Page 12 of Stalking Ginevra

One of them, a tall guy with spectacles perched on his nose, raises an eyebrow. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “Mr. Terranova assigned this room to the interns.”

My heart pounds so hard that my body throbs with frustration. Fury flushes through my veins, filling my cheeks with prickly heat.

I would stay and argue, but I don’t have any of the facts. Turning on my heel, I narrowly avoid bumping into Rimaldo, who flicks his head toward the cubicles.

“Your workspace is this way.” He walks around the room’s perimeter, leading me back toward Pamela’s desk. Now, I understand why she avoided eye contact. She knew what was happening and hadn’t offered a word of warning, not even a text.

My stomach clenches at the betrayal. Each person I pass seems to shrink back, avoiding my gaze. This is worse than any walk of shame.

Julian rises from his cubicle and raises a palm. “Over here. The seat next to me is empty.”

Dread rolls through my insides with the force of an avalanche. I glance around for an empty place, but they’re all occupied.

Rimaldo places the folders on my new desk and strolls back to Dad’s corner office. I’m torn between pouring through the documents and walking out. The latter is so tempting, but I’m not about to lose Dad’s legacy.

With as much dignity as I can muster, I lower myself on the seat and open the first file. It’s so full of convoluted legalese that I almost forget I’m 3 years qualified.

Did Terranova kill Dad to take control of the firm?

Julian leans in from his cubicle. “Hey?—”

“Could you…” My throat tightens. “Could you please give me a minute?”

“Sure thing, Ginny,” he murmurs, his voice whispery and low. “Anything you want. Just know I’m here for you. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. You hear that? You can ask me. Anytime… You know that. Any. Time. Ginny.”

I breathe hard, tuning out his incessant chatter. His words might be sympathetic, but he could have called or texted to warn me I was walking into an ambush. I can’t trust anyone in this firm. Not a single person.

When a hand lands on my shoulder, I’m ready to scream. I whirl around and lock gazes with my best friend, Martina, who offers me a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s go for brunch,” she says. “I can fill you in on what’s happened.”

SIX

GINEVRA

I walk out of the office in dignified silence. Martina’s supportive hand on my shoulder is the only thing keeping me from falling apart. How did Nick Terranova and his little enforcers get past security? Someone should have called me or at least the police.

“Ginny,” Martina’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

Blinking, I take in our surroundings. I was so preoccupied with my inner ranting that I didn’t even notice we’d stepped out of the building. The morning traffic rumbles past, its noise filling the silence.

Martina cups my cheek. “Are you still with me?”

I finally meet her eyes. She’s wearing green contacts instead of her usual blue. We haven’t seen each other since Samson took me hostage, but she looks different. Her blonde hair is now chin-length instead of flowing down her shoulders, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth to inquire about her altered appearance.

“What do you know about Terranova?” I ask.

“Quite a lot, unfortunately,” she replies with a sigh.

“What does that mean?”

“Come on.” She loops her arm through mine. “This calls for a drink.”

Martina takes me to the Costosa, a ridiculously expensive Italian restaurant that serves exquisite food in tiny plates. It used to be Dad’s favorite for entertaining clients, but I found it too stuffy. The maître d’ welcomes her with a handshake and a warm smile before leading us to our table.

Anticipation makes palpitations resound through my chest, and my insides twist into knots. I have no idea why she’s drawing out the suspense, but the reason can’t be good. Without prompting, a sommelier brings two mimosas. Martina pushes them both across the table and orders a buck’s fizz.

“Tell me what’s been happening,” I say.

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