Chapter 2 - The Ambush at the Hotel LobbyThe flight to Miami was long, quiet, and profoundly liberating. By the time my cab pulled up to the grand entrance of the oceanfront business hotel where our firm had booked a block of executive suites, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a brilliant orange and purple glow across the Atlantic.
I checked into a separate room on the seventh floor—far away from the executive penthouse suite where Jared was undoubtedly staying—and ordered a glass of wine and room service.
I was halfway through reviewing my offline master copy of the client proposal when a heavy, aggressive pounding echoed against my hotel room door.
Bang, bang, bang.
I set my tablet down, walked across the carpet, and peered through the peephole.
Jared stood in the hallway, his face flushed with rage, his tie yanked loose around his collar. Right behind him stood Kiera, clutching a designer handbag to her chest with a look of manufactured distress.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open just three inches, resting my hand against the chain guard.
"Open this door right now, Annalise!" Jared demanded, shoving his palm against the wood. When he realized the chain was holding it in place, his face twisted in fury. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how you embarrassed me at the airport? Walking off the flight like a lunatic!"
"You embarrassed yourself, Jared," I said, my voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or emotion. "And you're standing outside my room making a scene in front of the entire floor. Keep your voice down, or I'll call hotel security."
Kiera stepped forward, peering over Jared’s shoulder, her lower lip trembling just enough to look convincing. "Annalise, please. Don't be like this. Jared was just trying to help me—the turbulence makes me sick, and you know how stressed he's been about the Henderson account. You're blowing everything completely out of proportion."
I looked at the twenty-three-year-old intern wearing my fiancé’s jacket, standing in a luxury hotel paid for by corporate expense accounts I had personally audited.
"Kiera," I said softly, looking her dead in the eye. "Save the performance for someone who cares. And take off that jacket—it looks ridiculous on you."
Kiera gasped, clutching the lapels of the navy wool jacket tighter around her chest.
"You are completely unhinged," Jared hissed, his eyes narrowing. "You throw away five years because of a seat? Because of a junior staff member who needed accommodation? If you think you're walking into tomorrow morning's pitch meeting acting like this, you're delusional. I'm benching you, Annalise. You are officially off the Henderson account."
I let out a slow, quiet breath. A faint, cold smile touched the corners of my lips.
"You're benching me from my own account?" I asked.
"It's our account," Jared corrected viciously. "And as senior project lead, I have full authority to reassign presentation duties. Kiera is going to present the pitch tomorrow morning. You can stay locked in this room where you belong."
"Is that right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's right," Jared snapped, turning on his heel. "And if you try to pull any stunts tomorrow morning in the boardroom, I will personally ensure the executive board blacklists you from every consulting network in Boston. Come on, Kiera."
They turned down the hallway toward the elevators.
I closed the door slowly, locked the deadbolt, and walked back to my desk. I picked up my phone, bypassed Jared's blocked number, and sent a quick text to Arthur Henderson, the billionaire managing director of Henderson Global Capital and the man we were pitching tomorrow morning.
Me: Mr. Henderson, good evening. This is Annalise Vance, lead architect of the upcoming restructuring proposal. I look forward to our meeting tomorrow at 9:00 AM. I have a few vital, unreleased addendums to review with you prior to the formal presentation.
Within two minutes, my phone lit up with Arthur Henderson's direct reply:
May you like
Arthur Henderson: Always a pleasure, Annalise. Your analytical models are the only reason we're even considering this firm. See you at nine sharp in the executive boardroom.
I placed my phone face down on the desk, feeling a cold, satisfying wave of calm wash over me. Jared thought he held all the cards. He had no idea he was playing a game where he didn't even own the deck.
