Page 32 of Taken By the Fae

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but I’m as close as I’m going to get.”

She offers a sympathetic smile. “Want me to ride with you? I can hype you up the entire way there so you’ll walk into that office feeling like you own the place.”

I laugh softly. “I’ll be okay, but thanks. You’re seriously the best,” I tell her, because she absolutely would come with me to make me feel better.

She plops onto the chair at her desk, taking a drink of her coffee. “Yeah, well, I have to make up for keeping the whole fae thing from you.”

I lift my to-go cup. “Keep bringing me coffee and sweets, and we’ll have no issues.”

Allison grins at me. “Deal.”

When it’s time to leave, my stomach twists.Get a grip. I clench my hands into fists, take a deep breath, and grab my bag before I head for the door.

“You’ve got this.” Allison shoots me a thumbs-up from her desk.

My lips form a smile as my chest loosens a fraction. “I’ll see you later.”

The fifteen-minute streetcar ride to the Westbrook Hotel feels like hours. Both the hotel and campus are downtown, but traffic is always heavy in the morning.

I step off with a crowd of people and shoulder my bag as I head for the building. My heels echo against the concrete, and I focus on the repetitiveclick, click, clickto keep myself from spiraling.

The hotel lobby is as extravagant as I remember it, and my gaze bounces around the room. A few employees and guests walk around, chatting or watching the morning news on one of the many flat screens attached to the walls.

I straighten, gripping my bag until my knuckles turn white, put on my best pleasant-yet-professional expression, and walk to the concierge desk. I smile at the familiar face. It’s the same girl as the day I stormed in, demanding to see Tristan. Marisa, her name tag says. “Hi there. I’m sorry if you remember me.”

Her expression is bright, friendly. “Miss Marshall, welcome back to the Westbrook Hotel.”

“Thanks. Again, sorry about last time. Tristan—uh, Mr. Westbrook, can be…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve worked here for three years.” She offers me a grin as if we’re sharing some inside joke at Tristan’s expense. “Mr. Westbrook instructed me to send you to the office upon your arrival.”

I nod, almost smiling. “Right, okay.”

“Head over to the elevators across the lobby. Westbrook Inc.’s offices are marked, so you shouldn’t have any issues getting there,” she says and hands me a lanyard with a keycard.

“Thanks.” I glance at the clock behind her and sigh. I guess it would be too childish to whine about how I don’t want to go. Pretty unprofessional, at least. “I better get going. Don’t want to be late on my first day.”

“Good luck.” Her tone is light and paired with a kind smile.

“Thanks,” I say before walking away, wondering just how much Marisa knows about the man she works for.

I tap my fingers against my thighs the entire elevator ride, glancing at myself in the mirror that covers the back wall. At the thirty-ninth floor—a level below Tristan’s penthouse—I approach the office reception desk.

“Hi,” I say in the most cheerful voice I can muster.

A black-haired man in an expensive-looking suit, who can’t be much older than me, lifts his head. “Good morning. Miss Marshall, I presume.”

“That’s me.” I try to stay pleasant.

“Wonderful,” he says, but the edge to his voice suggests he feels the opposite.

Keep smiling, I chant over and over in my head.

“Good morning, Miss Marshall.”

The smile drops right off my face. My jaw is clenched so tight I couldn’t speak if I wanted to.

This was a terrible mistake.

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