Sexy Savior: A Hero Club Novel

by Kayt Miller

  Meghan filled in some other blanks for me as well, like the dynamic between Clive and Ben. What she said surprised me. “I don’t know what Clive’s deal is with Ben, because Ben’s nice. Like super nice. Plus, he’s like uber creative. He’s always throwing out awesome ideas at our team meetings.” She leans closer. “And… he helps people.” She nodded and raised her brows up and down. “You know, as in he saves people. At least that’s the story that’s been going around.”

  Super nice? Uber creative? Saves people? I wanted to ask her about all of those things, but she had more to say on the subject.

  “I could learn a lot from Ben. I’d put in for Clive’s job, but they said they weren’t going to fill it.”

  “To be his assistant? They aren’t going to fill it? Why not?”

  Meghan shrugged. “I don’t know. Every other manager has one. If you ask me, someone’s got it out for Ben.”

  Hmm, interesting. “Who told you they weren’t going to fill it?”

  “Just someone in the break room. I can’t remember who said it.”

  “So, it’s a rumor?”

  She shrugged. “I guess, but rumors are usually pretty accurate around here.”

  “They can be, but you need to be careful with rumors.” I know firsthand how wrong the rumor mill can be. In my last job, we were told the company was doing well, making record profits. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Why don’t I check on Clive’s old job? I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “That’d be great. I could also ask Mr. Morgan about it at our meeting.” She gave me a sly smile.

  “You could. But if I were you, Meghan, I’d think big when you talk to Mr. Morgan.”

  “Think big?”

  “Yeah. Tell him what your goals are for your future. For example, do you want to be a marketing manager? Art director? Think beyond the job as an assistant.”

  “Ben’s assistant.” She said his name in a husky kind of voice. “That guy is not only nice, he’s smokin’ hot.” She paused. “For an older guy.”

  That made me laugh. It couldn’t be helped. Ben can’t be much older than me, and I’m twenty-nine. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “Everyone says so.”

  I can see what she means. If I’d met Ben for the first time when I started work here, he’d definitely make me turn my head. He’s just one of those big handsome guys who gets better-looking the older they get. It’s obvious he works out, and according to Meghan, he’s nice, which tells me he must be charming.

  She tapped the table with her knuckles, which drew my attention, “You know, he’s single in case….”

  I chose not to respond to that statement and moved on. “What did you mean when you said he ‘saves people’?”

  “He saves people. Like on the street. I’ve heard he saved some lady after her newspaper stand caught on fire. He ran right in there and got her out.”

  “Oh.” Well, that’s something, I guess.

  “And he practically threw himself onto the top of a taxi to stop it before it ran over a little old lady.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Oh, and he saved some animal that fell from a building.”

  That one made my head snap back. “How did he save it?” This ought to be good.

  But Meghan just shrugged. “He caught it or something.”

  I couldn’t hold it back. That time, I laughed. “That’s ridiculous.” Because it was.

  Meghan’s eyes narrowed, but she quickly changed up her expression. With another one of her signature shrugs, she said, “That’s what I heard.”

  After Meghan returned to her job, I spent the remainder of my morning speaking with the four other support staff members who were supposed to meet with me yesterday. Since I had some talking points from my discussion with Meghan, I spent a little time focused on Ben and the rumors.

  After work, I spent the subway ride home recounting my conversations with the initial five people and the four others I was able to grab in the afternoon. When I got home, after de-bra-ing and pouring myself a glass of wine from the bottle I picked up on the walk home, I pulled out the pages from the green folder again,. skimming through the ones related to the other managers in the department, including Ben. Next, I sorted the pages by managers and individual areas: the art department, social media, and so on.

  When I finish, I note that Ben’s stack has more pages than anyone else. Not a great deal more, but the content of those pages is decidedly different for Ben. His comments are almost all negative while the notes on the other department heads have pros and one or two cons. I’m not sure what to make of that. According to Meghan as well as the other nine people I talked to today, Ben is a “good guy.” Not only that, he’s smart, funny, and clever, just to name a few adjectives that were thrown out. He’s also someone they’d all like to work for.

  I glance down at my sorted pages. I’m missing something. Something important. It’s starting to feel like the person who took the time to write up this folder has done this for personal reasons. That’s not a shock. The question I have is why?

  Leaning back on my sofa, I give myself a minute to process. I need more information from one person. I groan to myself because it means one thing: I’m going to have to meet with Ben Schilling, and I’m going to have to do it alone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben

  Heading into work the day after the bus incident, I’m still exhilarated. I suppose that feeling is being helped along by the massive coffee I stopped to grab on the way. What do they call it? The Vat? It’s a funny name but one I appreciate because that’s exactly what this thing is. It’s like a large tank or tub used to hold liquid. I take a sip and moan. A delicious giant vat.

  Up on the marketing department floor, I notice there are quite a few people already skittering around. I quickly look at my watch to make sure I’m not late. Sigh. I never worried about that before now, but with everything going on with the green folder and that damn sexy consultant, I can’t help but be a little worried about my job. A job I’m good at. Or at least, I thought I was. Now I’m not so sure. Job insecurity isn’t something I’m used to feeling, and it sucks.

