Power Play

by Tiffany Snow

“Um, it’s fine,” I said after a moment. This apologetic and polite Parker was new. Well, I guess that wasn’t exactly true. He was always polite, professional—almost to the point of being cold and indifferent. But apologies were definitely new.

  “I thought it might be easier for you to do these in here rather than at your desk,” he offered.

  That would be way easier, actually. Parker’s office was huge and there was plenty of room for me to spread things out on the floor rather than try to put it all on my desk.

  “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

  I headed back to my desk to get my hand scanner, notebook, and tags. All files coming in were logged by hand and tagged with a bar code sticker. The bar codes were then scanned and uploaded to a database somewhere before being sent to another department that stored the actual documents into digital format. Cataloging was tedious and time-consuming, but essential.

  “I’m heading upstairs to meet with Hinton,” Parker said when I came back in, naming the vice president of the international division. He kept odd hours as well.

  “Sure, okay,” I replied, only half listening as I headed for the boxes and set my supplies on the table. Wow. It was going to be a long night. Should’ve put my wine in a to-go cup.

  Parker left and I decided to kick off my shoes for crawling around the floor. I untied the scarf from around my neck and set it aside, the fabric now irritating me after having worn it for nearly fourteen hours. Kneeling on the floor next to the tower of boxes, I heaved a sigh and dug in.

  * * *

  Two hours later I paused for a break. I eased back onto my heels, trying to stretch out my back. It had been too quiet in the office, so I’d turned on the stereo Parker kept in the corner on one of the many bookshelves lining the back wall. Hidden speakers around the room now softly played jazz piano. I never changed the station from the satellite radio Parker had it tuned to and had grown to like the same music he did.

  There were approximately twenty piles of paper, sorted by type of document, surrounding where I knelt on the floor. Closing my eyes, I rubbed the back of my neck and stretched, arching my spine and trying to ease out the kinks from hunching over for so long. I let out a groan as my muscles protested.

  Someone clearing their throat made me jerk around in surprise, only to see Parker had returned. For a brief moment I could have sworn he was staring at my chest, but then he blinked and our eyes met and I thought I must have been mistaken. Like I said, Parker was always professional with a capital P.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, tossing a thick file folder onto his desk.

  “Not too bad,” I said, glancing at my stacks. “I’m halfway through the third box, so probably faster than I’d originally thought.”

  Parker discarded his jacket, tossing it onto the leather sofa before sinking down into its depths. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, then rubbed a hand over his face in one of the few gestures of tiredness I’d ever seen him make.

  Getting to my feet, I crossed to an antique highboy that used to belong to Parker’s grandfather. It was where he kept his liquor. Opening the front panels, I took out a crystal old-fashioned and the decanter half-full of scotch. I poured an inch or so into the glass, replaced the decanter, and walked to the sofa.

  Parker was watching me as I set the glass on the table at his elbow. It was a ritual we often had on evenings we both worked late. Personally, for as hard as he worked I thought Parker deserved a drink far earlier in the evening, but he never touched a drop until after nine o’clock. I wished I had half his discipline and self-control.

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees as he picked up the glass. His gaze dropped to my bare feet and I was absurdly glad I’d had a pedi recently. My toes were a sparkly Cozu-Melted-in-the Sun pink.

  We didn’t speak, but the silence was comfortable to me as I resumed my spot on the floor. Parker and I had an understanding. At least, I understood him. He made me feel needed—necessary—and as an only child who’d never been really needed by anyone, I liked that. And I liked him.

  My mom had been bugging me lately to “get a real job” that actually pertained to my degree, but I’d brushed her off, even when she’d intimated my father “knew people” who could help me. I wanted to get a job on my own merits. Besides, I had plenty of time to worry about my career in art history. For now, I was content being an executive administrative assistant to Parker, and times like this reminded me of why that was the case.

