“So, I’m Charlatan?” Gav’s always been very secretive about which of his twin creations is based on me and which is based on Willa. I’d like to think he views me as
Charlatan because she’s a bad ass who can outwit just about everyone in New Frisco, but I fear that I’m probably closer to stubborn, work-obsessed Detective Bliss in his mind.
“I’ll never tell,” he says in a sing-song voice, just like Brittany Murphy in that creepy movie Don’t Say a Word. Gav and I just watched the Michael Douglas thriller together for the umpteenth time when we were talking on the phone late at night and I discovered it playing on Starz.
“But if it makes you feel any better, I killed off Britt’s alcoholic partner earlier in this story. So, she’s got a new one who’s more age-appropriate and quite attractive. He may, or may not, be Pyro’s cover identity.”
“What? Are you kidding me? So, he’s going to infiltrate the police department and sleep with Britt when he just had rubble sex with Charlatan? What a tool!”
“I didn’t say that the new partner was definitely Pyro. Maybe our favorite firestarter has a twin of his own. Or he’s been cloned.”
“You’re making my head spin. Oh, crap!” Noticing the time on the glass clock sitting directly across from me on my desk, I sit up straight and look around for the FedEx envelope I chucked on it earlier. I thought I’d have time to peruse its contents before I saw Josh, but I’ve been so busy gabbing with Gav that I lost my window of opportunity. And I’m not going to have time to get my cup of Guatemalan medium roast on the way to Josh’s office either. Although he probably wouldn’t mind if I was a couple of minutes late . . . No, I can’t do that to Josh. I asked for the meeting and he’s accommodating me, so I have to be professional and respectful of his time, even if we have seen each other naked and he knows how homicidal I get without my morning caffeine.
“I’ve gotta run. I’m cutting it close on this meeting. Let’s do dinner later this week, okay? You can tell me more about Detective Possibly Pyro then. Dammit, where is that FedEx?” I’ve looked behind every stack of papers and file folders on my desk, and it’s nowhere to be found.
“Did you look in your purse or your briefcase? What about the floor? Maybe it slid off your desk.”
Bingo! “You’re right. It’s under the desk. Thanks, Gav,” I say as I drop to my knees and stretch my arm out for the tricky envelope. I’m not letting go of this darn thing again until I’ve reviewed, logged, and made copies of everything inside. “I’ll talk to you later. Meanwhile, be careful out there.”
“Careful of what?”
“Hello? You’ve been named one of the ‘Ten Most Eligible Bachelors in San Francisco.’ Skanks who like to bang celebrities, gold diggers, hot-to-trot cougars, women with ticking biological clocks who are looking for the perfect baby daddy – they’re all going to be after you. I think you should consider hiring a bodyguard.”
“You’re hilarious. Goodbye, Sloane.”
I snicker. “Goodbye, Gav.”
Chapter 12
(Sloane)
Josh’s door is ajar, but I still give it a cursory knock before entering. He’s hanging up the phone as I walk in. “Ready to go over the Summers case?” I ask.
“Later,” he says, rising from his desk chair and crossing over to the coat rack in the corner of his office. He puts on the navy blue suit jacket that’s neatly arranged on a hanger there. “We’ve been called upstairs. That’s the something ‘big’ I was referring to earlier.”
“Upstairs? Why?” My heart starts thumping wildly in my chest. Getting called “upstairs,” aka the executive floor on twelve, is either a really good thing, or a really bad thing, and I fear it might be the latter.
“Beats me. I had an e-mail from McAllister’s assistant when I got in this morning. She asked if the two of us were available at one o’clock today. I said ‘yes,’ but a few minutes later she called to tell me that a slot had just opened in McAllister’s schedule and he’d like to see us now.” Josh buttons his jacket and smooths down the sleeves, looking for any stray pieces of lint that might have had the audacity to attach themselves to the designer wool.
