In Bed with the Boss

by Christine Rimmer

  “You called me.”

  “There’s more, though. Isn’t there?”

  “As it happens, there is. I told you I’d be in touch, that eventually I’d need a favor. That time has come.” He held up the manila envelope. “As I said, you’ve done well. Now you’re so perfectly in place, I wish we could make better use of you there. But decisions have been made to move ahead and get rid of Tom. So we’re running out of time. Your boss’s messy past is about to catch up with him. It’s all going to come out in the press. The whole sad story. His arrest, his conviction. The unfortunate period in prison. He’ll be asked to leave TAKA-Hanson within the week, just watch. And that means you’ll be out of a job.”

  Tom had been in prison? “But…how? Why?”

  “It’s all in here.” He tapped the envelope with a finger. “A little recap, just for you, so you’ll understand completely what’s really going on here. Inside, you’ll find copies of clippings from the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal detailing the whole ugly mess.” He turned the envelope over to reveal a check paper-clipped to the back. Helpfully, he slid the check free of the clip and held it up so she could get a look at all the zeros scrawled across the front. “As you see, it’s made out to you. It should hold you over quite nicely until I find you something new.”

  Information, she reminded herself. Information is power. Maybe all was lost between her and Tom. The awful, sinking feeling in her belly told her that when she gave him that folder—which she knew she had to do—he would never trust her again.

  Oh, she should have told him about her uncle. She should have told him at the beginning, no matter the cost….

  Not the point right now, she reminded herself. What will happen when I tell him is not the point. The point is to get that envelope before Drake gets back in that car.

  That way, at least, when she told Tom the truth and destroyed all she and Tom had together, she could, just possibly, give him something to go on, something to help him save himself at TAKA-Hanson. She didn’t want him ending up like poor Louie, either on the street or farmed out to some job that went nowhere.

  She played it for sulky self-interest and muttered, “If I’m going to be out of a job again, I do need that money.”

  “And it’s yours. Of course, I’ll expect some immediate return.”

  She was silent for a count of ten, as if wrestling with her conscience. At last, she said, “Fine. Tell me what I have to do.”

  He waved the envelope again. “In here, besides the clippings, you’ll also find a password my people have managed to acquire. Up to this point, it hasn’t been used to raid the TAKA-Hanson system, so it should still be good. I’ll need the current files on your division’s second phase. Till now, we’ve been unable to acquire that information. I want to know where they’re expanding next, beyond the flagships, and how far along they are. I need to know what builders they’ve lined up, the suppliers they’ll be using, whatever they have going forward, so I can begin to put my people in place where they’ll do the most good.”

  What questions would she ask if she intended to do what he wanted? “You’re sure—about the password? If they find out what I’m up to—”

  “The password is good. Someone dependable acquired it—just before she was no longer able to gain access to the system.” Someone like Lil Todd? Shelly didn’t ask. She knew he wouldn’t tell her. He said, “You have to move fast. I can’t stress that enough.”

  She swallowed a bleak laugh. She would be getting on it fast, all right. Faster than he knew.

  He continued, “Tomorrow, if at all possible, get into the system and get what you can. As soon as Holloway’s out of there, you will be, too, and the opportunity will be missed. The system has an excellent firewall and won’t allow access by nonrecognized computers. It also won’t let you send the information on electronically. So transfer the data to a jump drive or CD. When you’ve gotten what you can, call the number you have for me and leave a message. I’ll be in touch as to what you need to do next.”

  She nodded. “All right.” Was she being too cool for a first-time corporate spy? God. “Um. I…should go.” She glanced toward her front door, nervously. “Anything else?”

  Drake smiled. She hated his smile almost as much as she hated his damn aftershave. “That’s it. Very simple.”

  Her hands itched to snatch the envelope from him. But somehow, she made herself wait until he handed it over, which he did. At last. She took it with a nod and turned to go up the steps.

