Free Stolen (Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Ella London Page B

it over, Sigourney walked to the door to leave.
    “Excuse me, where do you think you’re going?” the receptionist barked at her.
    She turned. “I just assumed—“
    “You are an employee of Parker Capital,” the woman said sternly. “You need to be photographed, have an identification badge made up, and then you’ll report to your boss.”
    “Oh,” Sigourney said. “Sure, that makes sense.”
    “I can make up your badge for you right now.” The receptionist held up a phone and beckoned Sigourney to come stand in front of the desk, which she did.
    After taking her picture, the receptionist typed into her computer and then there were sounds coming from a printer behind the desk.
    The receptionist bowed her head as she fiddled with whatever was being printed, and then a few minutes later, she handed Sigourney an identification badge complete with picture, employee number, and her job title in red.
    Executive Assistant , it said.
    She still couldn’t believe it.
    “You can wear it, clip it on you, or you can put it in your purse. But always be ready to present it if someone asks you to,” the receptionist instructed.
    “Oh, of course,” Sigourney agreed.
    “Now you can go up to the top floor and meet with Mr. Parker.”
    “Right now?”
    “Yes, right now,” the receptionist said in a high-pitched, sing song voice, waving dismissively at her and rolling her eyes as Sigourney finally turned to exit the room.
    She had a very dry mouth and badly needed to use the bathroom, but she was too afraid to ask that bitchy receptionist. Instead, she went to the elevators and hit the button for the top floor.
    It beeped but the doors didn’t close.
    She stared at it and realized that there was some kind of sensor there. She took her badge and waved it in front of the sensor and only then did the doors finally shut and the elevator began moving upwards.
    Her heart thudded dully in her chest as the elevator rose and rose. Finally, it pinged again and the doors slid open.
    She emerged into yet another lobby, only this one made the other areas of the building look like dirty alleyways by comparison. From the marble floor to the gorgeous but modern desk that looked space age, to the gorgeous paintings (also modern and quite large) adorning the walls, this new room made her feel smaller and more provincial than she’d felt before.
    And that was saying something.
    The receptionist was a thin, practically emaciated blond young man, who was standing, wearing a headset identical to the one worn by the mean receptionist downstairs.
    He looked at her as she entered the room. “Welcome,” he said warmly. “You must be Sigourney.”
    She smiled and nodded. “Hi. I’m here to—“
    “Oh, we’re expecting you,” he said. “Do you need some water or to use the bathroom?”
    “Both, actually,” she admitted, laughing nervously.
    “Let’s take care of the restroom first,” he said. “It’s the door to my left,” he gestured. “When that’s done, we’ll get you a beverage. Sound good?”
    “Great,” she said, thanking him as she went to a door that was almost invisible, it matched the wall precisely. But the handle pulled out when she grabbed it and the door swung open. She went inside, finding a comfortable and very private bathroom that was clean and smelled lovely.
    She peed, relaxing momentarily, then washed up and dabbed at her makeup, patted her face and forehead down with a towel. Washed her hands.
    She looked at herself in the mirror.
    Sigourney thought that she didn’t look half bad, considering her nerves and the fact that these weren’t really even her clothes. Then again, she didn’t look nearly as good as she wished to look. Everyone else around this building seemed to be perfection—or close to it.
    When she emerged from the restroom, she tried to smile as if she had all the confidence in the world.
    The young blond man brought her a bottle of Evian Water and told her to have a seat—Mr. Parker