Chapter Fifteen

Rett

Standing outside my front office, I reiterated to Henri that there had never been an appointment scheduled with Richard Michelson.

“Yes, sir,” Henri said. “I contacted Mr. Knolls when Michelson first arrived.”

I owed neither Henri nor Richard Michelson an explanation of my delay. The simple singular thought of the beauty who’d been the cause would reroute my blood supply in a way I’d worked to quell.

When I nodded, Henri opened one of the tall double doors. With one exception, the room within had been decorated by my grandmother, my father’s mother, nearly sixty years ago. The wood floor, twenty-foot ceiling complete with commissioned murals, intricate trim and crown molding, fifteen-foot windows, and shimmering chandelier never went out of style. If anything, in the world of modern minimalism, the ostentatious opulence spoke volumes.

“Everett,” Richard Michelson said as he stood, vacating an antique velvet chair.