Chapter 13 - The Corporate VultureThe next morning, the rain cleared, leaving behind a crisp, brilliant autumn sky that made Lake Washington sparkle like crushed diamonds.
I arrived at my firm in downtown Seattle early, stepping out of the elevator into the sleek, open-concept lobby of Harper Brooks Designs. My lead project manager, Sarah, intercepted me before I even reached my office door.
"Harper, you have a visitor in conference room B," Sarah said, her brow furrowed with mild concern. "She didn't make an appointment, but she insisted she wouldn't leave until she spoke with you directly."
"Who is it, Sarah?" I asked, setting my briefcase down on my desk.
"Jessica Reynolds."
My footsteps stopped dead.
Jessica Reynolds. The woman who had schemed, plotted, and stolen my husband, strutted through high society on his arm, and ultimately crashed right alongside him when the empire imploded.
"Did security let her in?" I asked, my voice tightening.
"She slipped in behind a delivery courier," Sarah explained. "She looks... rough, Harper. Not like the woman we saw at the gala. She's desperate."
I stared down at my desk for a moment, weighing my options. Letting Jessica into my office was inviting a viper into the hen house. But curiosity—and a deep, burning desire to see how the mighty had fallen—won out.
"Send her in," I instructed coldly. "And have Marcus Vance on standby in my private office just in case."
A few minutes later, the door to conference room B clicked open.
Jessica Reynolds stepped inside, and for a split second, I almost didn't recognize her. The designer Versace gowns, the flawless professional makeup, the haughty, untouchable smirk—all of it was gone. She wore a faded beige trench coat that looked two sizes too big, no makeup, and her hair was tied back in a messy, careless ponytail. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, shouting of sleepless nights and absolute ruin.
She stopped a few feet away from my desk, her hands trembling as she clutched a worn leather handbag to her chest.
May you like
"Hello, Harper," Jessica whispered, her voice hollow and devoid of its old, venomous edge.
"You have two minutes, Jessica," I said, remaining seated behind my sleek glass desk, not offering her a seat. "Before I have security drag you out of my building for trespassing."
