From the Top

by Roxanne Smith

  “I’m done.” She gave a little shrug and looked away. An emptiness like creeping fog stole through her. She was numb as her father rose from the chair and left her office. The door clicked quietly shut behind him. Hours passed before it opened again.

  * * * *

  Grant frowned at his watch. He stared at Seraphina’s office door, paced a tight circle, trying to appear nonchalant in case there were any other stragglers, then approached again only to falter and lose his courage.

  Apologies weren’t that hard. Rare as albino peacocks, but not impossible. She’d stayed late tonight, working through the day inside her office, for which he was personally grateful. He wanted to come to her on her turf, not summon her into his office again. He wanted to speak to her as Grant to Seraphina, not Mr. Gallagher to lead project designer. Ideally, that didn’t happen at the office. But to convince her to meet him somewhere else, he’d have to give her a good reason. An apology for being a dick had to be a decent starting place. The surety and easy confidence that were his trademark abandoned him. He forced his way through it, feigning what didn’t come naturally, and finally rapped his knuckles across the door twice in quick succession.

  Several beats of silence passed. Then Seraphina’s muffled voice invited him inside.

  Grant took a second to compose his features and square his shoulders. He didn’t want her to see his nervousness. He needn’t have bothered. He opened the door, took one look at her face, and shut it quickly behind him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Seraphina’s blue eyes were almost vacant as she stared at a spot on the wall. She seemed to shake herself, then gradually meet his gaze. She smiled wanly. “Sorry. I had a visitor earlier. Some family news.” Her low, bitter laugh caught Grant off guard. “If you can really call it that.”

  He sat down and leaned toward her, palms resting on his knees. “Tell me.” He winced at the command in his tone, but Seraphina didn’t seem to notice.

  She shrugged. “My dad came by. He’s moving to Phoenix. Which is great. I’m glad he’s chasing his dream or whatever. They say it’s never too late.” Suddenly, her eyes grew round and wet. She blinked fiercely, battling against some building emotion that stiffened her shoulders. Her hands fisted on her desk. “She must be a burden to you, no matter how dutifully you bear it. Maybe because you feel you owe her something, but I hope you appreciate how lucky you are. I could’ve used someone like Kathleen in my life.” Her pinched lips formed a grim smile. “Still could.”

  Grant didn’t ask any more questions. He knew loneliness when he saw it, and the echoing of abandonment made hollow wells of her eyes. Another tendril of understanding twined between them. He stood and pulled Seraphina to her feet, gently gripping her elbow. First, he hugged her, burying her inside the protective circle of his arms. Then he helped her gather her things and prepare to leave.

  “I do know how lucky I am. I’ve always known,” he responded softly, once they were ensconced inside a cab, directed to Seraphina’s studio apartment in midtown. The weather had been indecisive all day, alternately scorching hot and overcast. Finally, a few of the scattered clouds broke. Light rain fell onto sun baked streets, causing mist to rise from the pavement.

  Seraphina didn’t move her gaze from the window, but she nodded. “It’s stupid to feel so abandoned when he was never there for me, anyway. We hardly spoke.”

  Pain added a strangled twist to her words, and Grant guessed there was more to the story. But he didn’t push. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Seraphina led him inside. He couldn’t help a smile as he studied her cozy apartment. They were tight quarters, but she made the best of them with stylish touches and clever furniture placement. What the apartment lacked in natural light, Seraphina made up for with candles. Clusters of them on every surface, in big clear vases filled with glass beads. Some were wedged inside wrought iron holders on the wall. From the small table where she’d dropped her keys, she picked up a book of matches and began lighting several as she moved farther into the living area.

  A vast variety of potted plants gave it the feel of a courtyard off the French Quarter in New Orleans. Flowers in every color, some in bloom, some in tightly curled buds, and some brown and drooping. Leaves, small bushes, and a vine trailing over the window frame and up the side of a decorative wooden ladder resting against the wall, the rungs providing shelfs for even more plants, all embellished the small space with warmth and life.

