Authors: Claire Gillian
The men moved their scuffle onto the landing outside my front door. A few lucky punches bloodied Jon’s nose, but like the night before, Jon’s superior combat skills prevailed. Doing what would either prove to be very foolish or very wise, I ran inside and returned with the two files Doug sought.
“Stop it!” I yelled several times before either of them registered my cries. I threw the files to the ground near where Doug crouched trying to regain his feet. “There! Take ’em, and get the hell out of here!” I threw his keys, minus one, next to the files.
Doug snatched up both. I captured Jon’s arm to hold him back, but my caution was unnecessary. Doug rushed down the stairs.
Jon gaped at me. “No! Dammit! What were you thinking?” He ran an impatient hand through his hair.
“Come inside.” I ignored his outrage at my foolhardy behavior. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I cast my eyes down at Doug, who couldn’t resist leaving me with a final triumphant smirk as he unlocked his car. I squelched the urge to taunt him as he made his escape.
Jon hovered in my doorway.
“Come on, before you drip blood on my carpet,” I said.
“I can’t believe you just handed your job to that psycho. Shit, Gayle! Are you even listening to me?”
I had him in my bathroom by that point. He’d fussed at me for the entirety of the trip. After he started to blot up the blood around his nose with a washcloth, he stared at me, finally out of steam.
“When you’re done cleaning yourself up and ranting and raving at me, we need to make a little road trip.”
“What the hell’s going on? What’re you up to now?”
“I didn’t need the files because I’d already made copies of all the pertinent pages anyway. Plus, I got this,” I held up the ‘55-12’ key I’d stolen. “and I didn’t want Doug to realize it was missing until he was long gone.”
“A key? Why is a key more important than the files?”
“Callie Oldham told me when she went out with Doug, her first and only time, he kept hounding her to go back to the office to have sex with him on some partner’s desk. He said he had the key and was quite insistent. Assuming he was telling the truth, and given that Bob seems to be his mentor in evil, I’ll bet the partner’s office he meant was Bob’s.”
“So you think—”
“I sure hope so, but whaddaya say we go find out, eh?”
His lips parted slightly as if to protest before they clamped shut. We stared at each other, but years of practice digging in to get my way paid off. Jon grimaced and, with a drawn out growl, rubbed his hand over his lower jaw. Befuddled was adorable on him. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Tell me now so I can prepare for a lifetime of hexes, spells and potions.”
I linked my arms around his neck and pressed close. “I prefer to think of myself as a curious opportunist.”
26
I flashed my ID and signed in with the night guard at slightly after eight o’clock, claiming Jon as my guest. I made sure to sign my name as illegibly as possible. I also scanned the log for anyone else who might have made a late visit. I didn’t recognize any names from Anderson-Blakely. Of course, that didn’t preclude someone from already being in the office prior to the night guard going on duty.
Jon’s stolen code from the night before still worked on the suite door to the fifty-fifth floor. Silent darkness greeted us. We both had flashlights because I was a Girl Scout, and Jon was … well … Jon, so we were prepared for quite a few scenarios.
We moved quietly on the off chance someone had stayed late or come back. After making a stealthy circuit of the floor and finding no one else, we went to Bob’s office. The doorknob turned smoothly.
Jon rolled his eyes.
“Well, what do you know? We didn’t need the key after all,” I said with a soft chuckle. “But for future reference, I’m curious if this key works.” I slipped it in the lock.
No go.
“Hmm.”
Jon growled in the back of his throat, but I did my best to brush off his peevishness.
“I’ll take his desk; you take his credenza,” I whispered.
For the next five minutes, we flipped through files. Bob obviously kept his secretary busy. His desk drawers contained a frightening number of very thin files on a vast number of mundane topics, all in pristine alphabetical order, but none interested me.
Bob’s computer glowed in the darkness. Company policy required desktops on the network remain online twenty-four seven for software ‘pushes’—program updates that downloaded automatically in the wee hours.
Everyone’s login was their first initial and last name. Our profession taught the importance of having unpredictable and unbreakable passwords, yet most of us chose easy to remember names with a number at the end that we could advance a digit every ninety days. Some even taped a business card on their machine with their password jotted down. I hunted around Bob’s desk for evidence he, too, was guilty of the same hubris. My first pass yielded nothing so telltale.
