Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

I don't understand. Why would Atlas do something like this?

But his signature is unmistakable. Atlas must have signed off on these changes, but why? None of this makes any sense.

Thinking back, Atlas hardly spent any time on the production floor and he mostly stayed far away from my work, preferring to give me enough space to show what I could do. To do this, he would have needed to come into production, see the design, alter it, and then order the alterations distributed to all the sewers.

Sometimes last-minute changes are made to items due to lack of availability or cost, but I had been assured that all of my materials were here and that I could spend what I needed to. Neither of those issues should have come into play. This was done for another reason.

But why would Atlas be this cruel? And when did he have a chance to do this?

I walk up the one flight of stairs to the executive floor. Except for a few early birds who have come to make coffee and prep for their bosses to arrive, the floor is quiet and dark. Marching over to Atlas' office I find it unlocked. Strange. If Atlas hasn't been here since early yesterday, this should be locked. It is always locked when he is gone.

"Atlas," I peek inside.

Sitting in the center of the desk is a red marker. Stepping closer, I can see that he must have been in a hurry while making his edits because there is a slash of red ink on the desk. Twisting my face in anger, I take a few deep breaths.

Did he do this before or after our time in the dressing room? Did he send me on this shopping trip and then come and to "distract" me just to keep me away long enough to make everything go terribly wrong?

"Just because there is a red marker on his desk doesn't mean he sabotaged me," I tell myself hoping that I'm right. Because the alternative is too hurtful to imagine. "I need proof before I accuse anyone of anything."

Taking the elevator down, I stop by the security desk "Have you seen Mr. Steele this morning? I missed him returning yesterday."

The guard shakes his head. "He hasn't been in all morning, Miss."

"Oh," I sigh. "I was hoping to talk to him."

"He's working from home today," the guard shrugs. "He's been gone since lunch yesterday."

"Is it possible that he arrived some time in the middle of the night?"

"You know I can't tell you that Miss," he shakes his head. "I'm not on the night shift and I'd need clearance to show you the logs," his eyes narrow in suspicion. "But if you want to know more about where Mr. Steele is, you'll need to contact him directly. Now if you'll excuse me," he sits up a bit straighter. "I have work to do. Good day, Ms. Greyson."Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

Bristling a little at the guard's dismissal I return to my desk, grab my purse, and head to my car.

I want to see his face when I ask him why he did this to me. I need to see his eyes when I tell him how! feel. He needs to understand what it is he just did because even if he didn't mean to ruin me intentionally,

he did.

Or he created a situation where someone else could.

Because there are only two options. Either this change came from someone above me with enough clearance to override my instructions, or someone on the production floor lied about these changes just to destroy my reputation.

Regardless of the situation, some of the blame lay at his feet. Even if he didn't do this with his own hand, it was done by someone he trusted.

And if I cannot trust his judgment, I'll need to find somewhere else to help me produce the rest of my line. I can't stay somewhere that doesn't feel safe.

When I arrive at the Steele family estate, I drive up past the driveway almost up to the door, I'm too tired and angry to care about whatever I just did to his front lawn. My heart and mind are racing so quickly, it's like they're running a race to see which one is going to break first. Because I am breaking. I have finally reached my limit.

With one hand I ring the doorbell while the other hand bangs on the door.

I almost fall forward as April throws open the door, her face twisted in disgust when she sees me standing there. "What are you doing here," she scowls and then adds, "Miss," in that insulting way that she has where she both raises you up and tears you down with the exaggerated politeness in her voice. "Mr. 'Steele is still asleep and..."

"ATLAS!!!" I scream. "YOU NEED TO COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!!*

April blocks the door with her arm. "If you don't leave right now, Miss, I'll have no choice but to call the police."

"DO IT!" I dare her. "But I'm not leaving here until I get some answers."

April grunts as I push past her roughly.

Strutting across the marble floors I reach the foot of the grand stairs.

"Cordelia," Atlas is barely awake, his hair tousled from sleep as he stands at the top of the stairs wearing nothing more than a pair of silk pajama pants and a confused expression.

Why does he have to be so beautiful? It makes it hard for me to stay angry with him, even when I have a good reason to be angry.

"Atlas," I won't let his naked chest distract me. "Explain yourself! Why did you sabotage my line?"

His face grows red. "What are you accusing..."

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Angelica coos as she emerges from Atlas' bedroom wearing a silk robe.

She places a hand on Atlas' shoulder. The robe falls op

She is wearing nothing underneath.

VictoryAnne Vice