“I’ll do my best.” She flashed him one of her old smiles, then walked out the door.
Darius waited until he heard the ding of the elevator doors before returning to his desk.
A thousand emotions flowed through him at once, twisting his insides until he dropped his head into his hands with a defeated groan. Olivia had lied to him the entire time he’d known her. The paragon of virtue whom he’d compared Meredith to had fallen off her pedestal with a resounding crash. Had he really been prepared to quit his job over her?
Because honestly, if he hadn’t gotten swept away by his admiration for Olivia and what she was trying to do at Bennington Place, he would’ve tried a lot harder to get Ruth to sell—might have even been on board with all of Walcott’s schemes. Which didn’t say a lot about his character, except to prove that he was no paragon of virtue himself.
Olivia had made him want to be a better man. She’d made him take a hard look at himself and his ambition, and he’d found himself lacking. But now it seemed it had all been a sham.
Darius pushed up from his seat, grabbed his coffee cup, and headed toward the staff room. Anything to stop the torturous thoughts raging through his skull.
As he passed the elevator, the doors opened.
Mr. Walcott stepped out, a rumpled suit jacket over one arm. “Reed. Perfect timing. I need to talk to you.”
Darius came to a halt. Maybe the timing was perfect. “Let me get a coffee, and I’ll be right there.”
“Grab me one too.”
A few minutes later, Darius entered Walcott’s office with two cups in hand. He set one in front of his boss and took a seat.
“How was your trip?” he asked, more to be polite than because he had any real interest.
“Fruitful.” Walcott riffled through his briefcase on the credenza behind his desk. “I met with several investors in Vancouver who are looking to acquire properties here, and I’m confident they’ll choose Walcott Industries to help them do so.”
“That’s good news.” Darius took a long drink and grimaced. How long had this coffee been sitting in the pot?
Walcott threw some papers down and pulled out his chair. “I trust you’ve had time to reevaluate your priorities while I was away.”
Something about Walcott’s wary expression made Darius uncomfortable. But at this particular moment, with his emotions in such a state of upheaval, he wasn’t prepared to do anything as final as quit his job. To put his family in jeopardy over some misplaced loyalty would be foolhardy at best. No, for now he would have to make the best of things. “I have, sir.”
“And what conclusions did you come up with?”
“I am committed to my career at Walcott Industries. However, I do have one stipulation.”
“What would that be?”
“I consider myself an ethical person, sir, and I wish to uphold my reputation as such, even in the business place.” He paused. “If that’s going to be a problem for you, then I would respectfully request time to look for alternate employment.”
Walcott studied him across the desk. “Unfortunately, ethics and business do not always mix well. As you found out with Elliott Peterson.”
Darius’s stomach fell. It was true. His impulsive words to Peterson at the gala had cost the company one of their most lucrative clients.
Walcott pointed a pen at him. “I do, however, value your contribution to our company. You’re smart, capable, and have a way with people. I’d be a fool to let you go.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“I’d already decided to remove you from the Bennington project since it seems to cause you such angst. In the future, I can get other employees to handle any . . . ethically sensitive situations that might arise.”
Darius swallowed. “That sounds like a reasonable compromise. I appreciate your understanding.”
“To be fair, you did have a point about my being a little too close to the Bennington situation for my own good.” Walcott’s brow crinkled as he struck a match, held it to his cigar, then blew out the flame. “Long before there were businesses in that area, Henry Bennington’s father cheated my grandfather out of that land. It’s been a sore spot in our family history for years, and I vowed to one day get that property back. Restore the family legacy.” He blew out a ring of smoke. “Closest I’ve come is buying the property next door.”
“The empty lot?”
“That’s the one. I knocked down the house that was there. Wasn’t worth saving anyway. And I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the Bennington property to go on the market.” Ash formed on the end of the cigar. “I want to build Walcott Towers in honor of my grandfather. To right the wrong done to him.”
“I see,” Darius said slowly. “That does explain a lot. Though I doubt Mrs. Bennington has any idea about the history of her late husband’s land.”
“Maybe not.” Walcott set the cigar in the ashtray with a loud exhale. “I have to admit a bit of the fight has gone out of me lately. I’ve decided that if the city council votes for the maternity home to stay open, I’ll cut my losses. Sell the lot and build my tower elsewhere. But if the council orders the home to close, I’ll take that as a sign to continue.”
Darius took in a hopeful breath. At least it seemed like his boss might now be willing to consider other possibilities. “Sir, I took the liberty of lining up some potential sites I think might work for Walcott Towers.”
His boss rolled his chair back, an unreadable expression on his face. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have an alternate plan in place.” He glanced at the calendar on the wall. “With everything I have to catch up on around here, I won’t have time for a while. Why don’t we meet in