  He stopped her by grabbing her arm. “You do realize the position you’re in, Shelly?”

  It wasn’t hard in the least to pretend to be terrified. She jerked her arm from his grasp and stammered weakly, “I, um, I…”

  “Tom Holloway hates me. I am…the past he never shakes. Your merely being my niece is enough to make you his enemy. If he learned that I was the one who told you to apply for a job as his assistant…he would not be understanding. If he found out that I told you three weeks ago I would expect you to copy company files for me—and you kept silent—he would never forgive you. Am I making myself clear?”

  Her throat had locked up. She had to cough to loosen it. “Yes,” she croaked. “Perfectly.”

  “Your best bet here—your only bet—is to do what I’ve told you to do. Cash that check, put food on the table for you and your child. And get me the information I’ve told you to get.”

  “I…Yes. I will,” she baldly lied. “I’ll do what you want.”

  He was smiling again. “Excellent. Your golden-boy boss isn’t who you think he is. Read. Learn. Get back to me as soon as you have my information for me. And have a nice night.”

  That time when she turned for her door, he didn’t stop her. Seconds later, she stood in her front hall, the door firmly shut behind her, clutching the envelope to her chest, waiting for her knees to stop shaking.

  As soon as she felt she could walk without her legs giving way, she went to the spare room and shut the door. She sat at the small desk she had in there, laid the envelope on the desktop, facedown, and stared at the check Drake had given her.

  Fifty thousand dollars. Evidently, he considered that the price for her betrayal of Tom and TAKA-Hanson, a fair rate of exchange for her integrity and self-respect.

  Shelly shook her head. It wasn’t enough. No amount would be enough. Some things she would never sell, though she did see now—all of her earlier denials to the contrary—that she had done wrong.

  She’d let her uncle believe she might sell those things and she had lied by omission to Tom. Now it fell to her to do what she could to repair the damage she’d helped to cause. It fell to her to reclaim her own tattered honor.

  The cost, she knew, would be great. She would have to give back all she had gained by her own dishonesty: her wonderful job and the fat salary it paid her. And Tom. Worst of all, she would lose Tom.

  Shelly slid the check free of the paperclip. She wanted to tear it to bits. The need to destroy it was so powerful, her hand shook. But she made herself set it aside. Its existence might be useful, once she figured out exactly what she was going to do about this situation. She pinched open the brads that held the envelope’s flap and folded it back so she could slide the envelope’s contents out onto the desktop.

  Photocopied clippings. A pile of them. Just as her uncle had promised. They told the story of Tom’s crime and punishment. Tom had worked for Drake and Drake had used him and then discarded him, sacrificed him to save himself. No, the clippings didn’t say that. They were merely articles about Tom’s arrest and conviction. Shelly put the pieces together and came up with the truth behind the headlines.

  The last clipping told of Tom’s sentence for insider trading. There was a pink sticky note attached to it. Four letters and two numbers, S4CR4T, were written neatly on the pink note: the password.

  Shelly put everything, in order, back in the envelope, leaving the sticky note where she’d found it. She paper-clipped the check back in place. />
  Now what?

  This wasn’t the kind of thing she would discuss on the phone, so calling Tom right now and laying it on him wasn’t an option.

  Get someone to watch Max and go to Tom? Her uncle had said he’d had her followed. He knew of the times she’d been to Tom’s apartment. She wouldn’t put it past Drake to have someone waiting outside, assigned to follow her if she left the house tonight.

  Would it matter if Drake found out she’d run to Tom? Would it matter if he realized that she wasn’t bought and paid for, after all?

  She had no idea—yet it did seem wiser not to tip her hand. And that meant she’d have to wait until tomorrow, at work, to tell Tom what she knew.

  The night was going to be a long one. Shelly set herself the task of enduring it.

  The next morning, Tom arrived at the office feeling confident that he and Helen and the team of company lawyers and investigators had done all they could to plug the leak created by D’Amitri’s indiscretion and the clever thievery of Lillian Todd.

