Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

We were at his office—hardly the place I’d imagined for our intimate encounter.
    I walked into the building cautiously, dazed by the unexpected art, the dark colors. A petite, redheaded receptionist greeted me from across the lobby and had me sign a visitors’ log.
    “Good morning,” she said, smiling politely.  Obviously I was expected. 
    “Um, is Mr. Chambers in yet?”  It wasn’t much of a leading question but I was desperate for any information at all.  With a tight smile, she told me that someone would be right with me and to have a seat by the swans. The swans? She pointed toward the back of the lobby where a row of chairs faced a small water fixture filled with several swans that I hadn’t noticed when I first walked in. What kind of man has black swans in his lobby?
    Now, sitting in a hard plastic chair, my eyes kept wandering to the painting. I looked away, but after a few moments, I realized I was studying it again, the claw marks across the woman’s stomach, the seductive curl of her lip. A strange blend of curiosity and fascination bubbled in my stomach, like the time I accidentally walked through the velvet curtain in the old video store on Mulberry to see hundreds of women bare-chested and bronzed. I knew I had discovered a place for adults that I should leave immediately, but I stood rooted to the ground.
    Uneasy, I swallowed nervously, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth. In and out, in and out. The silence was so loud I worried my heartbeat would create an echo through the lobby’s high ceilings.
    “Sabrina Clarke?” A slight, clerkish man appeared in the doorway, holding a folder to his chest. Not Mr. Chambers, but at least something was happening. 
    “That’s me,” I said, wincing slightly at the nervous squeak in my tone. I cleared my throat. “I’m Sabrina.” 
    Standing, I smoothed my wrinkled skirt, trying to keep my cool. I wished I felt more put together, but that just hadn’t been possible in twenty minutes.  Then again, I wondered if it would really have made much difference, considering how nervous I was.
    He nodded, glanced quickly at the folder’s contents, and offered a handshake.  “I’m Oliver Du Cheval, Mr. Chambers’ personal assistant.” He might have been on the small side, but he had a natural confidence about him.
    He didn’t elaborate any further, and I hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask more questions, after the ease with which the receptionist had shot me down.
    Oliver Du Cheval’s fitted suit was exquisitely tailored, the rich fabric complementing not only the golden tone of his skin but the very wallpaper in the lobby.  He moved with a natural grace—if he’d been more feminine you could have called him dainty.  But there was also something sharp about him. I couldn’t imagine him being the sort of man who made many compromises.  I tried to guess at his age and came up short. Did he color his hair? I couldn’t tell.  God, my mind was working overtime.  Settle down, Sabrina, I told myself.  All you know about this man is that he has a nice suit, stop overanalyzing. 
    It didn’t really help, though.  He’s definitely the sort who’s going to notice I didn’t iron this morning…
    “Follow me, please,” he said, and motioned for me to enter the hallway before him.  He closed the lobby door behind us silently, and I followed him down the hall.  Our footsteps didn’t make a sound on the thick carpet.  No industrial neutral weave for this office.  Discreet sconces lined the burgundy walls.  For a moment, I felt strangely like Little Red Riding Hood, about to meet the Big Bad Wolf.   Oliver led me to the end of the hallway.  He stopped and keyed a code to unlock the last door.  Who locks offices in the middle of the day? I wondered.  Stop overanalyzing! I scolded myself again. 
    The office was empty.  Oliver sat at a prominently displayed mahogany monster of a desk, and nodded to the chairs in front of