Chapter 4 The Devil Wears Armani

LORA

The Marrock Industries building in Manhattan was huge, all glass and steel, towering up like it was trying to show off. I stood on the sidewalk, holding my portfolio tight and trying not to freak out.

You got this, Mama, I whispered to myself, using the same pep talk I give when Alex is being a handful. You're Lora Blake, a badass designer and a great mom. Buildings don't scare you.

Once I got inside, the lobby was all marble and modern art that looked way too expensive. The receptionist was stunning, like she walked right off a magazine cover, making me suddenly self-conscious about my plain blazer and Target shoes.

Lora Blake to see Mr. Marrock, I said, trying hard to sound confident.

"Fifty-seventh floor. Ms. Morrison will meet you at the elevator," she replied.

The elevator ride felt way too quick. I checked my hair in the shiny steel doors, tucked a loose strand behind my ear, and reminded myself that I earned this. My work was good-really good-and someone had recognized it from three thousand miles away.

When the doors opened, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense vibe greeted me. Ms. Blake? I'm Janet Morrison, Mr. Marrock's assistant. Thanks for coming.

Thank you for having me.

She took me through a maze of glass offices where serious-looking folks in fancy suits worked hard. Everything felt so modern and probably cost more than most people make in a year.

Mr. Marrock is on a call, Janet said, stopping outside a corner office with big windows. Want anything? Coffee? Water?

Coffee would be great. I have a three-year-old, so caffeine is basically my best friend.

Janet smiled. I remember those days. Cream and sugar?

Just black. By month six of sleep deprivation, I gave up on fancy coffee. She laughed and went off. I waited in what I guessed was a waiting area, trying not to stare at the incredible view of Manhattan below. Portland was nice, but this was something else, this was power, plain and simple. Ms. Blake?

I turned around and felt my whole world melt. Standing in the doorway of the corner office was the man from the hotel, the father of my child. He looked even more handsome in a fitted charcoal gray suit.

His golden eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, everything froze. Then his face turned completely blank and cold. Please, come in, he said like we were complete strangers. I am Erin Marrock.

I walked into his office feeling like I was floating. The space was huge, stylish, and screamed success. He moved behind his desk and gestured for me to sit across from him, all professional and distant.

Time to play it cool, I told myself. Mr. Marrock, I said, settling into the chair. Thanks for considering me for this project.

Your portfolio is impressive. He opened a folder-my portfolio, neat and organized. Your work with Bradley Design caught our attention.

Tom Bradley is a good guy to work for. I kept my voice steady, but inside, my heart was racing. He takes chances on new talent. And you consider yourself a new talent?

There was a sharpness in his tone I hadn't heard before. Like he'd become someone who sees the world as a battle to fight. I've freelanced successfully for three years, working with several major businesses in Portland and Seattle. I deliver quality work on time and under budget.

Three years. He leaned back, studying me like I was a puzzle. What made you freelance? That felt pointed. Like he knew the reason I started working for myself and raising a kid alone.

I wanted the flexibility of being my own boss, I said, which was true enough. I enjoy the challenge of working with different businesses. Family obligations? My heart dropped. He knew. Somehow, he knew about Alex.

I beg your pardon?

Freelancing often attracts those with family commitments. Flexible schedules, you know. His face was unreadable. Do you have family, Ms. Blake? That question hung heavy between us. I could lie. I probably should. But those golden eyes-Alex's eyes-were staring at me, making it hard to stay calm.

I have a son, I admitted quietly. Something crossed his face- pain? Anger? It vanished too fast for me to tell.

Travel must be tricky, then.

I manage. I straightened up, letting my own strength show in my voice. Mr. Marrock, are we discussing my personal life or a business deal?

Both, actually. He stood and walked to the windows overlooking the city. With his back to me, he looked commanding. This project would require relocating to New York for about six months. Full corporate rebrand, multiple divisions, a complete overhaul of our public image.

Six months in New York. Six months with the guy who disappeared from my life like smoke. The same guy who was now looking at me like I was a problem to solve.

That's a big time commitment.

It's a big project. Seven figures, as Ms. Morrison mentioned. Plus relocation expenses, housing allowance, and a completion bonus.

That kind of money could change everything for Alex and me. A college fund, a house down payment-financial security I had only dreamed of.

I'll need details about the scope of work. Of course. He turned to face me, and for a moment, his serious mask slipped. I saw something flicker in his golden eyes- desire? Desperation? We should have dinner to discuss this. Tonight, if you're free. Mr. Marrock- Erin.

The way he said it sent a flutter through me. It's a business dinner, Ms. Blake. Nothing more. Sure, but we both knew it was more than that.

I have plans tonight. Another lie. My plans were pizza and cartoons with Alex on a video call.

Tomorrow, then.

It was more of a command than a request. Fine. Tomorrow. I grabbed my portfolio and what was left of my dignity. Business dinner. Nothing more. Nothing more, he agreed, but his eyes told a different story.

I made it to the elevator before my legs felt wobbly. Leaning against a marble pillar in the lobby, I took a moment to breathe.

He knew. Somehow, Erin Marrock knew about Alex. And I was going to sit across from him at dinner and pretend my boy didn't have his eyes.

Pretend that this meeting hadn't just flipped my newly rebuilt life upside down. My phone buzzed with a text from Maya: How did it go with the corporate overlords? I stared at the message, then typed back: You won't believe this.

Because I barely believed it myself. The guy was real. The father of my child was Erin Marrock, CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and apparently a master at making hotel security forget he existed. And tomorrow night, I was supposed to have dinner with him and act like my heart wasn't pounding out of my chest.

This could either be the best thing to ever happen to me, or it could ruin everything I'd worked for.

Or maybe it would be both.