  Dragging another box down from the now shorter stack, I began sorting through it, scooting between my piles as I labeled and made notes. The only sounds were that of the music, the quiet beep of my scanner, and the shuffle of paper. It was a companionable moment, just the two of us. Then he had to go and ruin it.

  “I saw you and Ryker tonight,” Parker said out of the blue.

  I glanced around to see his gaze steady on me.

  “Earlier,” he continued. “You were leaving with him.” His tone was difficult to read, his expression impossible.

  Unsure how to respond, I opted for the truth and, considering their earlier hostility toward each other, vagueness. “He asked me to dinner,” I said with a shrug. “So, I went.”

  Parker took a large drink of scotch before replying. I watched the exposed skin of his throat move as he swallowed.

  “Ryker’s not a bad guy,” he said, his gaze focused on his drink. “Just perhaps not your type.”

  My eyebrows climbed at that. Not my type? A hot guy with abs of steel wasn’t my type? “And you know what my type is?” Irritation tinged with exhaustion made me speak more sharply than was wise and Parker’s eyes flashed to mine at my tone.

  “I’m trying to give you a warning,” he said, his voice flat. “I suggest you heed it.” Tossing back the rest of his drink, he rose from the couch and went back behind his desk. With a few taps on the keyboard, I was dismissed, his attention now firmly fixed elsewhere.

  Turning away from him, I resumed my task, now wishing I’d thought a little more before reacting to his words. I could’ve had a chance to ask him about this morning, about what Ryker had wanted, or even about how they knew each other, but it was pretty obvious Parker was done with talking, at least for now.

  Focusing on my job—daydreaming and speculating wouldn’t get this done any quicker—I kept at it. Crawling on all fours to the farthest piles for scanning, then restacking papers inside the boxes from which they’d come. I would’ve been a bit self-conscious about some of the positions I was in if I hadn’t known that Parker had no interest in me in that way. In the year I’d worked for him, he’d never, not even once, said or so much as hinted at something inappropriate.

  Which was a damn shame.

  I sighed. Ryker must have ratcheted up my hormones. Normally I wouldn’t let a thought like that even get put into words inside my head.

  I glanced Parker’s way a few times, trying to do so inconspicuously, just because I liked to look at him. With his tie discarded and his cuffs turned back, he sat back in his chair, an elbow braced on the arm, a frown of concentration on his face as he studied the computer monitor. A five o’clock shadow graced his jaw and a wave of his dark hair fell against his forehead, making me want to comb it back into place. With my fingers.

  Yes, definitely tired. Usually I was able to keep thoughts of Parker at bay, but last night had been rough and today had been long. I was sure he was tired, too, and I knew from experience that he wouldn’t leave until I was finished. That was always nice. I didn’t know if he waited because he thought if I was working, he should be, too, or if he just did it unconsciously.

  A sudden loud noise outside the office made me drop the scanner. My wide eyes flew to Parker’s.

  “What was that?” I asked. I glanced at the clock on his desk. It was after eleven and I’d thought Parker and I were the only ones left in the building, or at least on this floor.

  Parker was up out of his chair before I’d finished asking my q
uestion. In seconds, he was hauling me none-too-gently to my feet and pulling me toward the closet.

  “Get in,” he said, not giving me a choice in the matter as he pushed me into the dark cupboard.

  “What are you doing?” I squeaked, stunned even as I instinctively obeyed him and shrank back into the corner.

  Parker reached above me to the top shelf and pulled something down that fit in his hand. In another moment, I saw it was a gun. He racked the slide on top and the sound made me jump.

  “That was a gunshot,” he said. “Something’s going on and after what Ryker said this morning, I’m not taking any chances.” He pointed at me. “Stay. Here. Don’t come out until I come for you, understand?”

  I jerked a quick nod, unable to speak. Without another word, Parker closed the door, shutting me firmly inside the closet.

  Chapter Three

  I stood in the dark, my back pressed against the wall of the closet, Parker’s shirts and suit jackets hanging on either side of me. It smelled overwhelmingly of him in here, which only sent my panic ratcheting higher.

