by Maria Monroe
"How so?"
"Well, she didn't know what those transfers were either. She said she'd look into it and get back to me on Monday."
"And?"
"On Monday she was gone."
"Gone? Where?"
The woman shakes her head. "At first I wasn't sure. She never showed up on Monday, but Tuesday HR came in and packed up all the stuff in her office. They said she'd been transferred to a different office. I didn't know what to think. I wasn't suspicious at first. But I started thinking about it, and finally looked her up. Turned out she still had the same email address, since she was still at the company, so I contacted her through email. I asked her if she ever got a chance to look into the transfers." She stops talking for a second, fiddling with her bun.
"And what did she say?"
"Nothing unusual. But it was her tone." She looks right at me now, the whites of her eyes huge. "She was scared. I'm telling you, I'm good at hearing things in people's voices. And that woman was terrified. Oh, she was pretending to act like everything was normal, said that everything was fine, the transfers were OK, and to ignore them. And then she said Please don't ever call me again."
"Why do you think she said that?"
The woman shrugs. "I didn't know what to think. It was kind of weird, but I'm pretty level-headed, so I just went back to my work and tried to forget it. But things started happening."
"What sorts of things?"
"The tires of my car were slashed one morning. Another day, I came home to my apartment after work to find a big glossy copy of Hope International's annual report in the middle of my kitchen table."
I nod at her to go ahead when she pauses.
"I didn't have a copy of that annual report in my apartment. I never did. In fact, I never owned one at all. Also, I have a love for tidiness; I know where everything is in my home. The table was completely clear and shiny, like I left it that morning. Except now that thing was sitting there."
I swear goosebumps break out on my skin, and I rub one of my arms briefly to warm it up. "Who do you think put it there?"
She shakes her head. "I have no idea. But it was a message. It had to be."
"Did you call the police about a break-in?"
She laughs. "And what would I have said? Somebody broke in and left a pretty report on my kitchen table? They'd have thought I was crazy!"
"How were things at work at that time?"
"Got to be unpleasant. The replacement for the Head of Accounting was an asshole. He kept taking me off projects with no reason given. I was being demoted, a little bit every day, and when I asked about it, I was shut down. I knew I was going to be fired. Or let go, as they like to say. So I printed out a bunch of stuff, whatever I still had access to. Here." Now she reaches out a hand with the folded papers to me.
I take them, stick them into my bag. "Thank you. Do you have anything else to tell me? Anything else relevant?"
"Nope. That's it. I was fired from there, and I moved too. I don't want anything more to do with that place."
I nod. "If you think of anything else, call me."
"I will not. No offense. And please do not contact me again."
Before I can respond, she begins to play the piano, a perfect and beautiful performance of The Moonlight Sonata. I sit, stunned, and watch her hands move fluidly over the keys. She keeps playing, but after a few seconds, and without looking at me, she says, "You can go now" while she continues playing.
I leave the practice room, closing the door behind me, and head back to the office to try to make sense of the papers she gave me.
I spend the afternoon at work pouring through the documents my contact gave me, but it doesn't make much sense to me. Without a background in accounting, it's difficult to see the meaning behind the numbers. I'm about to head to Connor's office to see if he'll have any insights, when an IM shows upon my computer screen.
Lia. Can you meet? Need to discuss current projects. It's from Julian. I wish I could say I’m all cool and collected when I read his message, but I’m not. Giddiness swells inside me so I feel like giggling out loud. Like a freaking middle schooler with a bad crush. I’m seriously the worst.
I quietly curse my weak self for reacting so physically to a few words on my computer screen, and not even sexy words. Still, just knowing he sat in his office and typed my name makes me—absurdly, stupidly—turned on.
"Grrr!" I growl, loud enough for Michelle to hear me.
"Do you mind? You sound like a wild animal," she says. "And not in a good way." But she's smiling. She spins her desk chair so she's facing me, crossing one long thin leg over the other and dangling her glossy red high heeled shoe from her toe.
"Your lipstick and shoe are the exact same shade," I observe.
"Of course they are." She looks at me in false horror, as though the mere thought of anything else is terrifying.
I laugh. "I need to meet Julian. Like, now. He just messaged me."
She tilts her head. "When you were out this morning on that interview he met with Darren and me. Together." She puts emphasis on that last word and raises an eyebrow at me.
I blush. "I have to go to his office."
"Ooh. That's like going to the sexy principal's office."
"Stop! It's not like that." Except it is. That's exactly how it feels, especially when I remember our encounter in my apartment.
"Put on some lipstick," she urges just as the messages app on my laptop bings.
If you're too busy now, I can find time later.
I roll my eyes. Be there in a few, I write back.
"Is he getting anxious?" whispers Michelle. She's clearly enjoying this. "All hot and bothered? He can't wait any longer?"
"Oh my god, Michelle! You're the worst!"
She shrugs. "I try."
I laugh, but the humor is quickly evaporating as I walk to Julian's office. My palms are suddenly sweaty, and I wipe them on my skirt. There's nothing I can do to stop my heart from thumping so loud I swear I can hear it, so I take a deep breath and swallow hard to try to relax.
