Chapter 2 - The Morning After the EarthquakeWhen I woke up the next morning, sunlight was streaming blindingly through my thin white window blinds. I bolted upright in bed, my heart instantly racing.
The couch!
I scrambled out of my bedroom, rushing into the living room, half-expecting to find Cameron still sitting there, or worse, realizing the entire midnight encounter had been some bizarre, stress-induced fever dream brought on by too much overtime.
The couch was empty.
A neatly folded dark gray wool suit jacket was draped over the back of the armchair. Resting on the coffee table beside an empty glass of water was a heavy gold fountain pen and a handwritten note scrawled on my favorite floral notepad:
Emma,
Thank you for not throwing me out into the hall. I’ve sent a car to pick you up at 8:30 AM so you don't have to take the subway in the rain. Don't worry about the office; nobody will look for us until noon. We need to talk.
— C.
I stared at the note, my fingers trembling slightly as I traced his sharp, authoritative handwriting. My mind raced through a dozen different panic scenarios. What was going to happen when we walked into the Reed Global skyscraper in midtown Manhattan? The media was already crawling all over the lobby, hunting for scraps of gossip about Victoria’s sudden disappearance. If anyone connected Cameron’s absence last night to his mousy, kitten-pajama-wearing executive assistant, my career—and my quiet life—would be vaporized.
At exactly 8:29 AM, a low horn beeped outside my apartment building. I looked out the window. A black Mercedes-Maybach was idling by the curb, the driver in a crisp black suit standing by the rear door.
Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the elevator on the forty-second floor of Reed Global. The atmosphere on the executive floor was thick with tension. Junior executives were walking on eggshells, whispering in corners, casting terrified glances toward the double doors of Cameron’s corner office.
As I walked toward my desk, Sarah, the head of public relations, intercepted me, her face pale.
"Emma, thank God you're here," Sarah whispered frantically, grabbing my elbow. "It's an absolute madhouse. Page Six is running a story that Victoria bolted with a polo player from Palm Beach. The board is demanding an emergency press conference at two o'clock. And Mr. Reed... well, Mr. Reed has been locked in his office since seven this morning, and he looks like he's ready to execute people by firing squad."
"Has anyone gone in?" I asked, my throat tightening.
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"Are you insane? Nobody's touched his door except me, and I slid his espresso under it like an offering to a hungry dragon," Sarah shuddered. "Good luck, Emma. You're the only one brave—or foolish—enough to survive out here."
I took a deep breath, smoothed down my pencil skirt, and walked past my desk straight to Cameron’s double doors. I didn't knock. I just pushed them open and walked right into the storm.