  Tom suspected that the Todd woman belonged to Thatcher, though TAKA-Hanson’s investigators had yet to dig up proof that was so. Tom knew Thatcher’s methods. Drake liked to infiltrate the competition, work from the inside to mess things around. Chances were he had others placed within the company, screwing up the works wherever they saw the chance, keeping Thatcher in the loop as to TAKA-Hanson’s next move.

  The job now was to find out who those others were.

  Shelly was there, at her desk, as always, well ahead of him. He warmed inside at the sight of her. The last few days had been hectic. He hadn’t had a spare moment to spend with her.

  And damn, he had missed her. Maybe this afternoon, they could escape for an hour or two, share a little time alone before she left to pick up Max from daycare.

  She watched him come toward her, those brown eyes wide, her expression…what? Apprehensive? Afraid?

  She rose. “Got a minute?”

  “For you? Always.” He gestured her ahead of him into his office.

  “Shut the door, please,” she said, once they were both inside. She turned and he saw she had a large envelope in her hand.

  He shut the door and tried a smile. “Hey.” He tried teasing her. “If you want to jump my bones, I can spare half an hour. But make it quick.”

  She backed up a step and then drew herself up tall. “I…don’t think you’ll be wanting to make love with me after you hear what I have to say.”

  He wasn’t getting it. “Winston. What the hell?”

  She gestured with the envelope. “Would you just…sit down?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.” And he went around behind his desk and dropped into his chair. “Okay. I’m sitting. What next?”

  She took the chair opposite him, setting the envelope carefully in her lap. “I…I don’t know where to start.”

  “Shelly. You’re freaking me out here.”

  “I’m sorry, I…It’s about Drake Thatcher.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tom’s heart froze dead in his chest. “What did you say?”

  He watched her swallow. Hard. Her cheeks were deadly pale and there was a rim of paleness around her soft lips. “Drake Thatcher is my uncle, my mother’s half brother. I had never met him in my life until a month ago. The branches of the family, they…don’t keep in touch much. But out of nowhere, he called me. That was on Monday the ninth of June. He took me out to dinner and when I told him I was looking for a job, he told me there would be something coming up at TAKA-Hanson and I should apply the next day. I did.”

  She fell silent. And then she just sat there, looking at him. He knew she expected him to respond. But he couldn’t speak. He was too busy wondering if this could really be happening.

  “Tom. Please. Say something….”

  He gave her what she wanted, his voice as cold as the sudden ice that had formed around his heart. “You’re one of Thatcher’s people. Is that what you’re telling me, that you’re one of Thatcher’s spies?”

  She gasped and put her hand to her throat. “No,” she whispered. “He planned for me to be, but I’m not.”

  “Then why the hell haven’t you mentioned him before? Why is this the first time I’ve ever heard that bastard’s name from your lips?”

  “Tom. Please…” She reached toward him.

  He looked at her outstretched fingers in disgust. “Answer me.”

  She drew her hand back, let it fall to her lap. “I was afraid, okay? I was…a coward. He told me that he had ‘enemies’ at TAKA-Hanson and if I used his name I would never be hired. I needed this job. I needed it bad—and I wanted it even more than I needed it. So I didn’t mention him. I kept my mouth shut. It was dishonest of me. I know that. But I never…All I did was come to work here and do the best job that I could. All I did was…” She looked away. Whatever she was going to say next, she held it back.

  They sat there facing each other, in a silence as deep as the grave.

  So. He’d been had. Again. Drake’s own damn niece. He could almost laugh about it. Really, it was funny as hell. Taken again. This time by a pair of wide brown eyes and an open, honest smile.

  Honest. Right.

  She turned the envelope over and he saw there was a check clipped to it. She slid it across the desk toward him. “Last night, Drake finally, um, called in his marker on me, I guess you could say. He gave me that check and that envelope. He told me for the first time that he…knew you personally, that you had once worked for him, that you hated him and if you ever knew I was related to him, that he had told me about this job, you would hate me, too.”