“The two of us? Together?” I close the door so that we’ll have some privacy and move further into the room. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Maybe Gav was right. Maybe Josh and I have been indiscreet in some way and one of our co-workers is now wise to the true nature of our relationship. And that same co-worker hotfooted it straight to the partners and ratted us out. Not the most strategic move if you ask me. He (or she) would have been better off using the info as leverage against us. Josh is in a position of authority, after all; he could have given a blackmailer all kinds of incentives to keep his/her mouth shut (a raise, a bigger office, more plum assignments). I know my teammate Simmons would have gone the extortion route because he’s clever. The person in this department who’s proven time and time again that he is not clever is Parker. I could totally see that little worm being a snitch. He probably resents me for being so much better at this job than he is and for always being the recipient of Josh’s praise. I’m sure he’d take great pleasure in throwing me under the bus, but would he do that to the man who got him a highly sought-after Junior Associate gig at a top accounting firm and went to school with his brother? Doubtful. Bros before hos, right?
So, who else might have it in for Josh and me? Not Samson or Montgomery, the other two Seniors under Josh. They’re both too wrapped up in their own work all the time; they don’t care what anyone else is doing as long as it doesn’t directly affect them. What about Nina Lewis? Josh’s desperation-oozing fellow team leader has had the hots for him since they were both Senior Associates and no matter how many times she’s drunkenly propositioned him at office parties or tried to play footsie with him under the table at staff meetings, she’s never gotten so much as a pity grope from him. If she had the slightest inkling that Josh and I were intimately involved, I bet she’d be–
“Not really,” Josh interrupts my silent sleuthing. “I get called upstairs all the time.”
“But I don’t. Josh . . .” I take a few steps toward him so that I can speak in a hushed voice and still be heard. “Do you think it’s possible that someone has found out about our activities outside the office and reported them to the higher-ups?”
“What? No way,” he scoffs. “That’s crazy. No one around here has a clue.”
“But we might have enemies in this department, people who hope to discredit us, so they went looking for dirt–”
“Babe, you’re being paranoid. No one’s out to get us, so just take a deep breath and relax.” He tries to placate me by rubbing my shoulder, but I pull away.
“I think you should stop touching me here in the office and don’t call me ‘babe,’ even when we’re alone together.” We really have to be more careful. It was arrogant of me to think we could get away with this forever. “Drop the ‘Tiger’ thing, too. People might read something sexual into it.”
“Are you serious?” Josh studies my face intently for a moment, then frowns when he sees that I’m not joking around. “Wow. What’s brought all this on? Did someone say something to you?” His brow furrows with concern.
“Uh, no.” I can’t very well tell him that a male friend overheard our conversation earlier and deemed it inappropriately flirtatious, especially since I was on the phone with this male friend instead of focusing on my work like a good, little employee. “I took this Cosmo! quiz last night – ‘Could You Be Giving Your Co-Workers The Wrong Idea?’ – and failed, which made me worry that our behavior here at work might not be as beyond reproach as we think it is.” I have never read a magazine with silly articles about how to keep a man coming back for more or what the must-have accessories for the fall are, but it’s the best cover story I can come up with on the fly. Fingers crossed that Josh won’t question it.
He guffaws. “A Cosmo! quiz? That’s what has you so worked up?”
I shrug. “I know they’re dumb
, but this one was a springboard for some self-reflection and–”
“Babe, I mean, Sloane,” he corrects himself with a put-upon sigh when I give him a disapproving look, “you’re overthinking this. I know that’s what you do and it usually serves you well, but not this time. You’re letting your imagination run wild and you’re creating problems that don’t exist.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “If there’s no problem, why does the Managing Partner at this firm, a man who’s barely acknowledged my existence before, want to see us?”
“We won’t know that until we go upstairs and ask, will we? So, put on your game face and let’s hit the field.” He claps his hands together as if he’s breaking a huddle, then heads for the door.
I trail behind him muttering, “I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. Walking into a meeting blind, no idea what’s going to be thrown at us, no chance to prepare–”
Before he opens the door to the corridor, Josh turns back to me. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Don’t forget that.”
