Page 66 of Queen of Ruin

“No, it’s just that I realized I’m not really suited for that, but there was a mention of the Compton House. I think that’s something I’d really like to do.” I settle against him again, feeling the rattle of the car as we travel through D.C.

“I’m familiar with it.” His chest rumbles against my ear.

“So, then you’re okay with it?”

“Of course.” His hand circles my thigh, dangerously close to my panty line.

“Can I ask something of you in return?” he requests, and I sit up, feeling the seriousness of it.

“I want you to meet with Alistair.” Before I can ask why, he stops me. “About the agreement.”

25

THE BAT CAVE

EVANGELINE

Whitlock Capital, in large chrome letters, is displayed prominently behind the receptionist’s desk. Floor to ceiling windows provide a beautiful view of the Potomac, and the lobby is decorated in whites and cool blues matching the landscape. Behind the big glass doors is the heart of the office, rows of desks with every computer screen displaying stock graphs and numbers.

“Evangeline Bowen, I mean Walker, to see Alistair Van Der Walt,” I announce to the receptionist sitting behind the desk. She matches the office with a tight, high ponytail of dark brown hair, and a crisp white collared button up shirt.

She looks up from her computer. “Alistair?” she questions as if I have the wrong person.

“Yes, I have an appointment.”

She barks into the phone, “Van de Walt, your appointment is here.”

Motioning to the plush white couches, she offers, “You can take a seat while you wait.”

“Thank you,” I smile, and notice the modern art hanging on the walls. I step a little closer, admiring the brush strokes and colors. It’s a contrast of color against the stark white wall, but perhaps that’s on purpose so it stands out.

The receptionist notices me eying the paintings. “That one’s a Brodinsky. Mr. Whitlock is a collector.”

“It’s beautiful.” Darren has one hanging in the hallway of our home – his home, but I don’t say that out loud.

I make my way to the couch, but before I can take a seat, Alistair comes bounding through the glass double doors.

He’s wearing a tailored suit and tie that makes him look very dashing.

“Evangeline, nice to see you,” he greets me in a professional manner that I’m not used to. “Do you want coffee, or maybe some water?” he offers sweetly. “Jordan will get you anything you need.” He motions to the receptionist.

“I’m fine.”

Jordan makes a face at him.

“Let’s go back to my office.” He holds the door open for me, and we walk into the heart of the office.

It’s noisy and smells like coffee. I watch as people rush by, phones to their ears, ties loosened, and half eaten food in containers left abandoned on desks.

“Wow, Alistair, you really grew up,” I comment as we pass a wide staircase that leads to the second floor where executives must work, just judging by the square footage of the offices that I can see.

“I’m no longer playing in the kindergarten sandbox,” he winks, holding the door to his office while I pass through. He loosens his tie and takes a seat behind his desk.

“Adulthood is treating you well.” I admire his office, decorated in dark woods and light carpeting. On the opposite wall is a framed certificate. “It’s a beautiful office.”

“You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig,” Alistair jokes. “It’s still a job,” he shrugs.

“Your receptionist is nice. She seems to like you,” I say sarcastically, judging by her attitude towards him.

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