The Enchantment Read Online Free PDF Page B

pointed look,
    "have opened the door for me every single one of those days."
    "But today . . . well ..."
    She shoved her umbrella at him and began peeling off her damp five-button kid gloves. She didn't care a fig for the old geezer's excuses. It would serve him right if she reported his incompetence to Eugene.
    She heard the door click shut behind her. The sound echoed in the unusually quiet lobby. Without another glance at the doorman, Emma jerked her chin to its proper tilt and started down the polished marble hallway.
    "Good morning, Miss Hatter." The unexpected greeting brought Emma to a halt. Turning, she noticed Miss Baxter waving at her from behind the polished brass bars of her teller's cage. A gloating smile wreathed the woman's pretty face.
    Emmaline's frown intensified. Miss Baxter and she hadn't spoken since Emma had reported the teller's incompetence to Eugene.
    "I didn't expect to see you here this morning," Miss Baxter cooed with a deepening smile. "I must say, I do admire your courage."
    Emma snapped her gaze away from the teller and moved on, her rapid footsteps echoing loudly through the hushed, austere lobby of the building. She turned the last corner and strode up to Eugene's private office. "Mr. Cummin, please," she said to the young man seated at the desk outside Eugene's office.
    "And do you have an—" He looked up from his book and saw Emma. His smile wobbled and fell.
    "Is there a problem?" she asked tightly. "I wish to see Eugene."
    THE ENCHANTMENT
    33
    "O-Oh, of course. It's just that I didn't—" ' 'Don't say you didn't expect me today. Just tell Eugene I'm here."
    The young man's expression melted into one of concern. "Go on in," he said in a soft, almost sad voice.
    "Mr. Cummin asked for your file not fifteen minutes
    ago."
    With a brisk nod, Emma brushed past the reception desk and knocked sharply on Eugene's handsomely carved mahogany door. At his muffled answer, she swept into his office. "Good morning, Eugene."
    Eugene looked up from the report he was studying. Emma offered him her brightest Monday morning smile, and began unbuttoning her caped gossamer. "I must say, it's been the oddest morning. Why, the doorman—" She caught the strange look in Eugene's eyes and frowned. "Is something the matter?"
    He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them slowly. Tired brown eyes stared deeply into her own. "Emmaline ..." His normally strong voice was weak and washed-out. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down."
    Emma felt the first stirring of fear. Something was wrong. Mechanically she moved toward the proffered chair and sat lightly on its tufted leather seat. "What's the matter, Eugene?"
    "You haven't read the newspapers this morning."
    "Of course not. You and I always read the Monday morning paper together."
    Sighing heavily, Eugene plopped his bump of a chin into his laced fingers. Silent, suddenly nervous, Emma stared at him, her body angled imperceptibly forward. The slow, steady whirring of mingled breath was the only sound in the too quiet room.

    34
    Kristin Hannah
    "Eugene, you're frightening me—" "The Pennsylvania and Reading Railroad declared bankruptcy today."
    Emmaline gasped. Her fingers curled reflexively around the hard leather arms of the chair. "Oh, my God.
    . ."
    He gave another tired sigh. "And that's not all. National Cordage should close by the end of the week—
    as will Drexana Mills. Stocks are crashing right and left. We expect a run on the banks by month's end."
    Emma eased back in her chair, stunned. She'd invested everything she had, everything, in the railroad and textile mill stock. A crash would mean—
    A full-blown, hammer-hard headache slammed into her temples. Pain throbbed at the base of her neck.
    She closed her eyes against the bright light from Eugene's desk lamp.
    Think. She had to think. "I'm sorry, Em," he said quietly. She opened her eyes slowly. The pity in Eugene's eyes hit her like a fist in the throat. Her self-control