I accidentally touched his mouse and cleared his screen saver, which brought up the network login. Not knowing his password or having any clue, I made myself ignore the screen and continued to flip through his paper files. The average partner was at least forty and not IT savvy, but physical control under lock and key they understood.
In the M’s, I ran across a file named ‘Martin, Doug’, and of course, I had to peek. Inside I found a list of six women’s names with dates next to each and penciled notations of ‘terminated’, ‘resigned’, ‘pending’ or ‘complaint dismissed’. My name occupied the last position, had no date, and carried a ‘pending’ notation. I tried but couldn’t resist temptation. I opened Bob’s middle drawer and found a pencil and eraser. I changed ‘pending’ to ‘kicked Doug’s ass’.
Ha!
Wonder how long before Bob notices my little edit.
“What are you doing?” Jon said.
“Nothing.”
I kept going through the N’s then the O’s but still nothing. Kenneth Petrovich’s file practically leaped into my hand being so much thicker than the rest. I flipped it open and rifled through the first and last few pages.
“Jon,” I whispered, “Here’s an entire file of emails between Bob and Kenneth going back almost a year. I’m going to photocopy them. Be right back.”
Finding the copy room posed a new navigational challenge. I had no idea where the big mucky-mucks’ assistants discharged their photocopying duties. After nearly completing my second circuit, I found what I sought in a room next to the freight elevator. I slipped the stack of pages into the feeder of the copy machine and punched in the Aphrodite project number. We billed our clients for anything and everything possible. Foiling Aphrodite’s fraud against its shareholders seemed billable to me. I’d bill for my time too, but that would be a bit ballsy even for me.
Of course, the copy machine was cold. While I waited for it to warm up, I scanned the various memos on the bulletin board. Most preached the virtues of keeping the paper trays stocked and offered instructions on what to do if the machine broke down.
Also tacked up were safety and emergency evacuation instructions. Page two of the instructions was a blueprint of the fifty-fifth floor. All exits were marked in red, and the floor divided into sections to correspond to the nearest one. I marveled at how many offices the floor housed. Each office bore a unique number instead of a name. The partners played frequent musical offices as their stars rose and fell in the eyes of the Managing Partner. I located Bob’s office—easy enough since it was near the ladies’ room. His office number was 55-08. I pulled the key I had taken from Doug out of my pocket and checked the number etched on it. 55-12. I located 55-12 on the blueprint and decided to make a little detour before I returned the file.
55-12 belonged to Jeff Hardinger, according to the nameplate. I tried the doorknob but found it locked. With a deep breath, I inserted the key. It turned easily in my fingers, and I pushed the door open.
Why did Doug have the key to Jeff’s office?
I pulled the door closed again and race-walked back to Jon. A bright flash blinded me when I stepped inside Bob’s office.
“What the hell?” I gasped. I stood still and waited until my eyes readjusted to the darkness. Two arms slithered around my waist and pulled me against a large male body.
“Guess what pictures I found in the memory banks of this camera?” Jon murmured in my ear.
“I don’t know, other than the one of me looking like I’d seen a ghost, but if I had to guess … photos of you and me this morning?”
“Smart girl!
Voglio baciarti!
” he exclaimed before he kissed me. As he did, he held the camera out and pointed it at us, snapping another picture.
“Stop that!” I pushed him away. “Let me see the pictures.”
He changed the setting on the camera and handed it to me.
“We look hot together,” I said after I’d reached the final shot.
He laughed softly.
“Should we erase all of them or just the last two?”
“I’m thinking the last two. They’ve already used the others for their own kangaroo court purposes. Deleting them won’t change what happened but could tip him off we’d been digging around in here.”
I agreed with his logic and deleted the shots. I didn’t tell Jon, but I also deleted one that made me look fat. I couldn’t stop myself, and I doubted Bob would miss one out of fifteen pictures.
With the file back in its place, I resumed my search. I also undid my alteration to Doug’s file. The last P file was one called ‘Passwords’.
Surely not.
Inside was a long list of logins and passwords for various applications, including Anderson-Blakely’s network. Before I could wake up and lose the dream, I grabbed my flashlight and the file and darted down the hall to make a copy.
