My stomach twisted with sudden uncertainty. What was this place? Where were the other patients, the nurses, the waiting room?
The receptionist across from the doors took note of me and raised her eyebrows. "May I help you?"
"Cora Shaw to see...Mr. Thorne?" I asked weakly. I hoped I remembered the name right.
The woman smiled briefly, nodding at the central elevator. "He's waiting for you, Ms. Shaw. Go on up. Penthouse office."
I went to the elevator, the shaft of which was wrapped in the curve of the staircase. It opened as soon as I hit the button. A sign? I'd had such a catastrophically bad run of luck that I was ready for anything to be a sign right now.
I hit the twelfth floor, then fumbled in my jacket pocket for my cell, texting Lisette the full address of the building that I was in. She'd already blown up my phone with texts and calls, but I couldn't answer them. Not yet. Not when all I had to tell her was more bad news. But I was glad she'd already seen my message. Feeling safer, I shoved the phone back in my pocket as the doors opened.
Just like in the lobby, all the windows on this floor were shaded. A striking redhead sat behind the reception desk in an immaculate cream blouse and heavy pearls that I had no doubt were real. Again, I felt distinctly grubby and out of place, like a person who had wandered onto a stage set from off the street. I had dressed for class and a doctor's appointment, not this.
Whatever this was.
I had a sick feeling that there had been some confusion, some mix up. They wouldn't be able to help me at all. No one could….
"Ms. Shaw?" the woman asked, smiling with perfectly pitched pleasantry. "Mr. Thorne will see you now."
She must have pushed a button, because the tall mahogany doors beyond her desk swung open.
I braced myself and went inside. The doors closed silently behind me.