Read On the Brink (Vol. 1) (The On the Brink Series) for Free Online Page A

floor.
    “Follow
me. My suite’s this way.”
    I
trailed him past a large desk with two receptionists, who stared. I couldn’t
blame them.
    “What
about Berta?” I managed. “I’m new, and she’s going to wonder where I am.”
    “Don’t
worry. I’ll have my assistant call Berta.”
    He
led me into a spacious, contemporary office. Through the wall of glass behind
his desk, I glimpsed the river and the Boston skyline. Crossing the room, he opened
a door, concealed in the far wall.
    I
followed him through the door, then through several rooms, noting as we went
that his decorator had excellent taste. The rooms and furniture mixed beiges
and taupes with touches of dark, rich brown, and against the neutral palette,
paintings provided splashes of lively color. He opened another door, revealing
a large, pristine bathroom, complete with twin sinks, a walk-in shower, and a
spacious hot tub.
    “You
can clean up in here,” he said, opening a closet and handing me a beige,
waffle-weave robe and several large, fluffy towels. “There’s a hair dryer
somewhere in the cabinets. Just leave your wet clothes on the floor. I’ll send
someone to collect and dry them, and we’ll let Berta know you’ll be around an
hour late. You can wait in here until your clothes are dry. Take a hot shower.
You must be freezing.”
    I
thanked him with as much dignity as I could muster, given that I was dripping
all over his bathroom floor. Nodding curtly, he seemed about to leave, but then
paused.
    “What’s
your name? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” His gaze locked on my own, and
I felt my cheeks flush. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t look away. I
felt as if he could see my thoughts, as well as every inch of my body, revealed
in embarrassing detail by my wet, clinging clothing. Uncomfortable, I broke the
connection, looking downward as I spoke my name.
    “Juliana.
Juliana West.”
    “Craig
Manning. Now go get warm and dry.” He turned away and left the room.
    Realizing
that I was shivering, I decided that a hot shower would indeed be the best way
to warm up. Quickly, I peeled off my clothes, and dropped them in a soggy mound
on the bathroom floor. The walk-in shower was a revelation. Tiled in the same
cream-colored travertine as the floor, it was equipped with a massage
showerhead. Thawing under the hot, powerful spray, I stood, blissful, absorbing
warmth from the water.
    Eventually,
restored to normal temperature, I reluctantly turned off the shower and reached
for a towel, wrapping myself in its softness. A second towel served for my
hair. When I opened the bathroom door, one of Manning’s receptionists was
waiting outside. An attractive blonde dressed in a chic, light gray business
suit, she smiled and introduced herself.  
    “I’m
Suzanne. Let me get your wet clothes and put them in the drier.”
    “I’m
Juliana,” I replied, “and thanks.”
    She
put my soaked clothing into a hamper, and carried it out of the room. Looking
around, I realized that I must have been in Manning’s bedroom. The room was
decorated in warm grays and taupes, with a pale hardwood floor. A wall of glass
presented a view of the Boston skyline similar to the view I’d glimpsed from
his office.
    A
king-sized bed with an expansive white duvet occupied one end of the space,
while the other end featured built in bookshelves and a walk-in closet. Beside
the shelves, a Corbusier chaise lounge in dark red leather, sat on a soft dark
gray area rug next to a glass-topped table. Above the bed, a colorful painting
of water lilies beckoned.   
    I
couldn’t resist a closer look. The vigorous, layered brush strokes and
distinctive signature were unmistakable. Manning had a Monet hanging in his
bedroom.
    Not
wanting to be caught checking out Manning’s bedroom while dressed in towels, I
returned to the bathroom. I easily located the blow dryer he had mentioned, and
swapped my towels for the robe. My long dark hair, thick and wavy, took