“Thanks.” I force a little smile because I really do appreciate him being supportive. Knowing we’re on the same side doesn’t keep me from feeling queasy, though. I blame Gav for all this anxiety. If it hadn’t been for him planting this seed of self-doubt in my head, I wouldn’t have thought twice about this summons to the executive floor. In fact, I probably would have thought that being distinguished in this way was a sign that all my hard work was being appreciated by the bigwigs and I would have envisioned McAllister telling me that he and the other partners saw a bright future for me at the firm. (Ashby, Terhune, McAllister, and Tobin does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?)
Reaching the bank of elevators in the lobby, Josh pushes the UP button while I hang back and pinch the bridge of my nose. That sometimes helps when I get a stress headache, and I’ve got a massive one forming between my brows at the moment. If I get fired for fraternizing with my supervisor, at least I can go home and put an ice pack on my throbbing noggin, right? The elevator dings, and I grit my teeth as the sound reverberates through my skull. Everybody exits the elevator before Josh and I get on, so we’re the only two people riding up to the twelfth floor. I stand next to him, but worry that we’re too close, so I slowly inch toward the wall in an effort to ensure that there’s a proper amount of space between us.
“You’re being weird,” Josh remarks.
“I know; I can’t help it. Now that it’s been brought to my attention by that . . . quiz, I’m hyperaware of how we might be perceived by other people.”
“They haven’t perceived anything out of the ordinary up ‘til now, but I can promise you that their antennae will go up if your behavior toward me suddenly changes.”
He makes a valid point. If we start avoiding physical contact and become all stiff and formal with each other, that would be a red flag that something hinky’s going on. I remember when Molly and Ron, a Junior and Senior Associate on another team, stopped sharing the tub of strawberry cream cheese that came with the bagels served to us at breakfast meetings (They were the only two who ever touched the nasty pink stuff, and we always kidded them about it.), we all knew they were having sex. This was confirmed a few months later when they both resigned, because they were getting married and moving to Seattle.
“Just act normal,” Josh advises as the elevator doors open on twelve.
Normal, yes, I can do that. Just stop thinking about stupid Gav and his stupid comments. I’m not sure why I let him get under my skin like this. What does he know anyway? He doesn’t work here at ATM; he has no idea what my dynamic with Josh is like or what our co-workers think of us. He was just trying to get me back because I’d been teasing him about being named one of “San Francisco’s Sexiest Bachelors.” “Most Eligible,” whatever. UGH He’s so annoying.
Mr. McAllister’s assistant smiles when she sees us, and I take that as a positive sign. If she knew a double-axing was about to go down, she wouldn’t be so cheerful, would she? There’d be some sympathy in her eyes, or a compassionate tone to her voice. Of course, she might not be in the loop if McAllister’s keeping the purpose of this impromptu meeting to himself. Guess all will be revealed momentarily as we are being escorted to his office. I look at the engraved name plate on the door, which reads “Jarvis Iestyn McAllister.” Yeah, I know, it’s a mouthful. I seem to recall hearing someone say that Jarvis was his mother’s maiden name, or maybe it was the name of her family’s beloved butler. Jarvis sounds like a butler’s name to me. “Jarvis, be a good man and fetch my slippers and pipe.” “My lamp chop was overcooked last night, Jarvis. Have a word with Cook, will you?”
Although McAllister’s assistant called ahead to inform him that we were here, I’m still startled when he yanks open his office door and greets us rather enthusiastically on the threshold as most execs can’t be bothered to get up out of their chairs unless there’s a fire drill and even then they groan about it. “Josh, Sloane, nice to see both of you.” He gives each of us a hearty handshake. “Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedules to come up and chat with me.”
As if we had a choice. I smile, but say nothing. Josh is more garrulous. “Of course,
Mr. McAllister, we’re always at your disposal.”