  She caught him ogling. “Kay,” she explained, her smile tight but genuine. “Since she started working for Free Leaf Concepts, I’ve become the recipient of a tiny horde of greenery. I had a few of my own to start with, some flowers that aren’t too difficult to keep alive, and I guess she assumed I must have a green thumb. Or maybe she feels bad that I don’t have a yard. I make an absurd effort to keep them all alive. But I manage, because I feel like I’d disappoint her otherwise, and Kay just keeps bringing them. Vicious, like most cycles.”

  “Well, it’s nice.” And it was. Humble. Cozy. Seraphina didn’t live on the budget he did, but for all that, he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather spend time. Small flames made dancing shadows on the walls. It brought to mind images of long-stemmed glasses of rich dark wine, and the soft orange glow of candlelight on bare skin.

  Seraphina had gone into the kitchen, which butted against the far wall, divided from the living space by a small island. She flipped on a dull light over the sink and began hunting through cabinets. “I usually heat up a can of whatever looks yummy on the label.”

  He snorted softly and came up behind her, setting his hand atop hers. “I heard all about the burned cheese toast. Instead, why don’t you give me permission to rummage in your pantry?”

  Her eyebrows rose dramatically. She peered up at him, and they were almost nose to nose. “I don’t think there’s going to be any rummaging in my pantry tonight, mister.”

  Grant pressed his lips together. “I stepped right into that one.” It was nice to see her smile return, however briefly. “But in all seriousness, I’ll cook. And in return, you let me stay the night.” She’d taken a step back from him. He quickly held up a finger. “Nothing to do with your pantry. Not your metaphorical one, anyway. Just let me stay.”

  Such indecision. She bit her lip and backed away until she bumped into the island. Her arms crossed her body as if she was fighting off a chill. She watched him like the answers to all of life’s questions were scrawled across his skin. Finally, she spoke, a low murmur he hardly caught. “Today, my dad reminded me of something important. Things don’t last. Nothing ever does.”

  His lip curled into an involuntary grimace. “I think nothing has lasted for him because he’s a tool. You wouldn’t have to go any farther than Heritage Acres to find an old woman who’d disagree with him wholeheartedly. Forgive my saying so, but only one of those two opinions is worthy of the high regard they’ve both been given.”

  Grant didn’t move until Seraphina exhaled a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “Okay. You can stay.”

  Chapter 13

  Roper paused in the doorway of Seraphina’s office and coolly appraised her. “I peeked at your updated plans. They look good. The black walnut. Cost effective and pretty.”

  She smiled wanly. “Just like me.”

  He chuckled softly and came inside but didn’t sit. Nor did his strange expression change.

  Seraphina pulled her hands away from her laptop and settled them in her lap. She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know how to invite you to get to the point without sounding rude. So, would you like a coffee or something? Maybe you’d like to discuss the weather while you warm up to your topic?”

  A smile broke through, but the thoughtful look in Roper’s eye didn’t quite disappear. He shrugged and took a seat. He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. His expressive eyes were wide and earnest. “I don’t think you’re
rude. I think you’re efficient, among many other things. I know it might seem weird that I care at all, given that I’m counting down my days here at Gallagher Interiors. But it’s professional integrity that drives me to ask why you’re spending so much time at Tanbee House.”

  The question caught her off guard. Seraphina licked her lips and settled back into her chair. She wrestled with the answer. She couldn’t tell the truth, but she had to have a believable lie. She’d spent a few hours the last several days sniffing around Tanbee House. She’d yet to achieve the privacy necessary to further investigate the drug cache in the wall, and Marc had adamantly refused to pass her name along to the nighttime security team, because the risk of getting injured on site in the dark was too high.

