Chapter Four: Unforeseen Fate

Mr. Night stood up from his seat and motioned toward the single chair placed across from him by his desk. "Miss O'Donnell, please, take a seat."

His voice was gentle and calm, almost a soothing caress across my skin. Some of the unease I felt dissipated immediately, replaced by a tinge of hope that there was a chance I wouldn't be in too much trouble after all. Or that I could reason with him.

He was nothing like I expected.

He was young. If I had to guess, around twenty-five. Nothing close to the almost-decrepit old man in a snazzy suit—well, he was wearing a suit—that you'd typically find running a place like this. It was always the old men who had worked years to earn their fortune, who would own a billion-dollar corporation. Unless Mr. Night had inherited this place and had imminent luck since birth.

I'd vote on the latter.

I was so busy staring at him, I miss-sat the chair and stumbled forward. I was seconds away from face-planting myself onto the Moscato Beige calcite-marble flooring when a strong hand shot out and caught me by the forearm and steadied my balance.

The little breath I had left in my lungs deflated from my lips, and my cheeks turned a no-doubt ugly shade of pink. I parted my lips, about to spew an apology, when Mr. Night's gaze settled onto the cut on my arm. "That's an ugly cut you've got there," he commented, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Yeah, it's from…I…Honestly, don't remember how I got it," I lied in a stammer, the heat on my cheeks climbing a few hundred degrees more.

"I see." His sharp, tanned jaw flexed, his dark eyes not moving from mine. "Are you steady now?"

I nodded too quickly. "Yes, I'm sorry about—I'm good, thank you."

He finally released me, calmly rounding the desk toward his seat. It was then when it dawned on me that he had been standing behind his desk the moment I was about to sit down and tripped over my own stupid feet.

I frowned, watching him sinking into the plush leather chair he had vacated before. "How did you…" my voice trailed, and I tried to remember if I had imagined it. No, he was definitely behind his desk.

"Yes?" His dark, elegant brows shot up. "How did I…What?"

I shook my head again. "Nothing. I was just…Nevermind."

He stared at me for a long moment as if contemplating something before he motioned at the seat beside me. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, of course." I sat, looking everywhere but at him, knowing fully he was observing my every movement. I was suddenly so nervous, I could barely think.

Eventually, my eyes clashed with a pile of familiar-looking files stacked on his desk with notes stuck on the covers and my handwriting on them.

My heart sank as I got sucked back into reality and why I was there. I opened my mouth, about to protest my case, when Mr. Night caught ahead before me.

"Miss O'Donnell…" His voice trailed as he picked up a file and peered into it. "Scarlett."

"Yes?"

"Scarlett, what an…enticing name," he sounded thoughtful, almost as if he was saying it to himself rather than for my benefit. I didn't reply; not sure what to respond to that. "A shade of red. A particularly favored shade…" he cleared his throat. "Scarlett symbolizes courage, passion, force, joy and heat."

I slowly nodded, not sure where he was going with this.

"We're about to find out how much of that is true," his gaze settled back on me, and this time there was a challenge in them. Thankfully, his stare didn't linger, and he broke contact first, grabbing another file. "It came to my attention that you lost us, our most valued client today."

My posture stiffened. I swallowed a few times before I managed to speak. "Sir, if I may, but someone tampered with my files."

His eyes shot toward me. His expression was unchanged. "Is that so?"

"Yes. If you compare all my files to the one of House of Valentine, you'll see that the handwriting isn't the same as mine. I didn't—"

"I'm already aware of that matter, and it had been settled. I already fired the one responsible, as I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour at my company." He slid a file toward me. "I want an explanation for this."

My brows creased together as I picked up the file and flicked it open. "Oh. Klines. Yes, I did this one. But there is nothing wrong with…" My voice trailed as I spotted exactly what he was referring to. A knot formed inside my throat, and my stomach dropped. "Oh, no. It can't be. I'm certain I attached the document to the…"

"Do you recognize that?"

I tried to recall working on this file. I knew I did, but I was pretty convinced I finished it with all the correct details attached before I sent it off.

Each file had a copy of each company's details on a page stapled to it for reference purposes. This included essentials such as banking information, the identity documents of the owners, and other intel that otherwise should never be shared with anyone else except with Night & Hathaway, who was solely responsible for ensuring every deal went through smoothly. It was in Night & Hathaway's contract to ensure discretion.

But, you see, I accidentally didn't attach Klines' details. I didn't attach anything at all. "Okay, I must have forgotten to add it before I sent it to them. Can't I attach it and resend—"

"No. Look at this." He slid another file toward me. "This is Etherbrite's file. Klines' biggest competitor in the industry."

I picked up the file and sucked in a deep breath. This was much worse than I thought. I accidentally added Kline's details page to Etherbrite's file.

"Now, do you see the problem in there?" Mr. Night's voice took on a deeper tone. "Klines is suing me for all I've got for leaking their information with Etherbrite."

I blanched, nervously peering over the file at Mr. Night. "Sir, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't…" my voice died when he sat forward, his expression dark.

"Now, my question is, Scarlett," he over-pronounced my name in a low hiss. "What are we going to do about this?"