Not Gallagher Enterprises. It flowed. There were sleek lines and soft colors. It was ivory and all those windows were like a thousand jewels under the sun. Something about it made me think of a woman. Not that it was feminine. Perhaps it was that Drake Gallagher— the man who’d designed the building— decided he’d rather spend his time inside a building that appeared to be a tribute to feminine strength, not just another phallic symbol. Who knew. Or maybe he wanted his company’s headquarters to stand out. The boy genius had always had a head for things like that. He’d been called that for a long time—I’d heard the whispers even when he’d first appeared in my small corner of the world and it had secretly thrilled me. After, I’d wished I’d been a little less the naïve fool he’d accused me of being and paid more attention to all those little whispers. Maybe it would have given me some sort of clue. Drake Gallagher was no longer any sort of boy. He was thirty-four now.