  Before she could decide where to straddle the line, Roper sat back with a sigh. “Sorry. I know, it’s not my business. I just heard a couple of Marc’s guys complain. They say you’re underfoot. Marc doesn’t mind, because you’re not out there trying to usurp his power and boss his crew around. But it hasn’t gone unnoticed that you’re delegating a lion’s share of your job to Ophelia. As far as I can tell, you’re using the free time to hang around Tanbee House at a time when you aren’t needed there. Until Marc’s crew put down a subfloor, wire, and plumb, there isn’t much for you to do.” Roper paused and rubbed his cheek. “I guess I’m just curious. If I were running this thing, I’d be a little more hands on, but on this end.”

  Seraphina cleared her throat and decided some measure of honesty was necessary. Her reputation was still too young and fragile to withstand rumors of laziness. She stood carefully and came around her desk to lean against it. She lowered her voice a degree or two. “You are correct. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t spend any time at Tanbee House during this phase. Or not much, anyway. I trust Marc and his team to do the job, and yes, I find myself in the way most of the time. In fact, there are times it’s deliberate. To slow the process. See, I think I found something. Or rather, I think there’s something to be found.”

  Roper’s mouth opened and closed again. His gaze scanned the ceiling before meeting hers again. Shrewd, his expression, and she didn’t blame him for his skepticism. “Can you give me a little more detail than that? Like, what are we talking here? Gold hidden in the walls?”

  Her pulse skittered. Then she realized in a shell like Tanbee House, the walls were the only place something could really be hidden. For a moment, she’d thought his wild guess was less than a guess. “No. Not to say what I suspect doesn’t have value. I don’t intend to take it for myself, if that concerns you. More like I need to prove or disprove its existence.” She couldn’t be more misleading and simultaneously truthful than that.

  “Huh.” Roper stroked his chin. “Where’d you get this from? Did you stumble across something in the historical society’s archives?”

  “Uh…um, no. Well, sort of.” Her mind leaped and ran, grasping for purchase. If she couldn’t convince Roper of her intentions, he may decide to do some digging of his own. “Evidence suggests a house was used for stowing away goods. I can’t prove the location is Tanbee House, but some of the pieces fit. It’s all supposition at this point. I’m merely investigating.” The lie made her skin prickle with unease. It would be easy enough to prove her a liar.

  But Roper seemed to relax. He nodded. “Oh. Okay. That’s pretty neat, huh? What does Grant think?”

  Seraphina stood up straight and checked her watch. She didn’t have anywhere to be, but she hoped Roper would feel her impatience and be prodded into wrapping up his little interrogation. “I haven’t spoken to him. Not yet. Without proof, there’s not much to say. Although, it’s hard to imagine he hasn’t had some of the same concerns as you. And he seems like the kind of man who knows what’s going on.” She prayed that would be enough to keep Roper from mentioning a word of this conversation to Grant. She wanted to wring her hands and mumble prayers, but maintained her calm in front of Roper. If she had to explain herself to Grant, she’d ask for a likely cover story from Oliver. If anyone had something up his sleeve, it was a man whose undercover work demanded he have an answer for everything.

  Whether he realized it or not, Roper reacted to her nonverbal cues. He stood and brushed invisible lint from his slacks. “I’m not questioning your ethic or anything, Seraphina. Or your integrity. Or, for that matter, your intelligence,” he added with a quirk of his lip. “I expect you’ll go to Grant if you find anything cool.” His smile widened. “I hope your hunt goes well. Sorry if I came off a little…”

  Seraphina responded to his trailing sentence with a disarming smile. “No harm, no foul. I appreciate your being forthright in your concern, and giving me an opportunity to explain myself. And you’re probably right. I’ve pawned off enough of my job on Ophelia and Brendan. I hope to wrap up my little detective scheme soon and dive in, both hands on the wheel and eyes on the road.”

  He waved her off with an almost embarrassed smile. “Forget I even said anything. Really. I didn’t mean to accuse you of not working hard enough.”

  “I understand,” she assured him. And she did. She might’ve initiated the same discussion had she been in his shoes. Roper might be ready to walk away from Gallagher Interiors, but he obviously still cared about the company. As if he weren’t already too likeable, that endeared him to her. She walked around her desk and tapped a key on her laptop to wake it up. “I’ll let you know what I find,” she offered. “Should I find anything at all.”

