Grace's voice finally broke through the silence.
"Two older journalists mentioned him. I followed the trail."
Donald's gaze didn't move from her face. His silence was heavier than his words.
He leaned forward slowly, his elbows on the desk.
"You shouldn't have followed that trail," he said.
The air shifted. Grace's pulse raced. Her notebook suddenly felt like a shield she could hide behind.
But she refused to shrink.
"I'm not afraid of where the truth leads," she said. "Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were both employees of the Cole oil group. I want records. I want go know what happened to them." Her voice was firm.
Donald's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.
He reached for his shelf and brought out a file.
He slid the file on the table.
"You'll find what you need to know about Bernard Stone here" He said as he pointed at the file.
The room was quiet again. The kind of quiet that carried a warning.
'Do you know him? Mr. Bernard." Grace said as she leaned. Her pulse quickened.
He looked down at her recorder. Like he wanted to be mindful about what he says next.
"You said an independent investigation. Hmm, if I were to allow a team in, do you think they'll find what you expect?" He asked.
"I don't think anything." She snapped. "I know what workers tell me. They have seen things and they keep lists, but someone has to check." Grace said.
"There's something about you, the fire in you, I like it,"
The compliment landed heavily on her. She replied to him in a shaky voice. "This isn't about you, Mr. Cole."
"No?" he asked.
He leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. He smelled faintly of dark wood and something expensive. The scent made Grace's mind dizzy for a second.
"Then why do you keep thinking about me?" He asked with his eyes fixed on her.
Grace's mouth opened.
"Because you are the face of the company." She said finally. "Because you stand on the same stage as the people who decide what goes on in Cole Oil."
He smiled. And for a very short second, he looked less like a villain and more like a man trying to understand Cole Oil.
He was a little confused, like Grace. He also needed answers to his own question.
They were like pieces on a chessboard. Only that Grace was a pawn and Donald, the bishop. All were being used to protect someone or something.
"You know," he began. "I have files, tons of old ledgers, approvals that have never reached workers. But that could be anything.
I would like to know what you have, not for the press, but for me. I want facts, if there is corruption," he paused. "I need to know."
Grace perceived danger in that offer. If she helps him, she risks her story and independence. If she refused, she might lose a rare ally who is closer to information than she is.
"You want my notes?" she asked.
He leaned back slowly. "Not yet, first talk to me. Tell me everything you know and dug out. If I find out some people in my company are stealing from the poor, I will not stand for it. But if you punish wrong claims, you ruin lives and companies. So, I want concrete evidence." He said as he leaned forward again.
"Listen, Grace, we both have power here, different kinds. Let us use it wisely."
Grace felt his words, she knew he was trying to make a bargain. She knew she had to set boundaries, the rich cannot always be trusted.
"If I find anything, you'll clean up what is wrong. You'll expose whoever is behind and not cover it up." She said with so much fire in her eyes. "Let an independent team enter with lawyers who do not answer to Cole Oil. Let them look. If they find nothing, I write nothing. If they find lies, I will write the truth."
Donald watched her carefully, weighing her words and how they would affect the future of Cole Oil.
"And if they find worse, if they find out people were silenced?" his mouth hardened. "We'll handle it quietly, perhaps. But it will be handled."
"Miss McCarthy," he said finally. "One more thing, why do you think Bernard's wife left the hospital? Why was she even there in the first place?"
She thought about the worn-out photo she had seen online. Although, the article hinted at fear, Grace felt it was something bigger.
"I don't know. But I'll find out." She said like she was making a promise.
Donald smiled.
He picked up the folder to hand it to her. She took it as they made contact. Their fingers brushed. It was a brief contact, but it felt like an electric shock. Both of them froze, their eyes locked.
Collins knocked on the door and stepped in. They both turned back to see who had knocked.
"Mr. Cole, your secretary says you have an appointment at six," Collins said.
Donald straightened. He looked at Grace with a steady smile.
"Thank you for coming, Miss McCarthy. Think about what I said. If you are willing to share the facts, we can try to fix this properly." He said as he stretched out his hand to help her up.
Grace placed her hand on his as she rose. She didn't take her eyes off his. Her legs felt weak. She had experienced butterflies in her stomach. She felt his soft, delicate skin as her heart raced. She didn't understand what she felt, but she knew it wasn't normal.
Donald knew he was different around her. He thought: could he be falling for her? when her palm met his, a feeling ran through his body. He didn't know why, but he knew he didn't want her to leave.
Collins stared at both of them, and how they stared at each other with passion.
He knew immediately that this was more than a story. This was an attraction. A weird type of attraction.
"Thank you." Grace said as she turned to leave.
When she reached the door, Donald said one last thing. his voice changed completely. It carried care; it was gentle, almost private. "Be careful, Grace."
Grace closed the door behind her and walked out of the glass corridor.
Her heartbeat pounded harder with a mixture of victory and danger.
But underneath all of those was something she couldn't understand: pleasure?
Outside, the city was hot in the sun. She stepped out of the building as she hailed a taxi.
She entered the taxi, and when she looked up at the Cole Oil building, she saw Donald staring down at her. Her heart skipped. The taxi drove away.
She remembered his words, the bargain, as she placed her hands on her lips. The smell of his perfume still lingered on her palm.
Her mind drifted to him. She wasn't sure about this new feeling, but she knew something was changing. She kept playing the touch in her head, it lingered in a bone. She was almost daydreaming as the honk of a vehicle brought her back to reality.
And high above the city, Donald Cole stared at his hand, wondering why one touch from Grace McCarthy felt different.