Virgin's Passion

by Kayla C. Oliver

  At the end of the hallway was a massive network of pipes and valves.

  “All the toilets end down here,” Sean always said.

  There were also half a dozen yellow rolling buckets to mop the floors when it was raining outside or if someone dropped their seven-dollar latte from the gourmet coffee shop next door.

  I wasn’t there to grab a bucket. I was heading to The Bunker, the room where the maintenance staff had their meetings. It was where we ate our lunches when we didn’t hightail it out of the building on sunny days. The room looked like a rec room in a frat house, minus the empty beer bottles.

  “Just a little more time.” I shook my head.

  “Jenny putting the screws to you, pal?” Bob asked. He only had only two more years in the navy blue uniform before he retired to Florida.

  I shook my head.

  “Women problems, Jimmy?” He was the only person who called me Jimmy. My parents, God rest their souls, always called me James. Every girl I’d ever dated called me James. My pals called me James. But Bob called me Jimmy. Somehow it fit, coming from him.

  “You could say that,” I muttered as I slowly sat down on one of the folding chairs. This room was a safe space for us guys. We could sit with our legs spread. We could scratch our asses. We could pick our noses and no one cared. It was a lot different from my life as a detective that consisted of endless paperwork and the ever-growing animosity from the general public.

  “Let me guess.” Sean grabbed his extra-large to-go coffee and took a loud slurp. “She wants to get married.”

  “It’s nothing like that.” I was telling the truth about a story that was a lie. It was hard to wrap my brain around sometimes, but I always managed.

  “She doesn’t want to get married? Hang on to that one. She sounds perfect.” Sean laughed.

  “You need to know what it’s like to go on a date before you can know what a perfect woman is, Sean,” Bob scolded. He looked at me and rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve had plenty of women,” Sean boasted.

  “Sure you have, son,” Bob said dryly. “Now quiet. Grown-ups are talking.”

  To hear him talk, you’d have thought Sean was just a kid though he was over thirty and still lived under his father’s roof. This was his second job after he had gotten fired from a fast food restaurant for showing up late one too many times.

  Sean scowled at Bob but didn’t dare talk back. Though Bob wasn’t an imposing man—like a grandpa with that look of a war vet and a John Wayne swagger about him—you could tell by Bob’s huge mitts and the way he looked you square in the eye when he talked that he didn’t take any guff from anyone.

  “So?” Bob pressed. “What’s with the look on your face? You look like your dog and girl died the same day.”

  “Nothing like that. Just some expenses around the house I wasn’t counting on.” Before Bob could ask anymore questions, his walkie-talkie went off. We all had them. If we didn’t, we’d have been running around this 102-floor building trying to find each other like ants on an anthill.

  We all listened in as Sam, our supervisor in the building, went on about

  some emergency with the lights out in the men’s room on the 49th floor.

  “On it.” Bob pocketed the walkie-talkie and glanced at me. “Keep your chin up, James.” He pushed himself away from the table.

  “You want me to take this one, Bob?” Sean asked half-heartedly.

  “Nope. I’d like it done right. Or done at all, even.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  Bob strolled out of the Bunker on his merry way to fix the faulty bulb.

  “That guy,” Sean snapped. “He acts like he’s the only one who does any work around here.”

  I didn’t reply, having no desire to get caught up in Sean’s drama. There was something about him that got under my skin.

  “So, you gonna try and talk to that woman?”

  “What woman?” I asked. But I knew who he was talking about. Her image was burned into my mind.

  “The one who walked into the elevator? Black hair. Huge …” He held his hands out in front of his chest like he was holding a load of laundry in his arms. “I’ll be looking for her every day.”

  “Just remember, there are laws against stalking. I’d hate for you to get another restraining order.”

  “I don’t have any restraining orders.”

  I arched my eyebrow at him.

  “I don’t. Where the hell did you get that idea? Who told you that? Who?”

  “Relax, Sean. I was only teasing.” I knew he had a restraining order on him. It sounded harmless enough. Some girl had broken his heart. When she’d stopped returning his calls, he’d probably thought his best bet was to show up at her house, her work, her favorite bars, her grocery store, and she hadn’t seen it as an example of his undying love.

  To be honest, I knew the background of almost all the people who worked in the building.

  Bob was a Vietnam War vet, married to the same woman for over forty years. There were a couple of speeding tickets in his background but nothing to look twice at.

  Sam, the voice over the walkie-talkie, had been arrested for drunk and disorderly about three years ago.

  Randy, one of the fellows who worked the night shift, had three marijuana busts. Still, he had been hired to work in this multi-million-dollar building.

  The list went on.

  Everyone had a few skeletons in their closet.

  I had a few in my mine, too. That was why the chief kept me under a microscope, because he was very concerned about the reputation of the department. I was that ugly stepchild, the alcoholic uncle at the family reunion, the black sheep. Never mind that over the past decade I’d cracked half a dozen cold cases, put away a serial rapist, and busted up a kiddie porn ring.

  Chapter Three

  Candace

  “Welcome, Candace.” Etta greeted me in the lobby of ABF.