  A gunshot, he’d said. Why in the world would someone be shooting a gun in the building? At this hour? Certainly not for any good reason, obviously.

  All these years I’d put things in this closet and I’d never known he kept a gun up there. It was too high for me to reach and I wouldn’t have thought to pry anyway. Had it been there all this time?

  All these questions and more swirled through my mind as I worried about what was going on outside the closet door. What if Parker got ambushed? What if they shot him? He could be lying somewhere even now, hurt and bleeding, while I was hiding in the closet waiting for him.

  Another gunshot startled me. Then another. My breathing sounded harsh in the tight closet, and I clenched my hands into fists as I fought the urge to leave my hiding place.

  Parker had told me to wait, not to come out until he came for me, so as hard as it was, I waited. It felt like forever, each minute creeping by with agonizing slowness. With each moment that Parker didn’t appear, my fear increased, until I was nearly hyperventilating. The closet didn’t have enough air and tears stung my eyes as my imagination painted vivid pictures of an injured Parker. A sheet of cold sweat covered my skin as I strained my ears to catch any faint noise.

  The door suddenly swung open, startling me. Parker stood there, and without even thinking, I threw myself into his arms.

  “Thank God, you’re okay,” I mumbled against his chest, swallowing down a sob of relief. Adrenaline and fear made my knees feel weak and I clung to Parker, my arms holding tightly around his neck.

  He’d instinctively wrapped an arm around my waist and I sensed his hesitation before sliding the other arm around me, too. I knew this was inappropriate, but I couldn’t make myself let go. Not yet.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured, the words rumbling in his chest. “I’m fine.”

  Embarrassment began to creep in now that the panic and fear were starting to fade and I became acutely aware that every inch of me was pressed against my boss. If I could’ve ignored that last part, maybe I could’ve enjoyed it, but common sense kicked in.

  “I’m sorry,” I sniffed, easing up the death grip I had on him. “It seemed you were gone a long time. I was worried. What happened?” My eyes were still watery so I stared straight ahead at the third button on his shirt.

  “You’re shaking,” he said softly, as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. I’d expected him to let me go, but his arms remained solidly around my waist.

  “I heard more gunshots,” I explained. “I thought maybe something had happened to y—” My throat closed up and I couldn’t finish.

  Parker didn’t respond. Gathering my courage, I finally lifted my eyes to his and my breath caught.

  His blue eyes were closer than they’d ever been before, their soul-searching gaze locked on mine. Our faces were so near, our lips only inches apart. He was even more beautiful and perfect up close. My body seemed to melt into his, the pressure of his arms around me changing, from steadying and supportive to caressing.

  Parker’s eyes burned, making my breath hitch in my chest. His gaze dropped to my mouth and my lips parted in invitation.

  Sirens screaming outside the building made us both look to the window.

  “Police are here,” Parker said, dropping his arms and stepping away from me. “Better put your shoes on.”

  Feeling suddenly bereft without him to support me, I hurried to slip on my heels.

  “Did you call them?” I asked. “Did you see anyone? Anyone who might’ve fired that gun?”

  By the time I’d put my shoes on and turned around, he’d straightened his tie. Glancing my way, he crooked his finger, beckoning me back to him.

  I obeyed, waiting for his answers as I stepped in front of him.

  “I called them,” he said, reaching forward. His fingers caught at the button on my blouse that I’d undone earlier and he refastened it, then the next button as well, until only a scant few inches of my throat were exposed. “Hinton is dead.”

  I barely heard him, so taken aback was I by the intimacy of him buttoning my blouse. It took longer than it should have for the statement to penetrate.

  “Hinton’s dead?” I repeated. At Parker’s nod, I said, “But you were with him a few hours ago.”

  “I know.”

  The elevator dinged and we both turned toward it. Parker moved to the closet, replacing the gun he’d taken back on the shelf, then held the door for me as we left his office. A bevy of uniformed policemen exited the elevator, but my gaze didn’t settle on them for long. It found the one person I’d half-expected, half-dreaded would arrive when I’d heard those sirens.