  I like what I do. Pretty much. It’s not what I set out to do when I went to college, but shit happens. The irony that I wanted to be a history teacher and ended up here, in New York City, in corporate America, isn’t lost on me. I learned in the first semester of college that I’d never make enough money to support myself teaching. At least that was what my friends all told me. Now I’m not so sure. Oh, I’m sure about the money part, but there are days when I wonder if it’s all worth it. Money, that is. As I get a little older, I can’t help wondering if changing majors from education to marketing was a bad idea, that loving what you do rather than just accepting it would be nice.

  Hell, it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. We can’t go back, as they say.

  I need to forget about all that and get to work.

  Stopping in the small break room, I place my sack lunch in the refrigerator. As I’m turning to leave, I see Alison step into the room. When she spots me, she hesitates in an almost jerky fashion.

  She’s genuinely afraid of me.

  I hate that.

  So I do my best to act as normal as possible. “Good morning, Alison.”

  “Oh.” She clears her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Schilling.”

  “Mr. Schilling? That’s very formal. Does that mean I need to call you Ms. Kirby?”

  She laughs a little. “No. Of course not.”

  From the corner of my eye, I notice her moving from foot to foot like she can’t wait to get the hell out of the room. But we’re in a quandary. She’s standing in the doorway, so for me to leave, I’d have to get close to her. Since she’s not making a move to enter, I’ll need to take charge. “If you’d like to step farther into the room, Ms. Kirby, maybe to the sink, then I’ll step around this table”—I point to the table
to my left—“and out so you can use the room.”

  “Oh.” Alison’s face flushes a deep pink shade. “That’s not necessary.” She moves to her left, creating an opening for me to exit.

  Just as I’m passing her, she makes a noise. One that catches my attention.

  Stopping in my tracks, I turn my head. When our eyes meet, I feel a weird sort of sensation in my chest. This is the closest I’ve been to her since the day she elbowed me. Even then, I didn’t get a good look at her face. From afar, the woman is gorgeous, but from a foot away, that face of hers… those clear blue eyes, pert little nose, and rosebud lips are awe-inspiring. I want to lean in, to get as close as humanly possible, but I force myself to hold my ground.

  She’s scared of me.

  Remembering that, I ask softly, “Yes?”

  “Um, would you have time to meet with me today?”

  “Sure. What time?” I don’t believe I have any meetings today, but if I do, I’ll cancel them for her. And not because Graham commanded it.

  “Well….” She’s doing that thing again with her feet. I half expect her to make a mad dash out of the room any second.

  I take over. “What if we meet in the deli down on the first floor? There will be a lot of people around, but we should still be able to talk with minimal interruptions.” Sure, I brought my lunch today, but I can eat it tomorrow. PB&J sandwiches last two days, right?

  “No.” She shakes her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have Clive in the room. Perhaps someone else?” I’m doing my best to accommodate the woman. “Meghan Lincoln?”

  “No.” She shakes her head again. Then she nods, muttering, “Yes.”

  I’m getting confused.

  Alison finally speaks more than one word. “Let’s meet at the deli on the first floor. Twelve thirty?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”

  I step out the door and fight the acidic feeling in my stomach. That exchange was painful. But the other part? The one where I get to have lunch with her? That one makes me smile.

  “Um, thank you for meeting me here.”

  With my tray in hand, I sit at the small round table she’s selected, the one in the back corner of the deli. Her back is to the wall so she’s able to see everyone in the shop. Placing my food down, I pull my chair out and sit. While I know this is technically a meeting, I’m starving, so I proceed to place my napkin in my lap, then unwrap my twelve-inch turkey club sandwich. I know, I’m in New York, so I should be eating pastrami, but it’s not my favorite. Plus, I’ve got a thing about fresh breath, and pastrami is not breath friendly. I open up my other food, sides which include coleslaw, potato salad, and potato chips. As a treat, I grabbed a slice of cheesecake. After the events from last night, a treat is warranted.

  Picking up my sub, I’m about to take a huge bite when I see her staring. “What?”

  I think I’m seeing things when she places her dainty little hand over her mouth and starts to giggle.

  That’s what I said. She. Giggled.

  I start to chuckle as well. I still don’t know what’s funny, but it doesn’t matter. “What?”

  She quickly stops herself, but at least she answers me. “That’s a lot of food.”

  I shrug. “I’m hungry.” Then I think better of it. Setting the sandwich back down, I ask, “Is that okay? Would you rather just talk? I can take this to go.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Eat.”

  When she picks up her plastic fork, I take the opportunity to look down at her food at the one lonely thing on her tray: a side salad. And a plain one at that. I’m tempted to comment about her pathetic lunch, but I learned a long time ago not to say a word about what a woman chooses to eat, especially at a restaurant. Opening my bag of chips, I set them on the table between our trays. “I’ll share.”

  Shockingly, I watch as she reaches out and takes a chip from the bag. I also stare as she lifts said chip to those plump lips of hers. Right before it touches her mouth, her tongue peeks out and swipes across her bottom lip.