“What did you find? You ran out of here as if on fire,” Jon asked when I returned.
“Look what I found in a file called ‘passwords’.” I thrust the copy I’d made under his flashlight beam.
“Bob, Bob, Bob,” Jon clucked with disdain. “You made this so easy for us. You didn’t lock your door, your files are all here in excruciating detail, and you left the digital camera behind.”
A serpent of worry coiled in my stomach. “This seems almost too good to be true, doesn’t it?”
“Almost.”
“I found the lock that matches the key I lifted from Doug. Guess whose office Doug had a key to?”
“Jeff Hardinger’s.”
“Yes! How’d you know?”
“Because Hardinger is the only other person associated with Aphrodite, besides Bob, with an office on the fifty-fifth floor. The number etched on the key began with fifty-five for the floor number.”
“Color me impressed.”
“Add your appreciation of my brainpower to my tip,” he said.
“Oh, you think you’re getting a tip, do you?” I hopped up on Bob’s desk and stretched out on my back. I grabbed the camera and snapped a photo of myself like I was paparazzi bait, my lower legs dangling off the side of the desk. “Come and get it then.”
He tossed the file he held over his shoulder, sending the papers within fluttering through the air. Positioning himself between my knees, he grabbed my legs and pulled my hips to the edge—to him.
He kissed me ardently, bringing my legs up around his hips and laying his body on mine.
“You know I was only kidding, right?” I asked when he slipped his hand inside my panties. I’d intended my little cabaret act as a hint of future delights, not an invitation to have sex on Bob’s desk.
“You might have been, but I’m not.” One of his fingers inched into an intimate place and invited a friend.
“Jon! You can’t be serious. I’m supposed to be the one who shocks
you
. What if someone catches us? Oh!” I closed my eyes and rocked against his hand.
“It’s almost nine. Who’s going to stroll by at this time of night? Come on, Gayle. I can tell you want to.
Voglio fare sesso con te
,” he said in a low husky voice. He kissed his way down my jaw to my neck and to my ear, making me shiver.
“I think I can guess what
that
meant. What if there are hidden cameras, you know, in the vents or something?” My voice betrayed my breathlessness.
“We’ll give ’em a show they’ll never forget.”
“I will if you’ll leave a picture of your dick on the digital camera.” I barely recognized my own voice.
Jon lifted his head, his fingers dancing the tarantella. “Okay, but make sure you get my good side.” He went right back to the business of separating me from my clothes until I was naked from the waist down. His own fell around his knees, the jingle of his buckle adding a naughty reminder of how scandalous we’d become. The condom in his hand and a sly grin on his face hinted of a pre-meditated seduction.
Sneaky bastard
. I watched as he rolled on the condom, his conceit about his undeniable sexual prowess on thrilling display. A shudder of anticipation rippled through me.
“Are you okay?” He drew my legs up around his hips and, after I nodded, resumed his intimate petting.
My eyes drifted shut, and I fell into a world where nothing existed but Jon’s hands caressing my bare skin, his soft breaths, the scent of our arousal and the wine we drank at dinner. He shifted and dropped low near the desk’s edge. A puff of warm air hit me before his tongue …
Oh, his tongue … Oh God!
He lapped and nibbled my most tender parts while hot hands kneaded and stroked me. My world collapsed into spiraling want and desire, compressing into an explosive point of fire and tension. Teasing moans against my groin—murmured words of lust about what he was going to do to me—had me panting.
Spasms of pleasure seized control of my muscles. My fingers threaded through his hair, palms against his temples, urging him to hurry but wanting him to stay exactly where he was.
With a series of soft kisses along my pubic bone, he licked and kissed his way higher, pushing my T-shirt and bra up, drawing one nipple into his mouth before suckling the other. “Jon!” I gasped as he entered me in a single, fluid stroke.
Buried to the hilt, he paused and released my nipple before withdrawing and pushing forward as if warming up the track for the race of a lifetime. He surged up my body, and hungry lips claimed mine. Teeth nipped at my chin and jaw. “Gayle, sweet Gayle.” The thrusting of his hips gained speed and force. He buried his head against my neck and said, “All mine.”