by Keary Taylor
I step in the elevator and press the button for the tenth floor.
The top floor is completely quiet and only a few lights dot the hall. It’s a strangely comforting feeling, being a place that is so familiar, but so to myself at the moment.
Gretchen has a drawer with all of my personal mail that comes to the office. She still hasn’t been released from custody and is still one of their prime suspects in the investigation into who framed me. Her desk looks oddly messy and chaotic for her extremely organized personality.
I squat and open the drawer and start looking through envelopes and folders. There are paid bills, automatic transactions, stock exchange statements. And finally, I find the folder marked TO BE PAID.
I hear the elevator ding and am about to see who’s joined me on the top floor when I hear cursing and heavy breathing and shuffling feet. My brows furrow and I debate with myself for a moment on what to do.
Suddenly, a figure storms past Gretchen’s desk and straight into my office.
My eyes grow wide and my pulse rockets. Being careful not to make a sound, I slide forward onto my hands and knees, and crawl to the end of her desk. Very, very slowly, I poke my head around the corner and look into my office.
The person inside has their back turned to me and is rifling through my files with speed. With a loud curse, he slams the filing cabinet shut. Next he turns toward my computer and his face comes into view.
Brian’s face is flushed red and covered in a sheen of sweat. He’s clicking through something on my computer with furious intent.
This is how he got access to my personal information. He went through his girlfriend, Gretchen, and got his hands on everything.
I pull out my phone and thankful that it is already set to silent, text Julian.
Meet me at my office.
I put my phone away and look back at Brian. He slams his fist on my desk and curses loudly again. His hands knot in his blond hair and he turns away from the computer. He sounds like he is hissing as he breathes loudly through clenched teeth.
He is seriously stressing and panicking.
The screen on my phone brightens and I see a text from Julian.
On my way up.
There’s a loud clatter, and the sudden sound of glass shattering makes me scream.
Brian has just picked my computer up and hurled it through the window.
And now he knows that I am here.
I jump to my feet and sprint down the hall toward the stairs. Half a second later I hear Brian’s feet pounding after me.
“Get back here!” he bellows.
There are few days that are bad to wear five inch Louboutin’s, but today is truly the worst.
Brian plows into me from behind, knocking us to the ground and the wind from my lungs. We roll over the floor, two, three, four times. Finally, we come to a stop and Brian is pinning me to the floor with his hands on my throat.
I try to cough, to choke, to breathe, but he is crushing my windpipe.
There is a crazed look in Brian’s eyes. He’s furious and possibly delirious, but he keeps looking around us with panic in his eyes that tells me he doesn’t know what to do now.
Realizing that I will never be able to get his hands away from my throat, I focus on what is free: my legs.
Using as much momentum as I can, I bring my knee up and pound him in the back. He winces, and pushes on my throat harder, but nothing more.
Black spots start to swim in the corners of my vision and I know I’ve only got a few more moments before I black out completely and Brian can toss me out the window just like he did my computer. And as I look back at Brian, I can tell from the resolved look on his face that making me pass out is exactly his plan right now.
My limbs don’t want to work properly now due to the lack of oxygen, but I reach down and curl my leg up as close as I can. My fingers struggle with the buckle, slipping three times before I finally release it. My fingers close around the toe of the shoe.
In one jerky movement, I curl my arm back, and swing the heel forward.
The slender stiletto sinks into his eye.
An ear-splitting scream leaps from Brian’s lips and his hands jump from my throat to his face just as the elevator dings again.
I roll over, trying to cough and wheeze. My vision fades in and out. But my windpipe is too bruised and I can’t suck any air in.
I hear Julian scream my name just as everything turns black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I open my eyes and the first thing I see is Julian.
He’s slumped sideways in a chair, one leg tucked up against his chest. His head is tipped back, his mouth is open and he is snoring softly.
There is also a tissue stuffed up his nose and a huge bruise blossoming on his cheekbone.
I sit up and moan in pain, only to lie immediately back down. My hands rise to my throat and the breath comes in and out in painful gulps.
Julian jerks awake and is immediately on his feet. He half trips into the bed. “The doctors said you should probably not talk for a while,” he rushes to say with sleepy sounding words as he stands at my side and takes one of my hands in his. “Brian bruised your windpipe pretty wickedly.”
I have a million questions that want to leap from my lips, but even breathing hurts right now. For once, I think I’ll just do what I’m told and not say anything.
“I came out of that elevator just in time to see you jab that heel into Brian’s eye,” Julian says, a smile curling on his lips. “It was like watching freaking Xena, Warrior Princess or something. If I hadn’t been so bloody scared out of my mind, I probably would have thought it was hot.”
A smile forms on my own lips.
“I didn’t realize you’d passed out for a little bit,” he continues. “We got into a pretty big fight. As you can see,” he says, holding a hand up as if to display his face. “He’s a bigger guy than me so he had a bit more force than I did, but thankfully he doesn’t have the best aim and only landed a few punches.” I reach up and very gently run my fingers over the bruise forming on his face.
