# Chapter 9 - The Call of 'Need Iron'
The lobby of Covington Group headquarters had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. All eyes were fixed on the unfolding drama between the receptionist and the plainly dressed young woman who refused to back down.
Orla Moreau stood back, savoring the scene with a satisfied smirk. She'd accomplished exactly what she'd set out to do - humiliate Lyra in the most public way possible. The receptionist had been almost too easy to manipulate earlier.
"Security is on their way," the receptionist announced, her voice carrying across the marble floor. "I suggest you leave now before they arrive."
Two burly men in dark suits appeared from a side corridor, moving purposefully toward Lyra. The receptionist pointed at her, her red-painted nail singling Lyra out like a target. "That's her. Please escort this woman out of the building."
Lyra stood her ground, clutching her work bag tightly. "This is ridiculous. I have legitimate business here."
"Ma'am, please don't make this difficult," one of the security guards said, reaching for her arm.
Lyra stepped back, her eyes narrowing. "Don't touch me. I'm here to fix the air conditioning system on the executive floor. I have the proper work authorization."
The receptionist scoffed. "That's the most creative excuse I've heard yet. Everyone knows our maintenance staff is in-house."
"Not for specialized HVAC systems," Lyra countered. "Your regular team doesn't have the certification for the custom system installed in the executive offices."
"A likely story," the receptionist sneered.
The tension in the lobby thickened. Then, like a tide shifting, the crowd parted. Percival Covington stepped off the elevator, his expression thunderous. His assistant Roman Sinclair hurried two steps behind him, looking anxious.
Percival's presence commanded immediate attention. The security guards straightened. The receptionist's smug expression faltered.
"What's going on here?" Percival's voice cut through the silence.
The receptionist recovered quickly, plastering on a professional smile. "Mr. Covington, we were just removing this woman. She's been claiming connections to you and causing a disturbance."
Percival's gaze swept the lobby, passing over Orla and Jasper before landing on Lyra. His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in her simple clothes and defiant posture.
"And you are?" he asked Lyra directly.
She met his gaze without flinching. "Lyra Moreau. I'm here about the malfunctioning air conditioning system on the executive floor."
Percival raised an eyebrow. "You're the technician?"
Roman stepped forward, consulting his tablet. "Yes, sir. Payne Technical Services sent Ms. Moreau after we called about the temperature issues. She was scheduled for 2:00 PM."
Percival turned to the receptionist. "Did you check the maintenance schedule before calling security?"
The woman paled. "I... assumed she was lying. She doesn't look like—"
"Like what?" Percival cut in coldly.
"Like a technician," the receptionist finished weakly.
Lyra reached into her bag and pulled out a work permit. "I have all the necessary documentation. Your receptionist refused to look at it."
Percival took the permit, examined it briefly, then handed it back. "It appears to be in order." He fixed the receptionist with an icy stare. "Clear out your desk. You're fired."
The woman's mouth fell open. "But Mr. Covington—"
"Immediately." His tone left no room for argument.
The receptionist gathered her things with shaking hands and hurried away. The security guards retreated, and the lobby's usual bustle slowly resumed.
Percival turned to Lyra. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Moreau."
His apology surprised her, but she maintained her professional demeanor. "Thank you."
From across the lobby, Orla watched the interaction with narrowed eyes. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Lyra should have been humiliated, not vindicated.
Percival glanced at Roman. "Show Ms. Moreau to the executive floor."
Roman nodded. "Right away, sir."
Percival lingered a moment longer, studying Lyra. There was something familiar about her, though he couldn't place it. Her composure under pressure was... intriguing.
"Mr. Covington," Orla called, gliding forward with practiced grace. "We have our meeting about the engagement party venue."
Percival barely spared her a glance. "Reschedule it, Ms. Moreau. I have more pressing matters to attend to."
Orla's smile faltered. "But Jasper and I—"
"Jasper can handle it." Percival was already walking away, pulling out his phone.
He needed to check on his grandmother. Need Iron hadn't responded to his last message, which was unusual. The woman was typically prompt.
He pulled up their chat and typed: Are you available to discuss my grandmother's care?
As Roman led Lyra toward the elevator, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and froze.
Percival had already stepped into a waiting elevator. Just before the doors closed, he pressed the call button on his phone, dialing Need Iron directly.
From across the lobby, a distinctive ringtone cut through the ambient noise.
Percival's head snapped up, his eyes locking with Lyra's as she fumbled for her ringing phone. The realization dawned simultaneously on both their faces.
Lyra quickly silenced her phone, but it was too late.
Percival held the elevator door open with one hand, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. "You're Need Iron."
It wasn't a question.
Lyra swallowed hard. Her carefully constructed worlds were colliding in the worst possible way. "We should discuss this privately," she said quietly.
Roman looked between them, confusion evident on his face.
"My office. Now," Percival commanded, holding the elevator door wider.
Lyra stepped inside, heart hammering against her ribs. As the doors closed, she caught a glimpse of Orla's furious face watching them from the lobby.
Percival stood rigid beside her, his mind racing. The woman caring for his grandmother—the person he'd been communicating with for days—wasn't some middle-aged nurse as he'd imagined. She was this young woman who apparently moonlighted as an HVAC technician.
"Who exactly are you?" he demanded, his voice low.
Lyra met his gaze steadily. "I think you already know part of the answer. I'm the person you hired to care for your grandmother."
"And apparently a qualified HVAC technician," he added skeptically.
"I have multiple certifications," she replied simply.
The elevator ascended in tense silence. Percival's thoughts whirled with questions. Who was this woman really? Why did she have so many different skills? And why did he feel like he was missing something crucial about her?
As they reached the executive floor, Percival made a decision. He needed answers, and he needed them now. This mysterious woman had somehow wormed her way into his life on multiple fronts. The coincidence was too great.
"The air conditioning can wait," he said firmly as the doors opened. "We need to talk."
Lyra nodded, steeling herself. "Yes, we do. But not just about my identity."
Percival raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"We need to discuss our marriage too," she said quietly.
The words hung in the air between them, changing everything.