Chapter 5

Dorian's POV

The view from my office window never gets old. A skyline of glass and steel, lately it has become something of a hobby of mine to watch the view every day.

It is therapeutic, to say the least. It was just when the rest of the working populace was starting their day and as I looked down on them from my vantage point, I tried to guess what they did for a living.

One would think you could size up the working force by their clothing but you'd be dead wrong. The higher-ups sometimes wore scrawny outfits, while those at the bottom dressed sharply to impress. You could usually tell by their walking pace, their eyes, and, of course, their cars. Not that I later found out if I was right or not, I could be wrong for all I know.

With a heavy sigh, I turned away from the window, letting the heavy silence of my office settle over me. The day was just beginning but I was already bored.

My spacious office is a symbol of wealth—Italian leather, rare art pieces, polished mahogany but it doesn't make me feel any better or more at ease. Something was nagging in my mind but I refused to give it any thought.

Just then, the phone on my desk vibrated softly. I glanced at the screen—a meeting request or another deal to close, no doubt. I let it buzz, uninterested for the moment. They can wait.

Meanwhile, I reached for the glass of scotch sitting untouched beside me, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. I smacked my lips in satisfaction as I felt the sting in my belly as it reminded me that I had yet to have breakfast.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t bother looking up as I knew that it could only be one person. My assistant.

“Come in Brenda,” I said, my voice steady, controlled.

The door opened with a soft creak, and sure enough, it was my assistant. She stepped in, her heels tapping lightly against the marble floor.

“Mr. Dorian,” she began, her tone professional but hurried as always. As usual, she looked everywhere except at me, which was a good thing as she tended to stutter in her speech when we had eye contact.

She was otherwise efficient. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was a nerd. With her turtlenecks, brunette ponytail, and rectangular glasses, she fitted the stereotype.

“Let’s hear it,” I said as she tapped her tablet rapidly, pulling up the schedule for the day. It was our morning ritual.

“You have a nine o clock meeting with Mrs. Anna Whitford. By nine-thirty, you have a meeting with the design team regarding the upcoming product launch. They're expecting to finalize the concept before moving into the marketing phase.”

I nodded my head in satisfaction as I heard the first agenda. We could only manage to squeeze in Anna for thirty minutes. I was looking forward to meeting her as she would be different from what I was used to in the schedule.

Also she had to be special to Daniel for him to call me on her behalf. My cousin wasn't doing as well as the rest of the family financially but stubbornly refused any handouts. He was quite firm on the matter so it was only fair that I helped him when he needed a favor.

“At ten-thirty, there's a conference call with the directors from New York. They want an update on the quarterly financials before the board meeting next week. I've prepped the documents you asked for and forwarded them to your inbox.”

She paused to see if I was following and I gave her the signal to go on.

“At noon you have lunch with Mr Hartman from Hartman enterprises. He requested the meeting to discuss the potential partnership for the tech development project.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “I booked your usual table at the Monarch.”

“The Monarch,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm, good choice, Hartman likes privacy. Make sure the staff knows we're not to be disturbed.”

“Already taken care of,” Brenda replied smoothly. “I confirmed with the manager last night.”

I nodded in satisfaction at her response. I managed to have a smooth run in the company all thanks to her efficiency.

“After lunch, you've got a meeting with legal…”

My mind trailed off to other things as she took my silence as her cue to go on with what she was saying.

“Mr Dorian?”

I jerked my head around to see Brenda looking at me with concern. It looked like she was done talking and had been calling my name severally.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said that is all for today. I'll make sure you have everything you need before each meeting.”

“Alright. Thanks Brenda. What of the file I asked you for yesterday.”

“It's right here. She said handing over a slim manilla file to me. “This was all I could gather within the timeframe you gave me but so far, she looks like any good ol' regular citizen.”

“Thank you. As always, you are efficient.”

She beamed in response to the compliment.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, you are always ahead of everything. I'll see you by nine -thirty.”

She nodded as she made her way out affording me the privacy to go through the file without interruption.

I made it a habit to do a background check on people before I meet them so I knew what I was getting into.

It was always safe to do so as I have often been surprised by the dirt on some of them when I did a little digging. You could never be too careful with people.

I spilled the contents on my desk and inhaled sharply as I stared at the photo of Anna Whitford.

She is striking. There’s no other word for her—she’s the sort of woman who, if you saw her on the street, you would stop and do a double take.

She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with pin-straight blonde hair that falls just below her shoulders.

The most striking feature is her vivid green eyes. So many people have green eyes flecked with brown or blue, but hers are such an intense shade of green that they seemed alien-like.

I tore my eyes from the photo to look at the rest of her information but as I flipped through the rest of the file nothing in particular stood out.

Anna Whitford was by all accounts, an ordinary woman. No criminal record, no shady dealings, just a consultant running a successful business.

Her personal life seemed straightforward too—married, no children, and financially stable. Everything in the report painted the picture of someone who avoided trouble and kept her life clean.

I was still studying her file when the soft buzz of the intercom broke through.

“Mr. Dorian” Brenda’s voice came through.

I pressed the button. “Yes?”

“Anna Whitford has arrived. Should I send her in?”

I looked at the time in surprise. It was already nine. She was right on time. I leaned back in my chair, glancing briefly at the photo of her still lying on my desk. Those intense green eyes stared back at me and I stuffed it back in the file, pushing it aside.

“Yes, Brenda, send her in.”