"Come in."
Gianna inhaled deeply twice, her chest rising and falling in a steadying rhythm as she heard that lazy drawl beckon whoever was out there.
Younger Beckett then, she surmised, her hand tightening on the doorknob. The same man who had tried more than once to poach her for reasons not related to business.
She wondered, as she twisted the cool metal knob, if they knew she was the one outside.
Surely they must, with all the secretaries they had running around—secretaries she had barreled past with the same bold lie she'd given the petty receptionist: that she had an appointment.
But did she? Her stomach tightened. Of course not.
She hoped this little lie wouldn't put a daint on her record or stain her reputation, just as she hoped that her coming here wouldn't be in vain.
Maybe if she had known that she would be meeting more than Senior Beckett, founder of this empire, she would have come with a portfolio—something, anything—maybe even one of her newest designs.