“Now, Josh . . .” McAllister wags a finger at him. “You know I’ve told you to call me ‘Jim.’” That’s McAllister’s nickname, his initials, and who can blame him for preferring it to Jarvis? I’ve only ever heard the other partners refer to him as Jim, though. He must really like Josh to have offered him that privilege. PHEW I’m starting to feel a little more confident about my job stability.
Josh grins sheepishly. “Sorry, Jim.”
McAllister claps him on the back, then turns to me and declares, “If it weren’t for this young man, my daughter, Monica, never would have passed her intermediate accounting course last semester. He worked a miracle with her.”
Say what? Josh has been tutoring McAllister’s daughter? He never mentioned that to me. I give him a quizzical look, but all his attention is focused on our boss.
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” he demurs. “Monica’s a very bright girl.”
So bright that the best school she could get into, even with all her daddy’s money and connections, was San Francisco State (I heard this through the office grapevine.) Josh is being kind. And smart. Kissing up to McAllister via his daughter was a clever move on his part. I’m impressed. I just wish he’d told me about this earlier. If I’d known that he and Jim were so chummy, I wouldn’t have gotten myself all freaked out about our jobs being in jeopardy.
“She thinks the world of you,” McAllister says, once again clapping Josh on the back.
Aw, I bet his daughter has a crush on Josh, and why not? He’s older than her, which is always a turn-on; he was a star quarterback in college – also hot; he’s handsome, intelligent, successful; he came to her rescue when she was failing a course her father was probably putting a lot of pressure on her to do well in – yep, she’s probably doodling hearts with “Monica + Josh” inside them all over her notebooks. Wait, that’s more of a high school thing, isn’t it? I don’t know what college girls do when they have the hots for someone. Take naked selfies and send them to the guy?
“Have a seat, you two.” McAllister waves us over to the chairs facing his desk, while he positions himself in the custom-made leather one behind it.
“Sloane, I want to commend you for the job you did on the acquisition of the Ginger Lily for SHG. That was outstanding work, and J.B. Stanfield was suitably impressed. In fact, he called me a few days ago to sing your praises. He said you are incredibly astute and had one of the best business minds he’s ever encountered. I warned him he’d better not try and steal you away from us.” McAllister chuckles, as do I.
“It’s nice to know Mr. Stanfield appreciates my efforts on behalf of his company. I always enjoy working on cases for SHG. They’re the perfect client, because they trust us
and respect our process. So, there’s never any micromanaging from them.”
“Not that Sloane would have any difficulty dealing with that issue should it arise,” Josh interjects. “She’s excellent with client relations. She knows how to deal with high-maintenance types. Case in point, Blythe Summers. The woman was a wreck when Sloane first met with her. Her lawyers warned us that she might not even go through with pressing charges against her ex-business manager. But Sloane coaxed her off the ledge and convinced her to move forward so that Kittredge could be brought to justice.”
“And where do we stand with the Summers case now? Will we be ready for the trial next month?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, “I’m confident we will. It’s still early days, but I’ve already uncovered several incriminating bits of evidence against Mr. Kittredge.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but . . .” McAllister leans forward on his elbows and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth, all the while staring at Josh and me contemplatively. “There’s another case that takes precedence over Summers, and I’d like to put the two of you on it.”
“Another case?” Josh’s left eyebrow shoots up.
“Yes, it’s a matrimonial dispute.”
YUCK I hate those. Embittered spouses screaming at each other all day about who promised what to whom. They’re boring, too. Most of the time those cases are just a matter of doing an inventory and assigning value to items. No great investigative skills required. Why not give this to one of the other Senior Associates on our team? Samuels would be perfect; he lives for this kind of monotonous drone work.
“This divorce is a particularly nasty one,” McAllister continues. “And it’s high profile. You both know who James R. Bainbridge III is?”
Speaking for the two of us, I say, “He’s the CEO of Bainbridge Development Companies, which is a multi-million dollar development firm that specializes in commercial and residential real estate. I believe he was ranked #253 on the most recent Forbes 400 list.”
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