Julian's office is in a corner by the window. One of the outer office walls is pure glass, overlooking Lake Michigan, which is frozen and cold now in the winter time. The inner walls are glass too, so although the door is closed, I can see in. Julian's sitting at his desk talking on the phone. His dark hair is short and neat, definitely in need of some hard-core tousling. His jaw, shaved and smooth, is begging me to touch it, to feel his skin. He's fingering his silk tie, a gorgeous dark red color that contrasts so deliciously with his impossibly crisp white dress shirt. A dark gray suit jacket, unbuttoned, radiates an aura of quality. I'm sure Michelle could tell me more about it, but I don't care about the details. All I know is he's gorgeous. And, weirdly, he seems like a totally different person here at work, looking like a professional, than he did at my apartment with his jeans and T-shirt that were so much like the old Julian, the one I used to know.
I knock on the glass door, and abruptly he turns and sees me. He utters one word into the phone, then puts it down on his desk immediately. Through the glass our eyes meet, his dark and green and boring into mine. I think I stop breathing, and my body becomes suddenly weightless, so it feels like I'm floating and in danger of dropping and falling fast and hard. He licks his lips, and all I can think about is how his lips feel, how they did feel last night when he crushed them to mine.
I hear an audible sigh, then a second later realize it's me. Blushing, I open his office door as he gestures for me to enter. On shaking legs I proceed, closing his door behind me and sitting across the desk from him.
"Lia." His voice is gravelly, and he clears his throat. "Thanks for coming."
I nod. I want to say something but I'm not sure what. Even the tone of this meeting eludes me; we're here to talk business, but my body is quaking like something else is going on.
"I'd like to discuss your current projects," he continues, all business.
"I'm working on the Randolph Meyer story ri
ght now," I say. "I had a brief interview with him, but was interrupted by…"
"I'm sorry," he interrupts. "I'll give you all my notes."
"Thanks. I also talked to a person I contacted via an internet chat board. She used to be his bookkeeper and thinks there was a good amount of money transferred from one of Randolph's charities to his personal account."
"Really?" Julian looks both impressed and surprised.
"Yes. I met with her earlier, and she was terrified. A lot of weird stuff happened to her after she tried to follow up on these strange transactions she found. Eventually she was fired, but there were other things, like a break-in." He listens while I give him all the details, going word-by-word over what my contact told me at the library.
"This is good stuff, Lia. I want you to follow up on this and only this for now. I'm here to help in any way I can."
"I actually have some papers the contact gave me that I need help understanding. Maybe you could take a look?"
He nods, and I hand them over. When he gets up to quickly scan them via a multipurpose printer-scanner, I can't help checking out how amazing his ass looks in the fitted black pants he's wearing, how his moves are so masculine yet graceful. The same way he is in bed. Oh god. I’m fantasizing about my boss while we're in a business meeting!
He gives the copies back to me. "We need multiple copies of these. Just in case. I'll take a look and let you know what I can find out, OK?"
"Sure. I'm doing some more digging, seeing if I can find anyone else who will talk about this with me."
He sits back in his chair, staring at me. For a split second his eyes glance down, like he's checking me out, but he immediately returns his focus to my face. It's like he's trying as hard as possible not to look at me, which I guess, since he's my boss, is the proper thing to do. "Lia," he says finally, "one more thing."
"What?" Without thinking I put my pen in my mouth, and only when his face hardens do I realize the effect it has on him. I remove it quickly, shaking my head slightly as I do.
"Be careful."
I scoff, disappointed he didn't say something meaningful to me. What, exactly, I'm not sure. All I know is I wanted something more. "I can take care of myself, Julian," I finally say.
"Lia, look. This is your first job out of college. This isn't like writing for the school newspaper."
How dare he? "Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Julian." There's more wrath in my words than I intend.
He puts up a hand in defense. "You're definitely not stupid. But Randolph Meyer is a powerful man. I just want you to be safe. And from now on, I want you to take someone with you when you go on an interview related to this project."
"What, like a chaperone?"
"Lia." He says my name sternly, and I flash back to Michelle's comment about being in the principal's office, which is sort of what it feels like right now.
"I can handle it, Julian."
"I have no doubts about your ability as a journalist. But I will not allow you to let your pride put you in a potentially dangerous situation. Do you understand?" His voice is angry and louder than I've ever heard it before.
"I understand that you're treating me like a child. I'm completely capable of doing my job."
"As I said, I have no question that you are…"
"Just because you're my boss," I interrupt inanely, "you don't get to tell me what to do!"
"That's exactly what a boss does!" he says with a vicious laugh. "Now, you will listen to me or…"
"Or what?"
"Goddammit, Lia!” He leans over the desk, his face angry, his eyes glinting, his jaw hard. "It would fucking kill me if anything happened to you."
Oh. It's like all the air is sucked out of the room. We stare at each other across his shiny black desk for what feels like a long time. Finally he sits back and closes his eyes, like he's trying to regain focus or compose himself.
When he opens his eyes he speaks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk to you like that. This is…inappropriate."
"It's OK."
"No. I knew this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have gone to your place last night. I should just have asked to oversee a different group. I'll take care of that this afternoon."