  If I told you I had an instant boner, would you be disappointed in me?

  Well, I guess you’re going to be disappointed in me. It can’t be helped.

  I quickly look down at my food until I hear a crunching sound. When that happens, all I want to do is look at her mouth again, but I do my best to focus on my food instead. Picking up my sub, I open my mouth wide and bite down hard.

  “Mm, good.” I nod as I talk with my mouth full. She’s smiling at me, and it’s beautiful. Honest to God, I’ve never experienced such a feeling, like warm light is piercing my chest.

  I chew my big bite, then swallow. Doing my best to ignore the feeling, I point to my sandwich. “Want some?”

  “No, thank you.” She shakes her head. “Shall we get started?”

  “Sure.” Damn, I was enjoying my sub and this casual, relaxed bit of time with Alison, but now it’s back to business. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and place it on the table next to my tray. Leaning back, I give her my full attention. “Ask me anything.”

  “Clive.” It’s not a question. Not yet. “What happened between the two of you?”

  She’s already figured out that there’s something broken between my former assistant and me. She’s good.

  “Honestly, I have no idea. We used to work really well together, like the proverbial well-oiled machine. Hell, we hung out occasionally outside of work. Then one day it just stopped. He’d barely talk to me.” I shrug because I don’t know what else to say.

  “When was this?”

  Since I’ve given this more thought recently, I’m able to say with confidence, “About a year ago.”

  “Very specific.”

  “Well, after he was promoted, and now seeing the green folder”—I nod to the folder in question sitting next to her—“I thought about it. And I assume I’m prominently featured in his notes….”

  “You assume the green folder is from Clive?”

  “Chartreuse.” I smirk. “And yes, I do, because he had me special order those chartreuse folders. And he’s always wearing something green.” A tie, a sweater, socks—always something.

  She quickly jots something down. “Interesting.”

  Is it, though?

  “So, am I?” I look quickly at the folder, then back up at her pretty face.

  “Are you what?”

  “Featured prominently?”

  It’s her turn to look down at the folder. She seems reluctant to look at me now, so that tells me my assumptions are correct. “Everyone is included in it, but that’s all I can say.”

  “Is it all bad or…?”

  “It’s a bit of a mixed bag.”

  Hmm, interesting. I don’t know what else to say, so I ask, “What other questions do you have for me?”

  “Well….” She reaches down beside her and pulls out a cheap spiral notebook, like the ones we used in high school. She opens the front cover and flips it to the back, then does the same with several pages until she’s got a blank page on top. Clicking on a ballpoint pen, she finally says, “Let’s do this. I’ll say a name, and in only a few words, tell me what you think of them.”

  “Uh, no.” I’m not doing that.

  “No?” She arches her pretty brow.

  “No. I’m not going to sit here and gossip about my colleagues.”

  “I wouldn’t call it gossip. I just—”

  “I like everyone I work with. We work hard for Graham, and I don’t know a soul upstairs who doesn’t put in 110 percent.”

  She’s still got her brow arched. She doesn’t believe me.

  “I’m serious. It’s the only thing I like about this place.” Oh shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

  “You don’t like working for Morgan Financial Holdings?”

  Now she’s egging me on. “Didn’t I just say I liked it here thanks to my coworkers?”

  “That’s not the way you phrased it.”
>
  “I like it here fine.” Now I’m irritated. It’s like she’s twisting my words around. “I enjoy my work. It’s stressful sometimes, yes, but I enjoy the creative aspect of what we do, and the people only make it better.” Then I do that thing I do when I’m unhappy: I smile. “All I meant to say was my colleagues are great.”

  “Okay.” She writes something down, and I lean forward in the hopes that I can make it out. It feels like I’m under a microscope now, and I don’t like it.

  “Assuming the folder has some information about you included, what do you think Clive would write about?”

  I stare at the pretty Alison and then blink. That question is rather ridiculous. How the hell would I know what Clive would write about me? The guy hates me. I shake my head and fold up my napkin, placing it next to my tray. “I have no idea.” I look at my watch, hoping she gets the hint that this meeting is over.

  “Wait.” She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. “I’m sorry. That question was stupid.”

  I nod but remain quiet.

  “Let me ask you this….”

  I wait.

  “Has anything happened recently that gave you pause?”

  Gave me pause? “What do you mean?”

  “Has anything happened that didn’t make sense? That concerned you either about your work or of someone else in your department?”

  I only have to think about that for a second. “Well, there was the issue with my data on my last presentation.”

  “Your data?”

  “Graham said my social media data was way off.”

  “And?”

  “And Clive usually provides me with that kind of information. So I can’t help wondering if he was sabotaging me.”

  “That’s a bit paranoid, don’t you think?”

  Paranoid? I just explained—

  Nope. I’m not doing this. I check my watch again. “I need to get back. I’ve got a meeting with Sam this afternoon that I need to prepare for.” That’s a lie. I don’t have any meetings today.

  “Oh, right.” She shuts her notebook quickly and sets the pen on top. “Thanks for taking time out to talk to me, Ben.”