over the back of the sofa. Two matching designer chairs faced it, and a low, glass coffee table, scattered with Style NY copies, sat in between.
An elegant, dark-skinned man in a stunning suit eyed her from the sofa, as she turned left and began her slow circle around the elevator. She shot him a smile, but he didn’t return it, watching her progress with interest.
On her circuit, she walked past a kitchen. The next “wedge” had blacked-out glass walls and a door and was marked as a bathroom. Beyond that, she passed a twelve-seat boardroom table, with an enormous monitor on one wall, presumably for video meetings.
And finally… She came to Elena’s office. Against the dividing glass wall to the right was a sleek, long bookcase bursting with books and magazines. In front of that sat a desk and a stylish, leather, designer chair in which Elena sat, angled towards the window. She had yet to notice Maddie’s stealthy approach.
On the other side of the desk was a coffee table and, around that, three straight chairs, their backs to the window. Two of these were presently filled by a pair of men in expensive suits, holding large notepads and wearing anxious looks.
Maddie examined the rest of the office. The glass wall facing Elena had several framed newspaper front pages and iconic Style magazine covers affixed to it. Nestled in the far left corner, against the window, was a beautiful, Japanese silk partition—possibly a changing area of some sort. Maddie supposed Elena had to do many a quick wardrobe change at work before going to various events.
The executive chair swung around, and Elena met her eyes. Maddie was about to slide the USB stick onto the desk and say what is was, but Elena shook her head and pointed to beyond the opposite wall to the area to where she’d started her circuit. Where the elegant man in the fine suit sat.
A disembodied voice rang out from the phone on Elena’s desk, alerting Maddie to the fact she was in the middle of a conference call. The man spoke French too fast for Maddie’s high-school lessons to translate every word.
Elena frowned and jotted down some notes.
“C’est impossible! Votre date limite est ridicule!” she replied. Elena’s gaze shifted to her underlings, who gave a vigorous pair of nods.
Maddie edged away, trying to get the gist of it. Something about an impossible deadline? She headed onwards to the next “wedge”, and lowered herself into a chair opposite the man. His deep-green suit, mustard tie, and polished shoes were expensive, probably bespoke. He was billiard-ball bald, in his late-thirties or early forties, and manscaped to within an inch of his life. Fashion designer maybe? His eyes were intelligent and assessing, and he had high cheekbones that would put a supermodel to shame.
“I’m Maddie Grey,” she said, after a moment.
“We meet at last. Perry Marks.” His wide lips curled up in greeting.
“At last?”
“Felicity seems to think your outfits worthy of many entertaining monologues. But she’s never said who you were. So you’re important enough for her to rant about, but not important enough to give me details.” He slid a critical gaze across her outfit and tapped his lip. “Hmm. So you’re not a designer, not an executive…” His gaze trailed across her thighs, which were normal sized. “Definitely not a model.”
“Hey!”
He smiled, and his white, perfect teeth, dazzling against his dark skin, almost blinded her. “It’s rare for me to meet a regular woman in this building,” he said with a cheeky grin. He patted his chest above his heart. “So I apologise if I’m in a state of shock. Anyway, I give up. What do you do?”
“I’m a junior crime reporter at Hudson Metro News.”