  Tom said nothing. He set the check aside, opened the envelope and spilled out the contents onto his desk.

  “He gave me those clippings,” she said, “for proof of his story about you. He gave me those and he gave me that password you see on the pink note. He said it was still good, and that I should use it right away, to get into the system and find out where else you would be opening The Taka hotels beyond San Francisco and Kyoto. He wanted to know what builders you had approached, what suppliers you had lined up. He said he needed to get going on getting ‘his people’ in place. He also said…” Her voice trailed off. She reached up, laid her hand against her forehead. “Oh, God…”

  “Say it,” he commanded. “Say the rest.”

  “Yes.” She lowered her hand, squared her shoulders. “I know. I am. He said…that ‘decisions had been made’ to get rid of you, that what’s in that envelope, the details of what happened fourteen years ago, would be leaked to the press and that you would be asked to leave TAKA-Hanson.”

  Tom swore. “When? When will the press get this?”

  “He didn’t say, other than that it would be right away. Today or tomorrow, I think. He told me to get into the computer system here immediately, this morning, and copy the information he wanted. When I had it, I was supposed to call him at a number he gave me last month, to leave a message on his voice mail. He said he’d be in touch to tell me what to do next. He said when you were asked to leave, I’d be leaving, too, and he wanted to make use of me before that happened. I…I tried to get him to admit that Lil Todd was working for him, but he laughed and said he didn’t know anyone by that name.”

  Tom picked up the phone and dialed Helen’s cell. When she answered, he said, “Get Jack. And Mori, if he’s available. We’ve got a problem and we need to get on it fast.”

  While he waited for the others to arrive for the meeting, Tom did some checking into Shelly’s story. He also kept her in his office, sitting in the chair across from his desk, where he could watch her every move.

  She didn’t say a word the whole time. Her silent presence reproached him, and that made him even more furious at her than he already was.

  An hour after Tom called the meeting, they assembled in one of the top-floor meeting rooms.

  Jack Hanson, the oldest of Helen’s stepsons by her first husband, showed up several minutes after Helen and Mori. Jack had hi
s own successful legal career separate from the company. But he was very much a member of the family and on call to provide legal counsel whenever any branch of TAKA-Hanson required his services.

  Once he got there, they all took seats around the room’s oval central table.

  Tom took charge. He turned to Shelly, who waited, white-faced and silent, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Tell them,” he said. “Everything that you told me.”

  She repeated her story in a soft, clear voice, her gaze locked on the door that led out to the hallway, her expression tense and desperate—as if she longed to leap up and run for that door, to fling it wide and flee the room, the building, the whole ugly mess she had made.

  Not a chance, Tom thought. Shelly Winston wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he was damn good and ready to let her go.

  When she finished telling her story, they questioned her about what she’d told them. She answered carefully, precisely, repeating her story until it became painfully clear that she’d told all she knew.

  “Enough?” Tom asked, when there was silence. “Take a moment. Be sure. Once we have her escorted out of here, chances are she’ll disappear.”

  Shelly spoke up then, her voice stronger than before—determined. And firm. “I have no intention of disappearing anywhere. If there’s anything else I can do, simply give me a call. Also, if there’s any advantage to you in having my uncle think I’m still going to do what he asked me to do, maybe it would work out better if I didn’t change my routine. If one of your security guards escorts me from the building, it’s more than likely that Drake Thatcher will know. He said he’s had me followed, so I’m guessing that now, when it really matters, he’s going to have someone watching me.”

  Tom grunted. “There’s no way to tell what he knows right now. He could still have spies in the building, taking notes on the fact that we’re in this meeting.”

  Shelly shook her head. “I’m sorry. If he had someone else in the building reporting to him, why ask an unknown quantity like me to get him the information he wants?”