Jack shook his head at me, his lips tight, clearly furious with me. He swerved to the left and downshifted, taking a sharp turn onto Poydras.

“Where are you going?” I asked, thoughts of Marek calling Shaw right now running through my head.

Insulting a parent wasn’t good.

“To his office,” he answered, his tone unusually defiant. “You’re going to go apologize before he has a chance to file a complaint.”

To his office?

“I… I,” I stammered. “No!” I yelled. “No. Absolutely not! I can’t talk to him right now.”

But my brother didn’t say anything. He just kept driving.

I put my hand to my forehead, panicking. “I can’t believe I just said that. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t thinking,” he retorted. “And you’re going to go beg for forgiveness.”

I shook my head. “Jack, it’s completely inappropriate,” I pleaded with him. “Please. I’m not dressed right.”

But he ignored me again, speeding into the Central Business District and closer to Marek’s office.

I looked down at my navy blue and white pin-striped tennis skirt with pleated ruffles on the back. It barely hit halfway down my thighs.

My peach-colored shirt was long-sleeved, but it was skintight, serving the purpose of absorbing my sweat but definitely not my humiliation.

I closed my eyes, groaning. I couldn’t be less armed for a meeting with him.

Jack dropped me off in front of the building while he went to park in a garage. I stood out on the front sidewalk and tipped my head all the way back, scowling up at his building.

Big silver letters were posted on the front, spelling MAREK, the candy-apple-red glow behind the name reminding me of the dress I was wearing when I’d first met him.

The whole building was his?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the muscles in my face to relax.

Heading inside, I approached one of the check-in stations. I peered to the right and saw security running people through metal detectors.

Placing my palms down on the cool black granite counter, I forced a small smile. “Hello, I…” I hesitated, my nerves firing. “I needed to speak with Tyler Marek. If he’s in,” I added.

“What’s your name, miss?” the young man asked, picking up his phone.

“Easton,” I breathed out, willing my heart to slow down. “Easton Bradbury.”

He waited, then finally spoke into the phone. “Hello. I have Easton Bradbury to see Mr. Marek.”

“I don’t have an appointment,” I pointed out, whispering to him.

He offered a placating smile and waited for what the other person had to say.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he told them.

Hanging up the phone, he typed something into the computer quickly, and before I knew it, he handed me a badge with a bar code and pointed me toward the elevators.

“He’ll see you,” he said, nodding. “It’s the sixtieth floor.”

“Which office?” I asked.

But he just laughed and continued to shuffle papers without looking at me.

I let out a sigh and made my way through security, letting them scan my card and push me through.

I took the elevator up, making several stops on the way for others to get off.

We stopped at three odd-numbered floors and three even-numbered floors, and I pursed my lips, knowing that didn’t mean anything, but it still made me uncomfortable.

If we had stopped at two odd-numbered floors instead, the odds would’ve added up to an even number, and everything would’ve been fine.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. God, I am sick.

The only person left in the elevator, I watched the blue digital numbers reach sixty.

I straightened, steeling myself as the doors opened.

And I understood why the clerk had laughed at me when I’d asked which office. The sixtieth floor was Marek’s office, apparently.

Ahead stood two tall wooden doors and desks belonging to two assistants on either side of the doors, one man and one woman.

The woman looked up from her computer and nodded toward the doors. “Go in, Ms. Bradbury.”

I ran my hand down my clothes, smoothing them over before reaching up and tightening my ponytail.

But I’d already lost hope of salvaging my pride. Why hadn’t I at least convinced Jack to take me home for a change of clothes?

Grabbing hold of a vertical bar serving as a door handle, I pulled one of the big doors open and stepped in, immediately spotting Marek ahead of me, standing behind his desk.

“Ms. Bradbury.” He glanced up, one hand in his pocket as the other pushed keys on his computer. “Come in.”

His eyes left mine and dropped down my body, taking in my appearance, I would assume. Despite the air-conditioning chilling the room, I felt my thighs warm and heat pool in my stomach.

I squared my shoulders and approached his desk, trying to ignore the sudden powerless feeling.

Out of habit, I counted my steps in my head. One, two, three, fo—

But then I stopped in my tracks, catching something out of the corner of my eye.

I looked to my right, and my eyebrows shot up, seeing an oval conference table on the other side of a glass partition, filled with people. A lot of people.

Shit.

I swallowed, turning for the doors again. “I’ll wait.”

There was no way I was speaking to him with other people in the room.

“You wanted to see me,” he snapped. “Speak.”