Read Online Zoe and the Tormented Tycoon by Kate Hewitt - Free Book Online

the company, was the man she’d come to meet. Taking a deep breath, her nerves still jarring and jangling, she walked briskly into the building’s foyer, favouring the doorman with an imperious nod, her heels clicking on the black marble floor.
    â€˜May I help you, miss?’ A woman with an upswept do and a good deal of glossy make-up gave her a smile of official courtesy when Zoe was halfway to the bank of gleaming gold lifts.
    She gave the woman a breezy smile. ‘I’m here to see Thomas Anderson.’
    The woman didn’t even blink. ‘Is he expecting you?’ she asked, and Zoe gave her practised little trill of laughter.
    â€˜No, actually, it’s a surprise.’ She batted her eyelashes, and saw a brief look of distaste flicker across the woman’s expertly made-up features.
    â€˜I’m afraid Mr Anderson doesn’t like surprises,’ the woman told her with a frosty smile. ‘And he has back-to-back meetings all morning—’
    â€˜Then call up,’ Zoe interjected. She smiled sweetly, even though her insides felt far too wobbly. ‘Tell him…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Tell him Zoe Balfour is here to see him.’ Another breath. ‘Alexandra Balfour’s daughter.’
    The woman pursed her lips and then reached for the phone. Zoe couldn’t hear what she said into that gleaming black receiver; her heart was beating so fast and loud it thundered in her ears. It took all of her strength to simply stand upright, a cool little smile on her face, looking for the world like the outcome of that ten-second phone call held no import whatsoever.
    The woman put the receiver down and gave her a rather narrow look. ‘He’ll see you. Twenty-sixth floor.’
    Zoe let her smile widen as she waggled her fingers and then she turned and walked crisply to the elevators, the click of her heels echoing all around her.
    Her heart was still thudding right out of her chest and her finger trembled as she pushed twenty-six and then watched as each floor zoomed by, a reverse countdown.
    A little ping announced she had arrived, and the elevator doors opened straight into a large reception room, endless yards of plush cream carpet scattered with leather sofas, a lot of modern art on the walls. Zoe glanced at a few blobs of colour daubed on a canvas and thought of Max’s words to her at the gallery opening: my company donated a quarter of a million dollars to fund these monstrosities on the walls .
    She smiled slightly, even though the memory of him still hurt, hurt more than it ever should, considering how little they really knew each other. Had known. Max Monroe was in the past; there would be no opportunities to knowhim more, or at all, in the future. She would do well to remember that.
    A black-suited PA rose from behind a streamlined glass-topped desk and walked over to her. ‘Zoe Balfour?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Mr Anderson will see you now. I’m afraid he only has a few moments. He’s got—’
    â€˜Back-to-back meetings,’ Zoe filled in. ‘So I heard.’
    The PA threw her a startled look and Zoe realised how terse she sounded. She forced herself to smile.
    The PA tapped on a pair of double doors of burnished mahogany before throwing them open and ushering Zoe into an office as huge and sleekly decorated as the waiting room. At the end of what seemed an acre of plush carpet a man waited behind a desk, his back to her. He gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of tinted glass at the bustling street below, a forest of skyscrapers stretching to the horizon.
    Zoe recognised him from the photo she had, a grainy shot featured in the business section of the New York Times . His thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair, the wide set of his shoulders—she didn’t even need to see his face to know this was the man she’d been looking for.
    This was Thomas Anderson.
    Her father.
    Still, she wasn’t prepared