  “Yeah, cool. I hope you do. For fun’s sake, if nothing else.” He waved, walked through the doorway, and had hardly taken a step beyond. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there, Brendan. Did you need to speak to Seraphina?”

  Seraphina’s small hairs stood on end as Brendan slowly stepped into view. Their gazes locked, and she fought to keep her surprise and anxiety veiled. His eyes were difficult to read behind the thick frames resting on his nose. Had he heard everything? Nothing? There was no telling by studying him. She couldn’t give away her nervousness, so she covered it with irritation. “Do you always linger outside doors before you enter them?”

  Brendan didn’t skip a beat. “I wasn’t waiting. Just passing through at the same time Roper walked out.” A careless grin blossomed on his face, and he clapped Roper on the shoulder. “Sorry, bud, just bad timing. I’d be more careful before merging into traffic if I were you.”

  As she slowly lowered herself into her chair, Seraphina had to wonder if the playful jest held a hint of true threat. Or perhaps a word of caution meant for her own ears.

  Roper took the joke good naturedly. Because he was Roper, and how else did the man take anything. “I’ll look both ways next time.” Roper took off to the left, and Brendan continued on his path, taking him past Seraphina’s open door. He glanced up and his smile fell away before he disappeared again.

  So much for no harm, no foul. If Brendan had picked up even half of her conversation with Roper, there was potential for both.

  * * * *

  The next week and a half were among the longest in Seraphina’s professional career, if not her life. There were a few stretches of college, finals week for example, that came close, but those lacked the depth of anxiety she felt as opportunities and chances kept slipping her by. Time and time again, something thwarted her efforts to capture the drug stash on film. She was kept late in a meeting, or Ophelia caught wind of her plans for a late visit to Tanbee House and joined her. Sometimes, she even had actual job duties to attend to.

  She’d distanced herself from Grant as much as possible. A difficult thing to achieve, after the night he’d spent at her apartment. That night, something formed between them; a closeness she both craved and mistrusted. It was entirely too possible she was projecting her daddy issues onto Grant. One man walked out of her life without a backward glance, while another seemed all too eager to step into the vacancy left behind. Until she could sort out her feelings for Grant, keeping him at arm
’s length seemed the wisest course.

  The camera purchase had been more of an ordeal than she’d expected. Not the actual buying part. Oh, no. The weight of the sleek new Nikon in her hand made her hum with satisfaction. It was a gratuitous piece of equipment. Unfortunately, it didn’t allow for stealth. She’d bought a bigger purse and kept the Nikon swathed in a silk scarf.

  She’d managed to keep Brendan out of her hair by attaching him firmly to Ophelia’s hip as they worked together to order preliminary supplies and scout local sources for as much as possible. She’d even sent them out of town, off on a bargain-hunting trip to find a flea market Neve had raved about way out in the mountains. Brendan’s ignorance was key. Seraphina had no hardcore evidence the stash was his, but if it was, he might decide something were off if he caught Seraphina lugging around a Nikon to and from the work site. If he thought for a second she had any kind of evidence, he may bolt. Or abandon his stash. Which, according to Oliver, would defeat the purpose entirely.

  Marc Curry was another matter. Seraphina could hardly mask the vivid flash and tell-tale click of the camera. With him, she had no choice but to trust he’d find her sudden interest in photography not particularly notable. When she explained her desire to make a before and after portfolio for the city, documenting Tanbee House’s rebirth into the current century, Marc had frowned and glanced around the shell of the house. “You’re sure they want a reminder?”

  The man had made a particular nuisance of himself, wanting to move on to the bedroom as soon as they’d cleared the old kitchens. She’d had a ready excuse, if a bit feeble. She asked for more time, since she was still quibbling with herself as to whether moving the wall was truly necessary. It was, but she’d hang onto that excuse as long as Marc let her get away with it.