_Chapter 007

Valerie's POV

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I've probably mumbled ‘shit’ a billion times while the man in a black suit leads me to Malachi's office.

One of the only places in this entire building I've never been to.

My fingers tighten into fists as I will myself to walk faster behind the man ahead.

I don't even remember handing over my box. Somewhere between the elevator and this hallway, it vanished into a receptionist's hands.

Are my suspicions right? Is the CEO the mysterious man I slept with so carelessly that night? Does he know that too, and does he plan to get rid of me?

Fuck.

“Here we are, Miss Sinclair.”

I pull to a stop, blinking focus back to my sight. The man ahead of me is now standing before a door at the very end of the Executive floor.

There aren't many people here, but the few I've walked past give me looks that make this all the more nerve-wracking.

“T-Thanks,” I smile back at the man. “Sorry, did Mr Mourningale give any details on why he wants to see me?”

The man chuckles under his breath. Slipping his hands into his pocket, he whispers as he brushes past. “You're already here. Why don't you go find out?”

With that, he trudges away while I'm left standing there, wondering why the heck he made that sound so creepy.

I bring my eyes back to the door. Its warm, welcoming colour does absolutely nothing to ease the storm in my mind.

Three damn years of working here and not once have I gotten to this particular corridor on the Executive Floor.

Pulling in a deep breath, I stretch a hand to knock—only to stop when I'm only a few centimetres away from touching the door.

“Come on, Val,” I hiss. “Just go in there and get this over with.”

I try again.

Then again.

No matter what, I can't seem to get myself to knock, let alone push the door open.

I turn to search for the man in black, hoping he hasn't strayed too far away.

That's when I hear something that makes my heart plop to my stomach.

The door creaks open, and a familiar yet domineering cologne swirls around me, turning my knees to jelly. I don't want to look to confirm the obvious.

“Are you going to come in, or should I bring out seats so we can talk here?”

That baritone.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I spin my neck back to the entrance, which is now wide open. Towering in front of me is none other than Malachi, his arms folded across his chest.

Those uncanny golden eyes stay on me, leaving little room for me to guess what he's thinking.

Possibly piling up reasons to have me fired.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” I dip my head, hurriedly squeezing past his towering form. “I got… I got nervous and I—”

He clicks the door shut, seizing the rest of my sloppy excuse from my brain.

His eyes linger on me a little longer before he heads for his desk at the other end of the room—a large piece of brilliant oakwood; a glass façade with a magnificent view of the city behind it.

“Come sit.”

I follow without objections, sinking into a free seat in front of him two seconds after he settles down. He regards me, and for a moment I think I catch his lips twitching with a smile.

Bloody psycho.

Maybe he knows I'm nervous and is getting a raise off it. Won't be a surprise if he relishes stomping on the weak like his son.

His gaze drops to my hand. To the handkerchief wrapped around my palm and the red seeping through the white.

Something dark flickers across his face. There, then gone.

I slip my hand behind my back like a kid hiding a bad report card.

“The air conditioning is working perfectly,” He suddenly murmurs. “Yet you're sweating enough to leave my office soaked.” His smile is now more evident. “Relax. It's just you and I in here.”

Is that supposed to be comforting?

I plaster a smile, sitting upright. “Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Mr Mourningale.” He says. “I'll go straight to it. Do you remember me, Valerie?”

Time slows down.

My eyes go wide so fast I have to consciously tell myself to calm the fuck down.

Remember him?

What is he insinuating?

‘He… he can't be the man from that night.’ I shake my head even as all the evidence becomes harder to ignore.

First, there was the Mourningale International card he left behind when I woke up the next morning. Then there's the fact that he's been ogling me like a wolf locked on a rabbit since the general meeting.

I don't remember enough from that night to confidently confirm he's the one. And even if I do—I can't possibly get entangled with another Mourningale.

Not with everything his son put me through.

“N-No,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I mean… I'm aware you're Draven’s father. But other than that I—”

“A lot of stuttering there.” He arches a brow. “I told you to relax. Believe me, I don't bite.”

“I am relaxed.”

“If this is you being relaxed, then seeing truly anxious should be interesting.”

Clasping my good hand over the bad one, I exhale through my mouth. “S—Mr Mourningale. The point is, I don't really remember you.” My jaw works. “And I'm sorry I look so anxious. It's just hard to stay composed in front of my ex's father after he shut me out like Chick-fil-A fries on a Sunday.”

Silence.

It stays between us for several seconds, oppressive and suffocating.

I look away, waiting for the words I've been dreading since I walked in here.

“Draven is a fool.”

I blink.

Wait, what?

I bring my gaze back to his eyes, which now seem… apologetic. But then it hardens to something serious just as fast.

“I apologise on his behalf. He never made me aware of what he did.” A pause. “But that's not why I called you here.” He inclines himself in his seat, arms resting beside him. “I've kept track of your work in this company. In the last three years, you've given this company more than it ever paid for, regardless of any position you handle.”

Am I imagining this or is the man praising me?

Heat rushes into my cheeks as the realisation settles.

“W-What are you trying to say?”

“I'm giving you a promotion,” He reveals as casually as someone reading out the weather. “Effective immediately, you'll be the new Director of Operations. That position has been vacant for nearly a week, and I can't think of a better person to fill in the gap.”

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out, forcing me to shut it right back.

Director of Operations.

Me?

I should be thrilled. Instead, my heart is trying to claw its way out through my ribs.

"That's… a lot, sir," I croak. "I don't understand why—"

"One more thing, Valerie." He leans back, and that almost-smile slides into place. "Think carefully this time. Are you certain you don't remember me?"

The card, cologne and those golden eyes in the dark flash through my head in quick, blurry succession.

Oh God. Oh God, oh fucking God!

"No!" It bursts out of me, way too loud, way too fast. I flinch, then scramble to patch it. "I mean, no. No, I don't. I don't remember you. I've never—I would definitely remember if we had. Not that there's anything to remember! Because there isn't. Sir."

Crap!

I'm babbling. I know I'm babbling. My hands are strangling each other in my lap, and I can feel sweat sliding down my spine in a way that has nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Malachi doesn't blink, simply watching me unravel, like he's got all day.

"Hm," he finally says. "That's a lot of denial for someone who doesn't remember anything."

My stomach drops through the floor.

He slides a folder across the desk. "Your new contract. Read it carefully."

I stare at it. At his hand resting beside it. At the faint smirk that makes me think he knows exactly what I'm hiding.

Another Mourningale. Another contract.

Why do I get the feeling that the moment I sign, I'll be giving myself up to yet another leash?