Page 10 of Her Dark Salvation

“I’ll call DeVita Enterprises International after lunch. I have no doubt Marco would want you to start right away. Like I said, it’s urgent.”

The flutter expanded into a steady beat, and my body came alive with excitement and hope. “All right. I’m in.”

He lifted his glass like it held champagne instead of water. “Here’s to it, then. The next chapter.”

I lifted my glass, clinked it against his, and a smile matching Jeff’s spread across my face, so wide it made my cheeks hurt.

One of the countless paths in life’s labyrinth unfolded before me. I had no idea where it would take me, but I’d be damned before I wasted one more minute spinning my wheels in this rut. I was ready to break free. I was ready to reshape my future.

ChapterThree

Anna

Agust of arctic air smacked me across the face and whipped my hair into a frenzy at the top of the Arlington Station stairs. The sky was a clear, pale blue, the crisp winter day blissfully free of clouds and snow. Just a fresh, clean scent that matched my optimism and a cold sting of the north wind that matched my doubt. It needled my confidence and reminded me I was sailing into uncharted waters.

The chaotic sounds of downtown traffic replaced the rumble and screech of the T. I dodged an oncoming businessman who checked his watch whilebahkingwords thick with the Boston accent into his cellphone.

“Excuse me,” I grumbled over my shoulder at his retreating form. “Sheesh.” He hadn’t even noticed me. Typical.

Not today, Satan, I thought, catching the pity party before it started. The Anna who’d liberated herself from academia didn’t blend into the background. People noticed liberated-Anna. That guy was just a self-absorbed jerk.

I landed awkwardly on my pointy heel and stumbled. “Dammit!” I winced and crouched to rub my twisted ankle.

My professor-wear consisted of jeans, V-neck t-shirts, and running shoes. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d walked these streets in heels. Luckily, Terme di Boston was only a few blocks away, just past the bend in Boylston Street. I stood, held my head high, and resumed my tentative, wobbling steps.

Past the Public Gardens on my left and the unending wall of the Four Seasons on my right, a columned portico came into view followed by the stone edifice that was Terme di Boston. The luxury hotel and European spa extended the entire city block, looming over the southern border of the Boston Commons.

Intricate carvings adorned the cream and brown stone, and mosaic tiles decorated the corner pillars and window frames. Two wide, square towers rose on either side of the covered entrance crowned with sculpted balustrades. The east and west wings of the building were set back from the entrance, and French doors opened onto street-level patios. Behind the two floors of the northern façade, the building dominated the skyline with tiered balconies and extensive outdoor living spaces. Above the portico roof, TERME was carved into a solid piece of creamy marble, the capital lettering reminiscent of ancient Rome.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the doorman said. “Benvenuta a Terme di Boston.” He tugged on the wrought-iron handle and ushered me inside.

The interior of the hotel was no less impressive than the exterior. Marble floors and countertops glinted under bright lights. Plush, cream-colored cushions edged with gold thread topped stone benches. Tall orchids and lush ferns emerged from planters on columned bases. The vaulted ceiling was inlaid with the same mosaic tiles that blessed the exterior, and distressed frescoes decorated the walls.

Instead of students, affluent guests hurried across the cavernous lobby, and my heels clicked loudly on the marble floor, reminding me I wasn’t in the finance building anymore. A splinter of doubt wedged itself firmly inside my excitement.

I approached the concierge desk, nervous like the first day of school. The man behind the desk met me with a bright, welcoming smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m Dr. Barone with Cambridge Management Group. I have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. DeVita.”

“Ah, yes. Just a moment.” He picked up the phone, and suddenly, the meeting with my new boss was no longer a distant idea but an imminent reality.

The frescoed walls started to close in on me and sent me into a panic. Had I made a mistake? Forty-eight hours ago, the sum total of my experience had been confined to the Sloan School, classrooms, and the same twelve-by-twelve square foot office I’d occupied for the past fifteen years.

“Dr. Barone?” A woman’s velvety voice interrupted the rising tide of my anxiety. I followed the sound of my name to a woman walking toward me with all the grace of a 1920s Vanna White. Her chin-length blonde hair was expertly styled in pin curls, not a strand out of place, and her pale skin was flawless, like porcelain. The retro style of her hair and makeup matched her clothing—a maroon dress with three-quarter-length sleeves, a collared bodice, and a flowing skirt that ended below the knee above what appeared to be vintage t-strap pumps.

What I wouldn’t have given for a fraction of her style and confidence.

“Yes. I’m Dr. Barone.”

“Right on time,” she said and flashed a beauty-pageant smile. “I’m Ms. Connelly, the General Manager of Terme di Boston. Mr. DeVita’s assistant left early for the weekend, so I’m to escort you to his office.”

She held out her hand, and I shook it. Her voice had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place—British, perhaps? My nerves mellowed at her unmistakably welcoming tone.

“Please. Call me Anna.”

“Anna. I’m Siobhán. A pleasure to meet you. Let’s check your coat—you must be boiling—and then we’ll head upstairs. We run a tight schedule here at Terme.”

She wasn’t wrong. The layers were unbearable now that I was inside, and the tight schedule comment only served to turn up the heat. I stripped off my coat, scarf, and gloves, and deposited them with the bellhop before following Siobhán to the elevators behind the front desk.

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