  Ryker.

  He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier, though the flirtatious grin from dinner was gone. His expression was serious, turning hard when he spotted Parker.

  “You were the one who called it in?” he asked Parker, who nodded.

  “He’s on the floor above this one. Randolph Hinton, one of our VPs.”

  Ryker turned to a couple of the uniformed cops and spoke to them. A moment later, they were heading for the stairs, weapons in hand.

  “Did you see anyone? Hear anything?” he asked, taking out a small pad of paper and a pen from inside his jacket.

  Parker told them about hearing the gunshot. “I went to investigate and saw a man leaving the floor. When I called out to him, he fired at me.”

  My blood felt like it turned to ice at this and I whipped my head around to stare wide-eyed at Parker. He glanced sideways at me, but his attention remained on Ryker.

  “Looks like he missed,” Ryker said, jotting notes on the paper. He glanced up. “Too bad.” His smile was cold.

  That set my blood pressure skyrocketing and I opened my mouth to let him know exactly how big an asshole he was, but Parker seemed to sense what I was going to do. His hand grasped my arm in a firm grip and squeezed. I shut my mouth, but I shot him a glare just to let him know that I didn’t appreciate being silenced.

  “What about you?” Ryker asked, turning his attention to me. “Did you see anyone?”

  I shook my head. “I was in the closet.”

  Ryker’s eyebrows flew upward. “Excuse me?”

  Okay, well that hadn’t made much sense. “I mean, after we heard the first shot, Parker—I mean Mr. Anderson—had me get inside the closet while he went to go see what had happened.” I didn’t mention the gun Parker had taken with him.

  “So there’s no one to corroborate the fact that you say someone else was in the building,” Ryker said to Parker.

  “Are you insinuating I had something to do with this?” Parker’s body was stiff with tension, his voice cold.

  “I’m just making an observation,” Ryker said.

  “Well, it’s a ridiculous observation,” I cut in. “I was with him when we heard the first shot.”

  “And your livelihood depends on your boss,” Ryker sa
id. “Not exactly a sterling recommendation of your truthfulness.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You’re accusing me of lying? Why, you little swine—” I snarled, taking a step toward him, but Parker pulled me back.

  Ryker’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but knew he shouldn’t. “Is that supposed to be a cop joke?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because frankly, I’ve heard better.”

  By now I was so upset I wanted to claw his deliciously blue bedroom eyes right out of his perfect head.

  The cops came back then and Ryker went to speak to them, leaving Parker and me standing by ourselves.

  “I can’t believe what an arrogant imbecile he is!” I seethed, staring at Ryker’s leather-clad back. “Trying to say you had anything to do with it. What a jerk!”

  “I appreciate your anger, but antagonizing the police isn’t a good idea.” Parker’s mild reply had me glancing his way.

  “I’m not going to just stand here and let him say those things,” I said stiffly.

  Parker’s eyes gazed into mine and I was abruptly reminded of what had happened in his office before the police had arrived. My cheeks grew warm and I was suddenly acutely aware of his hand still wrapped around my arm.

  “Forensics would like to swab your hands for gunshot residue.” Ryker’s voice intruded and I jerked around to see him standing behind us, his eyes calculating as he took in Parker and me.

  “Of course,” Parker agreed, letting go of me. A uniformed cop escorted him to where two other men in jackets with “CSI” stamped on the back were setting up their materials on a desk.

  Ryker remained by me, but I crossed my arms over my chest and refused to look at him.

  “I wish our dinner hadn’t been interrupted,” he said in an undertone.

  My jaw fell open. “Are you kidding me right now? You practically accused my boss of murder!”

  He shrugged. “I’m doing my job. It’s nothing personal.”

  “You sure about that?” I retorted. “Because it sure seems personal.”

  “Parker and I have a history,” he said.