Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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"CASSIE," FREYA GREETED, with a poisonous smile, as she waltzed toward the receptionist who sat behind a sleek desk in the lobby of the Arsov building.
Cassandra, her father's receptionist for the last five or so years, looked up, her eyes registering immediate dislike behind her dark-framed glasses as they settled upon Freya. The dislike shared between Cassandra and Freya was no secret to either of them. Freya felt the older woman's sceptical gaze graze over her attire, a narrow brow rising as she judged Roza's clothes.
Cassandra plastered a faux smile upon her face, for the sake of the throngs of people in the vast, bristling lobby, of course. Voice terse, she inquired, "How can I help you, Miss Arsov?"
Freya rested her palms flat on the cool marble of Cassandra's desk and beamed, flashing white teeth.
There was a troupe of businessmen in pressed suits near the elevator in Freya's left, a woman in a smart yellow pantsuit typing away the last-minute notes for whatever meeting she waited for on a tablet on one of the leather armchairs near the entrance, the large glass wall overlooking the street Freya had entered from displayed the trafficked streets and passers-by. The lobby wasn't empty, certainly not. Even on a Sunday morning, the lobby of her father's building was never empty.
Still, that didn't stop Freya from tapping her nails on the desk and chiming to Cassie, "Hmm, you can start by not fucking throwing yourself at my father."
She watched Cassandra's face crumple, her eyes darting wildly around the large lobby space to see who might've heard.
Hell, Freya's name was on the building, she could do what she wanted.
The horror blooming behind Cassandra's eyes, however, provided her no reprieve. It only opened the pit in her stomach even wider.
She'd told herself she could do this, walking from the café after a charming breakfast with Matthew, she'd convinced herself during the drive to her father's building. And yet, when she'd stepped out of Matthew's car, onto the bustling sidewalk, all the sandpapering his soft gazes had done against her sharp edges faded away and her legs felt unsteady beneath her feet.
The lurking feelings from yesterday's events had reared its ugly head as the reality crashed against her in the most inopportune moments. She didn't dare show it, forcing her legs onward, aware of Matthew's hesitant gaze on her back. He'd offered to come with her when she'd told him what she wanted to do after breakfast, but that would be too many questions from her father that she didn't know the answer too. Also, Freya wanted to do this alone.
She'd heard him drive away though and her stomach twisted.
Alas, she needed the credit card that would come out of this visit.
In the process of kidnapping her, her coat had been taken, along with her phone and cards. She doubted Charlotte had possessed any intention to steal from her. If she had, the thin white gold necklace upon which a glittering diamond hung wouldn't have still been around Freya's neck as she fled that basement.
