Invitation
1554 Words
The collective murmur of the office halted instantly as if a switch had been flipped.
James's eyes flickered over to Catherine for a split second, his expression hardening ever so slightly. "Ms. Bellamy," he said, his voice low but commanding. "Why are you threatening Christa?"
Catherine froze, her smug demeanor evaporating in a second. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but James raised a hand, silencing her with a single gesture. "I don't tolerate behavior like this in my company. If I find out you're undermining any employee again, you might find yourself without a job."
Cathrine's face turned an alarming shade of red, and for the first time, I saw her completely thrown off guard.
"I—I wasn't—" She spluttered, trying to collect herself, but James's icy glare was like a blade against her resolve.
"Enough." James's tone was sharp, cutting her off. "Either you get in line, or I'll find someone else who can."
Catherine swallowed hard, visibly shrinking under his gaze. There was no hint of defiance in her now—only fear. With a stiff nod, she muttered, "I'll make sure everything is in order."
James didn't waste another second on her. His eyes shifted back to me, the hard edges softening just slightly. "Christa," he said, "Do you have a minute?"
I nodded, "Of course, Mr Parker."
I walked past Catherine, who shot me a look of pure venom, but I didn't acknowledge it.
James led me down the hallway toward the elevator, and a few moments later, we were stepping out on the top floor, heading toward his office.
He opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
I stepped inside as he closed the door behind us.
"I saw how she was treating you," as we sat down, James spoke, his tone serious. "It won't happen again."
I blinked in surprise. "Mr. Parker... I didn't expect you to step in like that."
"James will be fine," he replied with a slight smile. "I just don't stand for unfair treatment. I wouldn't let it slide, especially when it comes to people who deserve respect."
"James," I said awkwardly, but still expressing my appreciation, "Thank you for handling it."
"It was nothing," James smiled again. "If you ever need anything, come to me. You're not alone in this."
I hesitated, still processing his unexpected intervention. "But why did you—" I trailed off, unsure if I should ask, but curiosity got the better of me. "Why did you step in today? I mean, you didn't have to."
James chuckled, "I knew Alan arranged for you to work at the gala, so I figured I'd give you a little help."
I was taken aback. Alan hadn't mentioned anything about James being involved, let alone offering to help. But before I could voice my confusion, James straightened some papers in front of him, his movements precise. He slid a folder across the desk toward me.
"Here," he said, "This should give you a solid overview of the event."
I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything that could help me understand the bigger picture.
It's a chance... to learn more about Lloyd Group.
"James," I began, careful to keep my tone light, fingers tightening around the folder, "I don't really know much about the gala. Alan didn't explain much. The group seems... well, enormous."
James leaned forward, his expression becoming more serious.
"Lloyd Group's huge," he said, "We've got investments in finance, real estate, chips, pharmaceuticals—pretty much everything. It's hard to keep track of it all, but that's the point. We don't just follow the market; we shape it."
His gaze sharpened slightly, "And the gala is more than just another party, Christa. It's a show. We'll meet the players who run things. And if you're not on our level, you're nowhere."
I nodded, absorbing his words.
"Alan's in charge, obviously," James continued, his tone now tinged with something like caution. "He has a reputation for being...relentless. Even the smallest mistake won't go unnoticed. He expects perfection—and doesn't tolerate anything less."
"I can see that," I sighed.
James smiled lightly, "But it's a good thing. You're getting a shot to prove yourself. This gala—it's huge. You'll make an impression, I'm sure of it."
There was a brief silence, and then his voice lowered slightly.
"Not everyone gets this chance. Maybe it's because... you're not just another face in the crowd."
I looked up at him, surprised by his words. "What do you mean?"
James paused, his gaze lingering on me for just a beat longer than necessary. Then he cleared his throat, quickly refocusing on the papers in front of him.
I nodded, gathering the papers he'd handed me. "I'll get started right away, Mr. Parker."
"James," he reminded me, with a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"Right, James," I echoed, walking out of his office and back into the hallway.
When I was back in my office, Catherine was sitting at her desk.
"So, how was your meeting with James Parker?" she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. "I bet he was thrilled to have a little company to entertain him. Must be so nice."
I didn't look up. I didn't need to. "I'm busy, Catherine. If you've got something important to say, say it. Otherwise, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself."
Her laugh was sharp, almost spiteful. "Oh, I'm sure you have your hands full. But don't get too comfortable. It's not every day you get a free pass. Things change quickly around here."
I didn't respond. I just kept flipping through the files, my mind not on her words but on the contents of the papers.
The guest list for the gala read like a roll call of big names—CEOs of multinational banks, real estate tycoons with skyscrapers to their names, and leaders in cutting-edge industries like biotech and pharmaceuticals. A few names stood out immediately: Jonathan Greaves, founder of a top genetic research firm that had recently made headlines with groundbreaking cancer treatments; Elena Frost, a tech mogul with a reputation for revolutionizing AI in healthcare; and Philip Kane, a hedge fund manager who seemed to own half of Wall Street.
I froze when I came across one particular name: Edward Hawke.
His title listed him as a "Partner" or "Advisor" for Lloyd Group.
But he wasn't just another name on a business roster. His name brought back memories I thought I'd buried.
When I was a child, my father often spoke of him—Edward Hawke, a Yale professor and one of his closest colleagues. I remember meeting him at family gatherings, where his charm always stood out, though there was something guarded about him, even then.
Was he involved in Lloyd Group's projects? My mind raced. My father, a respected expert in genetics, had worked with countless international firms, but I never knew if he had any dealings with the Lloyd Group. This might be my chance to find out.
My father was a respected expert in genetics, working with countless international firms. He’d often mentioned collaborations with high-profile companies, but he’d never once mentioned Lloyd Group. Could it be that he’d been involved in some of their more covert ventures? Or was this all just a coincidence?
I used to think growing up in Connecticut was normal—surrounded by power players, attending glamorous parties where high-profile executives rubbed elbows with one another. But that was before everything changed.
That was before my father vanished without a trace, and my mother moved us to New Jersey, away from the life I had known.
Is it really that Lloyd Group had something to do with my father’s disappearance? Could this be the lead I’d been searching for all these years?
The questions piled up in my mind, and I knew one thing for certain: I had to find Edward Hawke.
I glanced at the name on the guest list again, my fingers lingering on the page.
I have to find him. I need to talk to him.
I whispered to myself.
...
When I stepped out of the office building, the crisp evening air hit me—a welcome relief from the tension that had clung to me all day. Adjusting the strap of my bag, I turned toward the subway station.
But before I could take more than a few steps, a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the curb, its polished surface gleaming under the city lights like liquid midnight.
The tinted window on the passenger side rolled down with a soft hum, revealing Alan Lloyd seated in the back.
He wasn't alone—there was a driver in the front, perfectly still and professional, but Alan was reclined comfortably, one arm resting on the leather upholstery.
"It's late," he said, his dark gaze pinning me in place. "Let me take you home."
It's a dominant, unyielding presence that made it impossible to look away. As if it was simply a statement, one that left no room for debate.
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but Alan didn't give me the chance to decide. Before I could say anything, the car door opened with a soft click.
"Get in."
His voice lowering, but no less insistent.
- Writer