  “Hi, Etta. Thank you so much for this opportunity,” I said quietly. “I’m so grateful to you.”

  “We’re just grateful you accepted. We really need the help, and I think you’re going to fit in just perfectly. Come on. I’ll show you to your desk.”

  I followed her, walking as confidently as I could through the maze of cubicles.

  “I’m not sure how I’ll find my way out of here,” I joked.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Etta promised. “This is your desk.” She stepped into a cubicle that had tall walls covered with a gray-blue cloth. Some of the other cubicles were decorated with calendars, posters, and of course, spreadsheets and memos. “You can set your things down and I’ll introduce you.”

  There was no way I was going to remember the names of the people I met. But everyone seemed very nice.

  “Welcome, Candace.”

  “Hi, Candace. Nice to meet you.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Candace.”

  By the time Etta had shown me around the floor. my cheeks hurt from smiling.

  “We’ll take the stairs to the second floor.”

  “Second floor?” I muttered. “I had no idea this place was so big.”

  “We have four floors in total. The fourth is where records and archives are kept. That’s only run by a couple of guys who work the night shift,” Etta explained. “The third floor is for the CEO and CFO, COO and all the heavy hitters who are rarely in their offices but always seem to know what’s going on.”

  “Big Brother, eh?”

  “You can’t get away from it.” Etta rolled her eyes. “But the second floor at least has some of the more personable guys.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet them so I can forget their names,” I joked. “Some of them you might want to forget. I know I do,” Etta chuckled. “I’m not going to lie to you. Not everyone here is pleasant. Some are really hard nuts to crack. But, that’s just how life is.”

  “No worries, Etta. I just want to work.”

  “I like your attitude.”

&
nbsp; There were two flights of stairs, with one landing in the middle that led from the first-floor lobby to the second-floor lobby. As we climbed, I felt several sets of eyes on my backside. When I turned to look, the receptionist, Stacy, two of the secretaries, whose names I don’t remember, and a guy pushing a mail cart, were watching me.

  I didn’t smile, refocusing instead on wherever we were going next.

  You’ve been gawked at before, Candace. It’ll take some time before they realize you have a brain, too.

  “Mr. Bloom, I’d like you to meet Candace Lowell. She’s going to be helping out in the Marketing Department.”

  Mr. Bloom was an older man with gray hair and a pleasant smile. He was also only about five-foot-six.

  “Well, isn’t that nice. I’m retiring in six months.”

  “Had I known that, I would have applied here sooner,” I flirted. It worked.

  The old man laughed and winked. “Well done, my dear. Well done.”

  “Oh, you just scored big with him.” Etta smiled. “He’s a sweetheart. We’re going to miss him when he does retire.

  Next, I was introduced to Mimi von Lyon.

  “Nice to meet you.” She pumped my hand, squeezing firmly while looking me squarely in the eyes.

  And so it went.

  It wasn’t until I met Larry Potter that I felt uneasy.

  “Hey, Candace.” He pushed himself up from his desk and casually extended his hand. It was soft and hot and I was sure my hand was going to get stuck in the beefy folds.

  “Nice to meet you.” I smiled politely, even though his eyes zoomed in on my chest.

  “We have a real family dynamic here, Candace.” He held my hand and now added his other one, completely engulfing mine in flesh. “If you have any questions, just come and see me. My door is always open.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Potter. I appreciate that.”

  “Call me Larry. Can I call you Candy?”

  “Not if you want me to answer.” I pulled my hand away as quickly as I could. I wasn’t sure if Etta could see the revulsion in my reaction. If she did, she didn’t let on.

  Mr. Potter just laughed. He had a boyish face. His black hair was combed over his head. If he dropped about fifty pounds, he might not be so doughy. But it was obvious he wasn’t the kind of guy who worried about his physique. Not when he had French cuffs and solid gold cufflinks along with a designer tie and spit-shined Italian shoes. All that was in addition to his custom suit. No. He wasn’t worried about working out.

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around,” he added as Etta led me away.

  I thought it was very telling that Etta didn’t say a word about Potter’s behavior. Either she was just used to it or maybe she didn’t notice it. Maybe it was all in my head. After all, I was still very nervous and had a long day ahead of me.

  “So, now that you’ve met everyone, let’s get you settled. I’ve got a nice easy project for you to get started on that will probably take the rest of the day for you to complete.”

  By the time we got back to my desk, I was happy to sit down with several stacks of paper that had been mysteriously delivered.

  “These are the names of all our accounts. Some of them are live, meaning we do business with them. Others are closed. And then there are some in limbo. First …”

  Etta went on to explain a spreadsheet I was going to have to create and all this information to add and how learning the clients was the best way to get familiar with what we’d be doing, yadda, yadda.

  I dove right in. Throughout the morning, a few other people stopped by to say hello or to ask if I needed anything. Most of them were men, though a few ladies were polite enough to ask, too.

  I decided I liked my new job. Even with the guys whispering about me when I waked by. Even though some of the women already seemed to have an opinion of me that wasn’t all that positive. I’d get to know them. They’d get to know me. It would all work out just fine.