No! "It's fine, Julian. I'm fine. It would only be a problem if there was, you know, something." I gesture in the air between us. "But there's not. I mean, I don't have any feelings for you anymore. So unless you do…?"
"And last night?" His voice is low, a rumble through the air.
"A mistake. Obviously," I add with a fake laugh and roll of my eyes. “We agreed to keep things, you know, professional. Right?”
"It's all in the past, then." His voice is a monotone, his face hard and unreadable.
I nod. "But I will make sure to bring Darren with me when I go out on an interview."
His eyes spark for a second. In anger? Jealousy? I'm not sure. "Fine," he says.
"Fine. So, can I…" I gesture to the door.
"Go." But his eyes are still staring into mine, and it's like they're holding me in place, preventing me from standing and turning and walking out of his office. My whole body feels tingly, and between my legs an unmistakable throbbing begins; my nipples harden under his gaze, as though he's actually touching me.
I tear my gaze from his and practically run from his office and back to my desk.
After work, Michelle and I head to Joot. She insisted we needed a girls' night out, but I know what she really wants is the scoop on Julian and what happened—and didn't happen— between us last night and today at work. Darren has other plans, something mysterious he won't tell us about, but he shuffles out of work in sweatpants and sneakers and tells us to have fun.
"Tomorrow?" he adds. "I'll be all professional again." He gestures at his outfit.
"Why? Did Connor finally notice?" I ask.
Darren shakes his head. "No, but your boyfriend did."
"Julian?" I sputter. "He's not my boyfriend." I laugh, though, at Darren's pissed-off face. "What did he say? Exactly, I mean. I want to hear this."
"He didn't say anything."
"But you should have seen the look he gave Darren," says Michelle. "It was dripping with disdain. I think that was way worse than if he'd said something out loud."
"You guys should have seen him in college," I say quietly. "He had this hoodie? He wore it all the time. And jeans more beat up than the ones you had on a few days ago, Darren. He's changed a lot." It's true, but that look in his eyes, the one that conveys raw and uncontrollable desire, is exactly the same. Also, I don't share with them the fact that I am now in possession of that hoodie, and that I wear it way more often than I even want to admit to myself.
At the bar, Michelle and I order martinis—her idea—and sit at a table to talk. I sip the ice cold gin, grimacing only slightly at the harsh taste. The cold makes it go own easier. I'm about to tell her about the conversation-verging-on-fight that I had with Julian this afternoon when my phone vibrates. A text. I look down.
It's Ben. Up for a drink tonight?
"It's Ben," I say. "He wants to meet up for a drink."
"Perfect. Tell him to meet us here." Michelle tucks her shiny black hair behind one ear.
"I don't really want to see him, Michelle."
She breathes out an exaggerated sigh. "Look. You can't let Julian rule your life. You should give Ben a chance. Or at least try to. What's going on with him anyway?"
I shrug. "I haven't talked to him since the gala."
"Do you like him?"
"He's really cute. Obviously. And a freaking hockey player! His body… yeah…." My voice trails off and I take a big drink from my martini, which is going down a bit easier now.
"But?"
I sigh. "I don't know, Michelle. He's not…"
"Julian?"
"That's not it!" I exclaim.
Michelle looks at me with a don't-fuck-with-me face. Then she plays with her phone for a few seconds.
"OK, so maybe that's sort of it,” I relent.
"Sort of?"
"I'm so confused! OK, so I was totally over him. Or mostly over him anyway when I started my job here. And then all this crap started! Like running into him. And then, you know, that little thing about him becoming my boss. And my apartment last night…"
"It is pretty fucked up," agrees Michelle. "But what are you going to tell Ben?"
"I don't know. I don't want to string him along. If I try hard enough, do you think I'll start to like him?"
"I don't think it works like that," says Michelle. "But as far as I'm concerned? It's totally acceptable to date more than one person at a time, and to have feelings for more than one person at a time. Until or unless you're in a committed relationship, then you're free to do what you want. You think Ben isn't dating anyone else?"
"True," I say.
"I'm just saying you don't have to make, like, any decisions right now. It's OK to just go with what you're feeling. To explore. To date. I mean, it's not like Julian's keeping it in his pants."
Ugh. The image of him sleeping with Scarlet makes me want to use the olive toothpick from my martini and stab myself in the heart. Except, since it's just a toothpick, it wouldn't be very effective. "Why does she have to be so, I don't know, perfect?" I mutter.
"Oh my. Speak of the devil," whispers Michelle.
I whirl around, expecting to see Julian, but to my surprise it's Scarlet, wrapped up in a gorgeous red coat and white fluffy scarf, her hair falling in those hateful—I mean beautiful—waves down around her shoulders.
"And guess what," says Michelle quickly as Scarlet approaches. "Ben just texted me too and I told him to meet us here. Looks like it's going to be a party. You can kill me later." She whispers the last part.
"Hi! Lia, right?" says Scarlet. "And…" she looks at Michelle questioningly, her big gorgeous hazel eyes friendly.
"Michelle." Michelle stands and offers her hand to Scarlet, who shakes it.