Chapter 3

She arrived at 8:58 am.

Zachary's PA, a composed woman named Diana who had worked for him for seven years and prided herself on being unshockable, did a very subtle double take when Isla Simmons stepped out of the elevator — portfolio under one arm, slightly windswept from the New York morning, looking around the fortieth floor with the particular expression of someone trying very hard to appear less intimidated than they were.

"Isla Simmons," Isla said. "I have a nine o'clock appointment with Mr. Cole."

Diana checked her screen. Looked up. "He's expecting you. I'll let him know you're here."

Isla nodded and stood by the window and looked out at the city below and told herself to breathe.

Diana's phone buzzed almost immediately.

"You can go in."

His office was exactly what she expected and nothing like what she expected simultaneously.

The space was vast — floor to ceiling windows on two sides, the whole city spread out below like something he'd ordered specifically. Clean lines. Dark furniture. Nothing unnecessary, nothing decorative, nothing that didn't serve a purpose.

Except for one thing.

On the far wall, behind his desk, hung a single painting.

An Irish coastal landscape — grey sea, pale sky, the kind of light that only existed in one part of the world.

She was staring at it when he spoke.

"You're looking at the painting."

She was startled. He was already watching her from behind his desk with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to the forearm, pen in hand.

More human than yesterday somehow.

"Sorry." She moved toward the chair across from his desk. "It's just — that's County Clare. I grew up near there."

He looked at the painting briefly. "I know."

She sat down. "You know County Clare?"

"I know where you're from." He set the pen down. "I do research before meetings, Ms. Simmons."

She held his gaze. "Most people research portfolios. Not hometowns."

Something shifted in his expression.

"Your portfolio was already on file from the original tender." He opened a folder on his desk. "The expanded installation will cover the twenty second and thirty first floors. I want the same designer. Same concept. Consistent with what you've already established on fourteen."

"Okay." She nodded. "Timeline?"

"Three months."

"Budget?"

He named a figure.

She kept her face completely neutral even though the number was three times what Hartwell Creative had billed for the original project.

"That works," she said evenly.

The corner of his mouth moved.

"Good." He closed the folder. "I'll have Diana send the amended contract to your firm today."

She nodded and reached for her portfolio while getting up from the seat.

"Ms. Simmons."

She stilled.

"The painting." He didn't look at it. He looked at her. "Does it look accurate? To what you remember?"

She glanced at it again. At the grey water and the pale light and the particular quality of sky that had been the backdrop of her entire childhood.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Almost exactly."

He nodded once. Like that answer mattered.

She left.

In the elevator going down she pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes and thought — very clearly and very deliberately —

Do not do that. Whatever that was. Do not do that.

The elevator opened on fourteenth floor.

She stepped out and got back to work.

On the fortieth floor Zachary picked up his phone and called Reid.

"She noticed the painting."

Reid was quiet for a moment. "You hung a painting of her hometown in your office."

"I've had it for years."

"Zachary." Reid's voice was careful. "You hung a painting of her hometown in your office and made sure she saw it."

Silence.

"Reid—"

"I know." A long exhale. "I know. I'll stay out of it." A pause. "Just — be careful. With her. She's not—" He stopped.

"She's not what?"

"She's not someone who'll walk away clean from this. You can see it in thirty seconds of looking at her." His voice dropped. "So just — be careful."

Zachary looked at the painting.

"I'm always careful," he said.

He ended the call.

Across town in a building neither of them had ever been in, a man named Theo Winslow was accepting an invitation to Reid Calloway's dinner party the following Friday and asking — casually, genuinely — if Reid needed him to bring anything.

He had no idea his life was about to change.

Neither did she.