  But for now, I had this project to finish. I was determined to get it done by quitting time. My thoughts were deep in the task at hand, such that I didn’t hear everyone leaving for lunch. It wasn’t until Etta peeked into my cubicle that I jumped, gasped, and stopped working.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.

  “I was engrossed.” I chuckled as I swiveled around in my chair.

  “It’s lunchtime. You get an hour. Are you staying at your desk? You don’t have to kill yourself on your first day.”

  “I brought a lunch. I’ll probably go outside and get some fresh air. I’m just going to finish these next few lines and then I’ll hit the pause button.”

  “Okay. See you in a bit.” Etta hoisted a heavy purse over her shoulder and walked away. I watched her go, so I could remember what direction the exit was. But she disappeared at the end of the corridor, so that was all the help I was going to get.

  I turned back to my project, but it didn’t take long for me to get the strange sensation that someone was behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  Turning, I found Mr. Potter standing in my cubicle door.

  “Everyone has gone to lunch.” His voice sounded greasy, a familiar tone I had heard a lot at my previous job.

  “Yeah. I’m on my way out, too.”

  “Would you like to join me? I’ve got a reservation at Angelo’s. You know, over there by the Allegro Hotel.”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied, smiling politely.

  “Not your kind of restaurant? We could go to Burger King if that’s more to your liking.” Potter smirked.

  I couldn’t help but get the feeling he was hinting at something. He wouldn’t be so obvious as to make an indecent proposal after just a couple hours. Would he? No, of course not. I was so used to guys approaching me with absolutely no filter over what they’d say that I was looking for trouble at every turn. No. This was a professional place. This guy was just weird.

  “I brought a lunch.” I looked him right in the eyes. “But I appreciate the invitation.”

  “Some other time, then.” He turned, leaving me alone.

  Call me crazy, it felt like a cloud left when Potter did. I shook it off. This was just a case of the jitters. He was a big guy with big influence and for once I was on the same level as him instead of up on a stage with a row of bouncers between us. Potter probably had no idea that he gave off such a creepy vibe. Most guys weren’t aware.

  So, I took a deep breath, reached into my desk drawer, and pulled out my purse. I had more than enough money to take myself to Angelo’s if I wanted to.

  As I looked at my watch, I realized I only had about forty minutes left of lunch. Quietly, I walked down the rows of cubicles, looking around to get familiar with my surroundings. At first glance, everything looked the same. But as I took my time, I saw the major differences in each cubicle. Each person had decorated their space to suit their personalities. Sports fans. Movie fanatics. Nature lovers. Family and pets. Funny that these workstations were not all that different from the ways the girls at the club would decorate their mirrors and lockers.

  The red EXIT sign was a good clue directing me to the main lobby.

  “Okay, this table with the money plant looks familiar …” I mused. “Then, I think we took a left, but that would be a right going in reverse …” I peeked around the corner to see a long hallway that led to a conference room. Looking the other way, I saw the EXIT sign pointing to the left.

  This was a bluish-gray labyrinth with carpeting and goofy, framed posters with inspirational quotes on the walls that all looked the same. As I walked toward the EXIT sign, I heard a throat clear behind me. When I turned around, I saw Potter there.

  Damn it.

  “You lost?”

  “A little,” I admitted. “Everything looks the same to me. Can you point me to the lobby?”

  Potter chuckled, shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded his head.

  “Yeah, it will take a little getting used to. It’s not like there
are strobe lights or pounding music to help point you in the right direction.”

  My stomach flipped.

  What did he just say?

  Chapter Four

  James

  “Good morning, Patty,” I said as I stepped off the elevator on the 80th floor. The receptionist at ABF was a real sweetheart who wanted me to meet her single granddaughter for drinks. Patty, herself, was a redheaded Irish woman with perpetually pink cheeks who enjoyed her whiskey on Fridays at the bar in the lobby. I was truly afraid of meeting her granddaughter. If she drank a fourth of what her grandmother did, I’d never survived.

  “Hello, James. Are you coming to tell me you’re ready to meet my granddaughter?”

  “How would that look, Patty, if I dated your granddaughter when all the while it was you I was pining for?” I smiled and winked as I leaned on the reception desk.

  “You are too much,” she smiled. “So, I guess you’re really here to get up that ink from the carpet by the copier. I told that girl back there more than once how to change the toner without spilling it, but she never listens. College educated, but she can’t manage the toner on a copy machine.”

  “Not all of them can be blessed with beauty and brains like you, Patty.” I chuckled. “It’s a curse, isn’t it.”

  “From one supermodel to another,” she agreed. “You understand me so well.”

  We both laughed as I signed the log that she meticulously kept for every janitorial visit. I tapped her desk and walked in the direction of the copier. I knew which one it was without asking, having been to it more than once for the same thing.

  Before I could get to the copier, however, I ran into the Pin-Up Girl talking with Larry Potter, looking like she was cornered.

  I had quite a dossier on Larry Potter. On the surface, his life was not much different from the other suits in ABF. He had a wife and a couple of teenagers. Girls, if I remembered right. They lived in Billion Estates in a house that was the size of a hospital wing. The two cars parked in the winding driveway were leased from Lexus and Mercedes Benz.