KIRKLAND: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “You’re expected, Beauty,” the woman said, nodding decisively. “May I call you Beauty?”

  “It’s my name, after all,” I said. “That’s just fine.”

  “I’m Myra Tuttle,” she said, sticking a small hand out. When I shook it, however, its strength took me by surprise. “You’re here to replace me.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised yet again. How many times was I going to be surprised by something in the span of a minute? “I’m sorry…I don’t think anyone’s replaceable.”

  She studied me for a moment before throwing her head back and guffawing at me.

  “Too true,” she said. “I suppose we’re all, more or less, irreplaceable. What I meant to say was that you’re going to be doing the work I used to be doing here at Shepard Shipments. I’m retiring.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know that. Dan…I was told the job wasn’t very glamorous. That’s all I knew.”

  Myra gave that same big laugh. “Well, that’s for sure,” she said. “Not glamorous at all. But rewarding, in its own way. Now. Let’s get ourselves inside so I can show you myself. Not glamorous. Ha!”

  I felt more comfortable than I had in ages as I followed this little old lady into the building and across the gleaming lobby. It was a long way away from the dank, dark bar where I’d been previously employed. It was so well lit that I hoped I’d done my makeup correctly in my car’s rearview mirror, and I resolved to scoot into a restroom to check at my earliest convenience.

  “Shepard Shipments owns the entire building, but the company rents the lower portions to other businesses it does dealings with,” Myra was explaining as we clicked our way across the smooth floors. “The company itself occupies a couple floors higher up in the building. These elevators here are fine. Don’t use the elevator at the back of the lobby.”

  I followed the direction of her pointed finger to see a single elevator secluded by a darkened alcove, its gold doors dim. It looked foreboding, unlike the shiny bright bank of elevators we were standing in front of.

  “Is that the elevator the other companies have to use to get to their floors?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” Myra said quickly. “That’s the elevator that Mr. Shepard uses to get to the penthouse at the top of the building.”

  “Mr. Shepard,” I repeated as we stepped into an open elevator. “You mean Dan?”

  She made a noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. “No. Mr. Daniel doesn’t live in the penthouse. He greatly enjoys his time outside of the company. The Mr. Shepard I’m referring to is, of course. Mr. Roland.”

  “Is that Dan’s—Mr. Daniel’s—brother?”

  “That’s right,” Myra confirmed, as we glided upward. “He lives at the top of the building. Quite convenient, if you ask me. But you’re never to use that elevator, do you hear me?”

  Never use creepy elevator standing all alone to go to a strange man’s living quarters. I nodded. That was a rule I could definitely live with.

  The elevator doors rolled open, and I followed Myra out into the reception area of the office. I was grateful to have run into her as I brooded outside. She seemed to be something cross between a fairy godmother and a grandmother figure. My only regret was that I was to, apparently, replace her. I wished she could be here to save me from all the ways I could screw up.

  “This is the floor where you will be spending the vast majority of your time,” Myra said, bustling along. For a woman so advanced in her years, she was certainly sprightly. I had to almost trot to keep up with her quick little steps, ducking my head self-consciously as people at the desks we passed by looked up, curious at a new face.

  The office space was nice enough—full of broad, open desks that weren’t separated by cubicle walls. The computers everyone clicked away on were the latest models, and everyone seemed busy, but happy. I’d never been in a professional office setting, but this one was much nicer than the mazes of cubicles I’d imagined for it.

  “Are you familiar with what Shepard Shipments is?” Myra asked, drawing to a halt so suddenly I almost crashed into her. I had to pay attention. There would probably be time to ogle my surroundings later.

  “Kind of,” I admitted. I’d visited the library on my shopping day and had taken the opportunity to do a little research. “It’s like a shopping website.”

  “That’s one part of it,” she allowed, nodding encouragingly. “And that’s how the Shepards got their start. But today, Shepard Shipments is a retail and media force. The company launches its own products, everything from electronics to Internet services. And it just keeps growing.”

  “And so what role do I play in all of this?” I asked, realizing that Dan had neglected to let me know exactly what the job I was agreeing to do would entail. “What do you do?” Dan had said it wasn’t glamorous, and Myra had laughed and agreed. To me, this entire office was glamorous, with its enormous windows, soft carpet, and workers dressed in all the latest fashions. The least glamorous position I could imagine was working as one of the warehouse stock employees, scurrying around, finding the items people ordered from the website to prepare them for shipping.

  Somehow, though, I couldn’t imagine Myra doing the same.

  “A very important one,” she began, and my stomach knotted in anxiety. I hadn’t finished college. I had limited skills. I certainly didn’t know anything about coding or working on websites.

  “I’ll be training you this week to replace me as Mr. Shepard’s assistant,” she finished. “Mr. Roland Shepard, the president of this company. For clarity’s sake.”

  My nerves crept up my spine and made my head swim. Assistant to the president of this enormous and important company? I had no idea what even the first thing expected out of me would be. All I knew was that I was to be the assistant to a vaguely threatening presence who lived at the top of this building and had a private, ominous elevator in the lobby I wasn’t allowed to use. None of this did a damn thing to inspire any confidence in me.

