Poisoned by Gilt
Chapter One
Steve Sullivan's handsome face grew pale upon answering our office phone. I had no clue who was calling, and he seemed to be deliberately avoiding my gaze. I tried to distract myself by focusing my attention on the cozy sitting area we'd created on the far side of our long, rectangular office. The fabric on our luxurious new sofa—Thai silk jacquard in a bronze-gold tone, scattered with the pale outline of rust-colored leaves—beautifully complemented the luscious red-brown hues of the exposed-brick wall behind it.
But as the seconds dragged by and Sullivan remained on the phone, my imagination ran wild. Was the landlord of this building suddenly giving Sullivan and Gilbert Designs the boot? Had a loved one died? Was the IRS going to audit us?
In any case, the phone call had come at a particularly bad time. I'd just worked up the nerve to tell Sullivan something excruciatingly difficult. Now, based on his reaction to the news on the other end of the line, I braced myself for news of a different sort.
He raked his hand through his light brown hair—yet another bad sign—and finally said, "Sure, Richard. We' ...
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