Chapter 2 An offer I couldn't refuse

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Gideon Rusk standing in that records room, looking at the document in my hand as though he knew exactly how much damage it could cause.

He hadn't denied signing it.

That bothered me more than anything else.

At seven the next morning, I spread the three pages across my dining table and took photographs of each one. I sent them to Nathaniel, along with a message asking him to identify the company that had received the money.

His reply came ten minutes later.

Don't send these to anyone else. I'll look into it.

I frowned at the screen.

I need more than that.

This time, he called.

"Good morning to you too," he said when I answered.

"Who owns the company?"

"Which company?"

"The one on the transfer document. You saw the photograph."

"I did. I'm checking the registration details."

"Then why are you telling me not to send it anywhere?"

There was a short silence.

"Because if that document is genuine, someone at Rusk International has known about the transfer for three years. You don't know who else might be watching."

"I know Gideon saw it."

"Did he take it from you?"

"No."

"Did he threaten you?"

"He told me to be careful."

Nathaniel exhaled. "That's almost worse."

I walked to the window. Across the street, a delivery truck blocked half the view of the pavement.

"I want to know what he was doing with my father's money."

"And I want you to find out without giving him a reason to destroy the evidence."

"I wasn't planning to hand it to him."

"Good. Then let me work."

I ended the call with more questions than answers.

At nine, I opened my laptop and searched the Rusk International careers page. The company had recently advertised for a senior executive assistant in its acquisitions division. The position required experience with property portfolios, financial reporting and confidential corporate records.

I had all three.

What I didn't have was a reason to believe Gideon would let me through the front door after last night.

I submitted my application anyway.

By eleven, I had received an automated confirmation. By noon, I had a missed call from an unknown number.

I called back.

"Miss Ellery?" a woman asked.

"Yes."

"My name is Sloane Mercer. I'm calling from the office of Mr Rusk. We'd like to arrange an interview with you this afternoon."

I sat straighter.

"For the executive assistant position?"

"That's correct. Two thirty, if you're available."

I glanced at the application confirmation on my screen.

"That's rather quick."

"Mr Rusk reviewed your application personally."

Of course he had.

"Two thirty works."

"Excellent. I'll send the details to your email."

The call ended.

I stared at my phone for a moment.

Gideon wasn't offering me an interview because he needed an assistant. He wanted to know why I had returned, what I was looking for and how much I had discovered.

He could have reported me for entering a restricted room. Instead, he was inviting me into his company.

It was either an opportunity or a trap.

I intended to find out which.

Rusk International occupied forty-eight floors of a glass tower in Midtown Manhattan. The lobby was all pale stone, dark wood and carefully placed artwork. Even the security desk looked more expensive than most hotel receptions.

I gave my name to the receptionist.

"You're expected, Miss Ellery."

That was the first surprise.

The second came when the elevator doors opened on the executive floor and I found Gideon's assistant waiting outside.

Sloane Mercer was a slim woman in her early thirties, with her hair pulled into a neat bun and a tablet tucked beneath one arm.

"Miss Ellery. I'm Sloane."

"Maren, please."

She offered a polite smile. "Mr Rusk is ready for you."

She led me down a corridor lined with glass offices. Employees moved between meeting rooms carrying folders and laptops. Nobody appeared particularly interested in me, which was probably for the best.

Sloane opened a set of double doors.

Gideon stood beside his desk, reading something on a tablet.

He didn't look surprised to see me.

"Miss Ellery," he said.

"Mr Rusk."

Sloane glanced between us. I caught the slight change in her expression, but she said nothing.

"Would you like me to bring in the other candidates' files?" she asked.

"No," Gideon replied. "That won't be necessary."

She nodded and left.

I remained standing.

Gideon placed his tablet on the desk. "You applied for the executive assistant position."

"That's what the application says."

"Your qualifications are impressive. Five years in hospitality operations, financial administration and property management. You also worked for Ellery Hospitality before the acquisition."

"I did."

"Your father owned the company."

"You're very familiar with my family history."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "It's relevant."

"To the job?"

"To my decision."

I folded my hands in front of me. "Then perhaps we should save each other some time. You know who I am. I know who you are. If you have a problem with my application, say so."

Gideon studied me for a moment.

"Why do you want to work here?"

I had prepared an answer on the drive over.

"I have experience in this industry. Your acquisitions division is expanding, and the position offers access to work that matches my qualifications."

"That sounds rehearsed."

"Most interview answers are."

A faint, humourless smile touched his mouth.

"You were in the hotel's records room last night."

There it was.

I held his gaze. "I was."

"You entered a restricted area and removed confidential material."

"I found documents that should never have been there."

"Those documents belong to my company."

"Some of them belonged to my father."

His expression hardened.

"Your father sold those properties."

"My father was convicted before he could defend himself properly."

"That's not an answer."

"Neither was your testimony."

Silence settled between us.

For a moment, I thought he would end the interview. Instead, Gideon walked around his desk and stopped a few feet away.

"You're not qualified to investigate the circumstances of your father's conviction."

"I didn't apply to investigate anything."

"No?"

"No. I applied for a job. You invited me here."

He looked at me as if he were trying to decide which part of my answer to believe.

Then he returned to his desk.

"The position involves handling confidential schedules, reviewing acquisition reports and coordinating with legal and finance departments. You'll report directly to me."

I blinked.

"Directly to you?"

"Is there a problem?"

"That seems unusual for an executive assistant."

"I prefer to know who has access to my office."

The meaning was clear.

He wanted me where he could watch me.

I considered refusing. It would have been the sensible thing to do. But the executive floor gave me access to the people and records I needed to understand the transfer.

Walking away would mean losing an opportunity I might not get again.

"What's the salary?" I asked.

Gideon named a figure.

It was generous. More generous than the position required.

I looked at him. "Are you trying to buy my silence?"

His expression turned cold.

"No, Miss Ellery. If I wanted your silence, I wouldn't offer you a desk outside my office."

I almost smiled.

"Then I suppose we understand each other."

He slid a contract across the desk.

"Read it carefully. I expect you to start tomorrow if you accept."

I picked it up, but before I could leave, he spoke again.

"One condition."

I paused.

"You do not enter restricted areas without authorisation. You do not remove company documents from this building. And anything you discover in the course of your work comes to me first."

I met his eyes.

"Of course."

We both knew I was lying.

I signed the offer letter.

Gideon watched me put down the pen.

"Welcome to Rusk International, Maren."

I tucked my copy of the contract into my bag.

"Thank you. I'm sure we'll get to know each other very well."

His gaze followed me to the door.

I had come looking for a way inside his empire.

Now he had handed me one.

What Gideon Rusk didn't understand was that I hadn't returned to New York to ask permission to take back what belonged to my family.