“There were two agents just coming into the building when your computer crashed to the ground. They got to the top floor and tazed Brian the second they saw him. Thankfully they both recognized me and knew I was helping with the investigation or they probably would have zapped me as well,” Julian says with a chuckle.
There is a knock on the door and a doctor walks in. It isn’t until now that I fully process the fact that I am lying in a hospital bed.
“She’s awake,” the doctor says looking back out into the hall. “Do you mind if the agents come in, Miss McCain?”
I shake my head, and immediately regret doing so.
Agent Rodriguez and Agent Fowler stride in, businesslike and serious.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asks. He looks at a printout of my heart rate and blood pressure. I’ve got a cuff around my arm and a light thing clamped to my finger.
“You did say she shouldn’t talk,” Julian glares at the doctor. If looks could kill.
“Right,” he says and sounds flustered. I have a feeling he’s having a busy, chaotic day and probably doesn’t remember every detail about my condition. “Miss McCain, you can probably talk if you feel like it, but I doubt you’re feeling up to it.”
My silence is his answer. He nods. “Your attacker bruised your windpipe quite badly, and would have crushed it if he’d held you down much longer. You passed out from the lack of oxygen, but other than that, you’ll be fine. You can head home as soon as you like.”
I nod. Julian is still glaring at him and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to argue with the doctor and tell him that no, I am not fine, but he restrains himself.
“She’s all yours, agents,” the doctor says dramatically and lets himself out of the room.
“I told her what happened before she was brought to the hospital, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten,” Julian explains. He drags a chair to my side and settles
into it. He crosses one ankle over the other knee and laces his fingers behind his head and leans back.
“From what we figure, you found Brian trying to destroy your computer, correct?” Rodriguez asks.
I nod. “K, that’s what we assumed. After your boy here beat the tar out of Brian Sanders, we took him into custody and questioned him. He wasn’t exactly cooperative, but we got the answers we needed from the evidence we recovered from both his computer and yours.”
“You are aware of his relationship with Gretchen O’Bell,” Agent Fowler continues. “He used her to get to your personal information. Gretchen herself has been cleared, we have no more reason to believe she had anything to do with this. While their relationship seems to be genuine, he took advantage of her.”
They launch into explanations of tracing bank accounts and computer signatures and a bunch of other stuff that I am sure Julian understands, but all goes right over my head. I simply give small nods and let them keep talking.
“We’ll need you to testify if this goes to court,” Rodriguez says. “Guys like this usually try to deny charges, but it’s pretty hard to fight such red-handed evidence. But for now, they’re both at county. It may take a while for all this to settle down.”
“You get better, Miss McCain,” Fowler says. “The local authorities will be in touch soon.”
Without a goodbye, they both turn and leave the room.
Julian turns to me and takes my hand in his. He holds it up to his lips and rests both there.
“Gideon was by earlier. I’ve never seen him looking so pathetic. He feels horribly that he didn’t try to defend you more. He wants to have a meeting with you as soon as you’re ready,” he says with a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to ask him for pretty much anything you want and he’ll give it to you.”
A smile curls on my face.
That Sage McCain I’ve missed the past few weeks resurfaces. The one who is ambitious and proud and not afraid to piss people off to get what she wants.
And I know exactly what I will ask for when we have that meeting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Okay, favorite ice cream flavor?” Julian asks. His eyes flick up from the book he is holding, to my face.
“Is there anything besides cookie dough that is worth eating?” I say with a grimace.
“Only if you like eating straight sugar granules,” he says with a wrinkle of his nose.
“Give me that,” I say, reaching for the book. When Mom found out what happened and Julian’s involvement that “certainly saved my life” she seemed sure she had met her one and only future son-in-law. She brought over a care package while I “recovered”, including a book of 101 Questions to Ask Your Significant Other.
“What song,” I say dramatically as I glance up at Julian over the book, “reminds you of me.”
“Oh, this is a hard one,” he says, rubbing a hand over his scruffy chin. “Uh, I’ll have to go with Heartless by Kanye West.”
“Julian!” I scream, offense dripping from my voice as I launch a pillow at his head.
“Kidding, kidding!” he laughs as he takes the hit. “Um, okay, seriously? Rise Up by Diane Birch.”
“Wow, a non-rock song?” I say, a smile curling on my lips.
Julian shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t a good one. It fits.”
“You mean love don’t come in black or white?” I say, my voice dropping.
“Never,” he says as he crosses my room and climbs up into the bed with me. He places a knee on either side of me, his hands just to my sides. He pushes the book into my chest as he leans forward and gently presses his lips to mine. “Next question.”
I grin as he backs up slightly, resting his head on my stomach and lying on top of me. His weight is comforting, strong.
“How do you feel about public displays of affection?” I read.
“I am in the affirmative,” he says, his voice muffled from the sounds of the blankets.
