"One moment please," the woman said into her mouthpiece, speaking to a caller. To Darius, she said, "May I help you?" Her voice was cultured, ritzy.
Grace fisted her hands to keep from unleashing her claws.
"We will see Jason Graves now," he said.
So much for doing all the talking, she thought with a mental sigh.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Darius en Kragin."
The woman's fingers flew over her keyboard, her long, oval nails tapping away. Without glancing up, she asked, "Which company are you with?"
"I come on my own behalf."
She finished her typing, read over the computer screen, then leveled him with a stare. "Mr. Graves isn't in today. He's out on business."
Grace rubbed a hand down her face. She was tired of delays and was completely out of patience. "When do you expect him back?" she asked more sharply than she'd intended.
"End of the week. Possibly beginning of next. If you'll leave your name and number, I'll make sure he receives the information when he returns."
Unwilling to wait that long, Grace said, "What about his assistant? Is he in?"
"That would be Mitch Pierce," the woman said. She propped her elbows on the desk, linked her delicate, tapered fingers, and perched her chin in the cradle her hands provided. "And yes, he is."
Mitch… another Argonaut who had helped her in the jungle. She contained a scowl. "We'd like to see him. Today."
Arched brows and a superior smile met her words. "Do you have an appointment?"
Grace opened her mouth to say no, but stopped herself. Admitting she didn't have an appointment was the fastest way to get shown to the door. However, she'd be caught in a lie if she said yes. Not knowing what else to do, she traced her bottom lip with her fingertip and pretended to mull the question in her mind. I probably look like an idiot .
Thankfully the receptionist grew tired of waiting and said, exasperated, "I'll see if he can fit you in. What's your name?"
"Grace Carlyle."
One hand rapped at her computer while the other punched a series of numbers in the telephone pad. After requesting Mr. Pierce's schedule, she hung up and glanced at Grace. "He'll see you within the hour. You may wait through the double doors on your left."
"Thank you," Grace said. Trying unsuccessfully to suppress her triumph, she ushered Darius into the waiting room. They were alone in the room. A round, glass table occupied the center and was piled high with books and magazines; along the farthest wall sat a couch and several chairs. All elegant, and all expensive.
During their wait they endured several peek-in visits from security guards. She flipped through a few magazines. (According to the current Cosmo love quiz, she and Darius were not compatible.) In one of the magazines, there was a feature article about Jason Graves, his recent discoveries, and his recent accumulation of wealth. The article told how he had purchased an apartment building on the Upper East Side and allowed all of his employees to stay there-which was where Alex lived. That she'd known. Jason himself stayed in the penthouse. That she hadn't.
Darius spent the short time splayed out in his seat, his hands locked behind his neck. He kept his eyes closed. She suspected he was gathering his strength and mentally preparing himself for the coming confrontation.
Finally a woman, slightly older and less hostile than the receptionist, entered and said, "Mr. Pierce will see you now. If you'll follow me… "
Grace jumped to her feet, Darius right beside her. They shared a glance before exiting. Side by side, they strode down a hall and around a corner. The woman stopped and swept her hand out in front of her. "Last door on the right," she said.
Gliding past her, Grace eyed every door she encountered. She didn't see Alex's name. Where was his office? "I'm so ready to nail the Argonauts to the wall," she muttered to Darius.
A genuine smile played at the corner of his lips. "I had not realized before what a bloodthirsty wench you are. Try to contain your bloodlust long enough that we might question this Mitch."
"Bloodlust?" she gasped, then realized he thought she literally meant to nail Mitch to the wall. "I meant-oh, never mind." Whether she meant it or not, the idea had merit. "I'll try to contain myself."
At the end of the hallway loomed a single door. The nameplate in the center announced Mitch's name in bold, black letters. "That's the one," Grace said, smoothing her shirt and jeans. She didn't know what she'd say or do when she saw him.
Darius didn't bother knocking. He simply shoved open the door and strolled inside.
She followed right on his heels. Mitch sat at a large mahogany desk. There was no clutter, no papers scattered around him. He was as average looking as Grace recalled, with broad shoulders and lean limbs, pleasantly attractive with slightly gray hair that gave him a distinguished air. Only one thing about his appearance captured her interest. Sweat beaded atop his brow.
He was nervous.
Very interesting. Her gaze cataloged the office, taking in the sea of wealth and indulgence. Art, vases, glass and wood figurines. Carpet so light her feet felt as if they were traipsing on clouds.
With a visibly forced air of nonchalance, Mitch folded his hands together-hands that were shaking slightly-and propped his elbows on the desk surface. There was something about his eyes, something she hadn't noticed before… they were beady and shallow. Greedy. He offered them a pleasant, if false, smile. "It's nice to see you again, Grace," he said. "You look well after your trials in the rain forest."
"Thank you." Bastard. She didn't offer him the same compliment.
"Please, have a seat." He coughed and flicked a nervous glance to Darius. "Did you really feel it was necessary to bring a bodyguard?"
"He's a friend," she said. "He's staying with me for a while."
"I see. Well, again, please have a seat."
Darius crossed his arms over his massive chest, stretching the material of his black shirt taut over his muscles, silently communicating his refusal. Only a fool would underestimate his capabilities.
Mitch used a plain white handkerchief to wipe at his brow. Obviously he was no fool.
Grace remained beside Darius. She only prayed his dragon fangs were retracted. Watching Mitch pee his pants was not how she wanted to begin this meeting. The only time she might, might , be glad to see those fangs was in bed. While he was naked. Looking down at her. Moving into her.
For God's sake, concentrate.
"Very well, then," Mitch said. "How may I help you?"
"Where is your leader, Jason Graves?" Darius demanded.
"Out of town. Still in Brazil, I'm afraid. I'm more than willing to help you with anything you might need." Mitch laughed nervously.
"I want to know why you had a man following Grace." He stressed the word had , making it clear Patrick would be following them no more.
With an audible gulp, Mitch leaned back in his seat. Too lost in his apprehension, he didn't try to deny it "I suppose you cornered the man. May I ask what he told you?"
"He would tell us nothing," Darius lied. "Only that you had sent him."
Mitch's shoulders relaxed. "We did send someone to follow Grace, but we did that for her own protection. We feared something had happened to Alex, and we didn't want the same fate to befall Grace."
"You say 'feared,' as in past tense," Grace pointed out. "Do you now know that nothing has happened to him, then?"
"No, no. That's not what I meant." The smile he gave her was weak. "As I told you, we've still got men looking for him, both in Brazil and here. I came back because someone has to oversee the company. Don't you worry, though. We'll find him and bring him home safely."