❝ You make this messed-up world look so much more beautiful. ❞ Gathering me in his arms, he pulled me close -- his lips seeking mine hungrily.
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The only thing Summer Hale has ever wanted was to live peacefully away from her secrets...
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Positive I'm blinking, but I don't know how Positive an oxy just went in my mouth Positive I've died tonight, no fucking doubt — Okay by Chase Atlantic
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The chime of the elevator made me flinch, and Mr. John stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter.
Upon arriving at the Stanford Group's building, I was welcomed and escorted by a group of people through the lobby. The glances shared between employees, who quickly moved out of the way, sent a wave of nervousness in my stomach. I wasn't used to this type of attention. Having Gray's fangirls chase me around was something manageable, but this was a reminder of the person I was supposed to be.
We reached the top floor of the building and stepped out of the elevator. Mr. John guided me through the empty, wide corridors with multiple chandeliers draped from the ceiling, the crystals reflecting beautifully. It was a collective masterpiece and the same chandeliers used in HJ Corporation's office. My mother custom-designed them, and they were made from real diamonds.
"Memories or not, you haven't changed at all," said Mr. John. "You're just as bright as your name and as cunning as your mother."
We stopped in front of a black double door with a golden 'S' at the center, the same one at the Stanford Mansion's gate. Mr. John glanced down at me with a slight smile of encouragement before knocking on the door.
"Miss Summer has arrived," he announced before opening the door. He stepped aside with a hand stretched to the side.
I smiled tentatively. "Thank you."
Mr. John bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and closed the door when I was inside. The office looked like a wide-spaced, sophisticated designed study. I proceeded forward towards the man standing behind a large wooden desk.
"Good morning, Summer," he motioned to one of the single leather couches across his desk. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you, Mr. Stanford," I acknowledged, taking the seat to my right.
"Call me Gerald," he insisted, smiling half a smile.
Nodding, I scanned the office.
Behind Gerald were the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the city. There were built-in bookshelves on both sides of the room. The walls were a matte dark brown that accented the light gray carpeted floor. There were three black leather couches placed in an incomplete square with a round coffee table at the right side of the room, and to the left side of the room was a twelve-seater rectangular black marble table with twelve dark gray leather chairs.
