Chapter 4 Unemployed by Sundown

Hayley's apartment on the Upper West Side was small, a one-bedroom she'd found in a panic after leaving the Patton mansion. It was her sanctuary, and now she was letting a stranger into it.

Kieran rolled his small suitcase-a simple, functional piece of luggage-into the living room. The space immediately felt smaller, charged with an awkward intimacy.

"I'll take the sofa," he said, before she could even begin to navigate the sleeping arrangements. "It looks comfortable enough."

"Thank you," she said, relieved. She turned away, busying herself by organizing a portfolio of her curatorial work. She had an interview at Northgate Gallery tomorrow, a Friday that felt heavy with the promise of a new start.

Miles away, in the cavernous, mahogany-paneled library of the Patton estate, the sound of shattering porcelain echoed off the book-lined walls. Brad had just thrown a Ming dynasty vase against the fireplace.

Jenna carefully swept up the priceless shards. "Darling, don't let some nobody ruin your mood. He's not worth it."

Brad snatched a business card from his jacket pocket and threw it on his desk. It was Kieran's. "McCall Insurance," he sneered. "It's a major player on Wall Street, but this guy? He's a bottom-feeder. A sales drone."

"The McCall family?" Jenna asked, her voice laced with concern. "Aren't they... powerful?"

"The McCalls wouldn't spit on this guy if he was on fire," Brad said with absolute certainty. He paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "Still... McCall. It's probably no relation, but I'll have my assistant check him out just to be sure. Can't have any loose ends."

He picked up the heavy brass phone on his desk and dialed a number from memory. It was the direct line to a senior vice president at McCall Insurance, a man whose pet charity the Patton family generously supported every year.

Brad didn't bother with pleasantries. He leveraged the family name and their seven-figure annual donations, demanding that an employee named Kieran Mccall be terminated. Immediately.

The executive on the other end of the line stammered, clearly flustered, but ultimately promised to "look into it" and "take appropriate action."

Brad hung up, a cruel, satisfied smile spreading across his face. He pulled Jenna onto his lap. "He'll be unemployed and on the street by tomorrow afternoon."

Back in the apartment, morning light streamed through the windows. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the small space.

Hayley emerged from her bedroom, pulling her robe tighter around herself. Kieran was in the kitchen, plating scrambled eggs and toast. He was already dressed in a simple, well-fitting shirt and slacks.

He handed her a mug of coffee. "Morning. Ready for your big interview?"

She took a sip. It was perfect. Rich and smooth, with no bitterness. Exactly how she liked it. She'd never told him.

His phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the caller ID-the SVP Brad had called-and his expression didn't change.

He walked out onto the small balcony to take the call. Hayley could hear the low murmur of his voice, but not the words.

"Mr. Patton called," the executive on the phone said, his voice shaking. "He... he demanded your termination. Sir, what are your instructions?"

"Do it," Kieran said calmly. "Follow the standard procedure. Make it look convincing. Send me the paperwork."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." The man sounded profoundly confused and terrified.

Kieran ended the call and stepped back inside, his face a mask of pleasant neutrality.

"Work call?" Hayley asked.

"Just a client," he said with an easy smile. He then pointed to a garment bag hanging on the back of a chair. "I picked something up for you yesterday. I thought it might work for the interview."

She unzipped the bag. Inside was a beautifully tailored blazer, a deep navy blue that would complement her eyes. She slipped it on. It fit as if it had been made for her.

"You look like you already own the place," Kieran said, his eyes warm with encouragement.

Hayley took a deep breath, the fabric feeling like a suit of armor. For the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of confidence. She walked out the door and headed for Northgate Gallery, completely unaware that the man who just made her breakfast also owned every piece of art hanging on its walls.