  “Okay,” I said faintly. “You should probably start telling me everything you know right now. Because I don’t have a clue…”

  Myra laughed again, but it wasn’t the same free guffaw she’d given outside of the building. It was more restrained, more careful.

  “That’s what the training is for, silly girl,” she said. “You’ll do just fine. Now. Over here is where we’ll be. There’s plenty of space for the both of us, but you’ll eventually inherit all of it when I leave.”

  We’d arrived at a large desk, set somewhat apart from the rest of the furniture in the room, near a large, heavy-looking door. Something in me felt uneasy, like something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I chalked it up to anxiety and tried to focus on gleaning every drop of knowledge that Myra was willing to give me. She wouldn’t be here forever, after all, and I’d be expected to assist the leader of this company as best I could.

  “Beyond that door is Mr. Shepard’s office,” Myra said, nodding to the door on the far wall. From her slightly hushed tone, I didn’t have to ask her to clarify which Shepard brother she was talking about. I already recognized that Myra used reverence to talk about Roland and exasperation to discuss Dan.

  “He’ll call or email you if he needs anything,” she continued. “And when you know what he needs, you’ll be prompt in getting it to him.”

  “What does that usually entail?” I asked, confused. Would I be a glorified errand girl? I didn’t really imagine Myra as that, but I could’ve been wrong.

  “Digitizing, mostly,” she said. “Even if Shepard Shipments started as an Internet retailer, it kept loads of paper data on hand prior to the advent of cloud computing.”

  It was cute to see a little old lady up on her knowledge of technology—until I remembered that I only had a cursory understanding of these kinds of things. A lot could happen in a year off the grid, not paying attention to news and advancements and the like. A person could get completely consumed by, say, figuring out how to put
food in her mouth and gas in her tank.

  “When you’re not scanning and filing online, you’re getting Mr. Shepard whatever he needs, doing whatever he says, and being his eyes, ears, hands, and brains out here,” Myra continued.

  “His brains?” I repeated, confused. “I don’t understand. Isn’t he the president of this company?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How am I supposed to think like that?” I asked, feeling faint. I needed to change out of these pantyhose—and maybe just escape this entire situation. I wasn’t cut out for this. There had been some kind of mistake. There was no way on God’s green earth that I was qualified to think like the president of a successful global business.

  “Mr. Shepard doesn’t come out here,” she said, nodding meaningfully at the closed door. “When that door opens, it’s because you’re going through it, taking him something he’s asked you for, or you’re coming out of it, having delivered whatever he asked. He doesn’t come out here. He doesn’t interact with anyone in person. You’re the physical extension of him when you’re out here. You might find yourself delivering folders or messages to other people. Once, several years ago, I fired somebody for him.”

  I shook my head, utterly overwhelmed. “It just seems like a lot of responsibility,” I admitted. “Why wouldn’t the head of a company want to be out here with the people helping make everything happen?”

  Myra leaned close. “You’re going to learn very quickly that Mr. Shepard has reasons for desiring his privacy,” she said, her voice lowered. “He’s a good man, regardless of what anyone says. Always keep that in mind—no matter what.”

  I didn’t know how to question that strange aside. I hadn’t heard anyone say anything about the president of this company besides Myra. Was there something there? Something I should know about?

  “Anyway,” she said, probably looking to head off any follow-up questions I might have popped, “every day, someone brings a box of documents that need to be digitized.” Myra patted the top of a large cardboard container taking up much of the desk. “Your goal, to stay on schedule for what the company has in mind, is to get through a box a day. I’m thinking we’ll be able to do two, since there’s two of us for now.”

  I lifted the top off the box in question and gave a low whistle. It was packed to the brim with a mess of hanging folders, file folders, and loose sheets of paper.

  “We probably shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves,” I remarked. “That’s a lot of digitizing.”

  “It’s not difficult,” Myra insisted. “It’s just time consuming. I volunteered to be one of the employees helping with this transition. It’s enormously important that we get all parts of the company firmly in the twenty-first century.”

  She proceeded to teach me the process of scanning, labeling, and filing away each piece of paper in the box. For a single file folder containing related records, it was easier. The scanner would just whip the pages through in one bundle. It was the random, floating sheets of records that required the most painstaking work.

  At least I had something to do with my hands. I was unreasonably nervous, under the impression that I was under some kind of extreme scrutiny. In my previous incarnation working as a stripper, I hadn’t minded the eyes on me because I could stare right back. That’s how I made my money, making those connections. But this feeling was different. I glanced furtively around as I ran some files through the scanner, working while Myra trotted off to the break room to get a couple of cups of coffee.

  Nobody across the office was paying a bit of attention to me, all of them engrossed in their computer screen or talking to one another. A few looked up as I passed my glance over them and smiled.

  Someone was watching me, but I didn’t know who or where they were. My skin crawled with the sensation.

  The phone at my elbow rang loudly—once, twice, three times. I looked around for Myra, but she was nowhere in sight, still on a jaunt for our caffeine fix. I checked the display and blanched. “Shepard, Roland,” it read. The president of Shepard Shipments was calling right now, and the person he wanted wasn’t here. What was I going to do?