I chuckle and run my fingers through Julian’s hair.
“K, my turn,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows and reaching for the book. I hand it over and study his face as he scans the questions.
The first day I came home from the hospital, I couldn’t talk. The second day my voice was barely more than a whisper. Yesterday was a bit better, and today it is nearly back to normal.
I could be doing something more productive. The rest of my body is functioning just fine.
But the honest truth is that the last few days have been some of the best of my life. It’s just been me and Julian, with the occasional visit from Mom and Dad, or Drake and Kaylee and the kids, or Lake. Kale has tried to make himself scarce since Julian has been sleeping over and here at all hours.
But mostly it is just us. Us and this ridiculous book.
“K, here we go,” he says, a smile curling on his face. “Another girl openly hits on me. How do you handle it?”
“Well,” I say, lacing my fingers through his hair again. He rests his chin on my stomach and looks up at me. “I can only get possessive if you’re actually mine…”
“Sage McCain,” Julian says, a smile on his face. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”
“You did pass the seven gates of friend and family hell with flying colors,” I say seriously. “Although to be honest, I don’t really have any idea what flying colors really means.”
“Don’t change the topic,” he says as a wide smile overtakes his face. He inches up and we are nose to nose. “I’m pretty sure I just got promoted from a dot, dot, dot to boyfriend.”
“You got that promotion somewhere back in China, I have just been making you work to realize the change had happened,” I breathe as he presses his lips to mine.
“So this means I can officially change my Facebook status into ‘in a relationship’?” he says in a ridiculous voice.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Are you going to be one of those types of boyfriends?”
“I just committed the Sage McCain, the unconquerable woman,” Julian says as he presses his lips to the base of my ear. “I intend to let the world know of my accomplishment.”
“I can hear you through the wall!” Kale yells, disgust in his voice.
“Kale! You need to move out!” Julian yells.
“Shutting up!”
My phone starts vibrating on the night stand. Julian reaches for it and looks at the screen.
“Gideon,” he says as he turns it and hands it to me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Maxwell,” I say with every confidence in my voice.
“How are you feeling today, Sage?” he asks. Mr. Maxwell is a confident man, but today, there is hesitance in his voice. “You sound better.
“I’m nearly fully recovered,” I say. “Still some bruising, that will probably last another week or so.” I say it for effect and to rub it in just a little bit. “But I’m up and about.”
He pauses for a moment and the effect I was going for has worked. I’ve gained the upper hand by making him squirm and feel horrible. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, I was wondering if we could have that meeting sometime soon. We have some things to talk over.”
“I’ll come by Digit tomorrow morning at ten,” I say.
He pauses again. I’ve taken charge of the situation by not asking him when works for him or asking if my set time and date works with his schedule. Mr. Maxwell isn’t someone who is used to having someone take charge of his time. But he has some major bumps to smooth out and he knows I am the only person who can help him. “I can make that work.”
“See you then,” I say with a smile as I hang up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dustin says, cranking up his Southern charm. He gives me his infamous lopsided smile, showing off pearly whites. “We’ve all been informed we have some major kissing to do to that mighty fine rear end of yours.”
“And I’m going to enjoy every second if it,” I say as I fold up my sunglasses and set t
hem on the dash. Dustin opens the gate and I’m about to pull forward when a smile suddenly curls on my face and I stop.
“Dustin,” I say. He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised. “Have you met my assistant Gretchen?”
“I think we’ve talked once or twice in passing,” he says.
“Remind me to formally introduce you two sometime,” I say with a smile as I pull forward.
I park in my spot and climb out. I nearly float on my Louboutin’s, the same ones I used to defend myself against Brian with, as I swipe my card and let myself into the building. Once the blood was washed off, they served as proof that even an attacking two hundred pound man can’t keep me down.
I walk past the front desk in the lobby.
“Good morning Miss McCain,” the receptionist says brightly to me. There is something in her eyes that suggest the fear of a boss and strict instructions to be carried out.
“Good morning,” I say with a brilliant smile as I pass by her. I head for the elevator and press the up button. The doors ding and slide open.
And standing inside is Gretchen.
I’ve barely stepped inside when she rushes forward and engulfs me in a hug.
“I am so sorry about all of this,” she immediately starts. Her voice quivers and soon she is crying. “I never thought I’d have to worry about Brian sneaking into my desk. I mean, we’ve been together for a year and a half! I never suspected him, but I should have with all those late nights and lame excuses of working overtime. We have a graveyard shift for goodness sakes!”
“Gretch,” I say firmly. I grab her arms and force her to take a step back from me before she can get black, runny mascara all over my shirt. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, and I know that you are sorry. Everything is okay.”
“You don’t hate me?” she asks, her eyes puffy and uncertain. “You don’t want to fire me?”
I smile as the doors open on the tenth floor and we step out. “I could never hate you Gretch, you’re the perfect assistant. And I would have to have my job back first before I could fire you, but that would never happen.”