  The phone rang three more times while I stared at it as if it were a wild animal threatening my physical safety, willing Myra to swoop in and save the day. Then, I answered.

  “Hello?” I winced at my own voice. I sounded like a frightened child.

  “How many goddamn rings does it take for you to answer the fucking phone?” Roland exclaimed, his voice deep, ever so slightly hoarse, and very, very angry. “And is that the best you can manage for a professional greeting? Hello?”

  My face had to have been scarlet. “I’m so…I’m so sorry,” I stuttered. “I was…this is my first day, and Myra stepped away from the desk, and I wasn’t sure…”

  “Wasn’t sure about what?” he barked.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do,” I was forced to squeak.

  “You weren’t sure what to do when a phone rang?” he demanded.

  “Um, I wasn’t sure what to do when it was the president of a big company calling,” I whispered.

  “You answer it!” The bellow made me jump and nearly drop the phone, which I was sure wouldn’t have gone well either.

  “Okay.” I doubted he could hear me over his angry breathing.

  “If you think you’re competent enough to do so, bring me a copy of the Times and a cup of coffee,” he snapped and slammed down the phone.

  I was all too eager to replace my own receiver, standing quickly and looking around. Times. Coffee. A newspaper and a cup of coffee. I could do that. And coffee was where Myra was. She could help me figure this all out, help allay my unreasonable fucking fear of a billionaire on a telephone.

  I reached the break room easily enough without too much delay, but Myra was nowhere in sight. Had she gone back to our desk? I craned my neck to check, but didn’t see her there. Where had she gone?

  With shaking hands, I poured a large cup of coffee, slopping it over the sides and onto the counter. Dammit! Couldn’t I do anything right? I mopped up the spill with a paper towel and looked around. Would they…would they maybe keep the newspaper in here? There were snacks galore, reminding me that I was hungry, and plenty of community drinks in the refrigerator, but not a single sheet of newsprint.

  Wasn’t this company working toward going completely digital? Couldn’t Roland Shepard turn on a computer to read the day’s news?

  I carried the coffee out of the break room, the hot liquid sloshing around, jumping out and dotting the carpet from time to time, and hunted for Myra. Where in the hell was she? Did she leave me on purpose? Was this some twisted part of the training? I didn’t see the old woman anywhere, but, then again, she was awfully short. It would be easy to overlook her in my panicked scan around the office.

  No Myra, no newspaper, and a rapidly decreasing mug of coffee from spilling so much of it. I was not doing very well on my first day.

  I finally approached the receptionist at the front of the office, a woman sitting at a desk by the elevator I’d come up here on.

  “Excuse me,” I said, forcing myself to smile and pretend like everything was just fine. “Have you happened to see Myra Tuttle around?”

  “Oh, she had to go down to one of the other companies in the building to hash some things out for Shepard Shipments,” she said, then leaned close and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That old beast is going to work her as hard as he can, up until the day she leaves.”

  That old beast? Did she mean Roland? She had to have meant it. Roland Shepard was probably the only one around here who could tell Myra what to do, and he’d certainly been a beast to me over the telephone. Now that I thought about it, he could’ve just said, in a friendly voice, “No need to be nervous, Beauty, I know it’s your first day.” That simple statement would’ve done wonders to assuage my anxiety, but instead, here I was, out of breath for no good reason, on the end of my rope after not much more than an hour in this place.

  �
��Could you tell me where to get that old beast—I mean Roland—I mean Mr. Shepard! Ugh! Could you tell me where to get his paper for him?” How could I be so flustered? Is this what an office setting did to me?

  “There’s a kiosk if you just go down to the lobby and right across the street,” the receptionist said, giving me a sympathetic smile.

  “Shit!” I exploded, spilling even more coffee as I jerked my hand upward to cover my mouth. “Sorry! I mean, thank you!”

  I took refuge in the elevator, still holding that damned coffee mug, which was now missing more than an inch of the beverage, thanks to my clumsiness. I’d never been so flustered in a work setting before, and I used to strip down to nothing but a thong in front of people I didn’t know. How had getting a man a coffee and newspaper reduced me to such a bumbling mess?

  I emerged from the elevator at a dead run, my flats clattering across the floor, people ducking out of the way. I was looking for a newspaper kiosk. Pushing the building doors open, my eyes darted all around until I spotted it.

  Just an hour ago, I was standing out here, staring at the unfamiliar reflection of myself in the glass. Would I have gone inside if I’d known what torture awaited me there? Hell, no. I would’ve marched my ass back to my car and driven clear to Canada.

  I dashed across the street, unwilling to wait for the correct traffic signals, and earned myself some well-deserved honks and shouted insults. Sorry, folks, but I was trying to get a billionaire his newspaper before he fired me or murdered me or berated me until I curled up and died. I was just trying to save my own hide, here.

  “I need to get a copy of the Times, please,” I told the cashier, excited that I’d at least found the place. Now I could sprint back up to the office and prove to Roland Shepard that I wasn’t a complete idiot.

  “Here ya go,” the man said, flipping a fat paper toward me. “That’ll be a buck fifty.”

  I froze in my tracks, having been ready to wheel back around and run for it.