Onto the next one and he looks like nothing I would expect to see in a corporate office. Unless perhaps it was a music label or something associated with the entertainment industry. This beast of a man has tattoos peeking out from under his collar, his shirtsleeves, and I’m sure if he was more casually dressed, it would be a feast of colors and designs. Hipster comes to mind as he is wearing Elvis Costello style glasses. His hair has the fade up the back, so his head is shaved except for long tresses that fall across his forehead. Dark—his hair, his eyes, and his gaze are all quintessentially dark. A quick check at his driver’s license wouldn’t reveal any hair or eye color I am sure, opting simply to put dark.
“This is Evan Mancini, our Chief Operating Officer.”
Evan, excuse me, Mr. Mancini—I can’t think of addressing him as a mister given the major Post Malone vibe he is throwing around—doesn’t make a move to greet me. His obsidian eyes instead give me the most discerning once-over I have had yet in this city, quickly dismissing me as though not worthy of forming his own opinion. Nodding once briskly, he takes a step back, his assuming stance though now seemingly bored. Well, screw you too, Mr. Mancini, no problem keeping it all business with you.
Gleefully noticing our glacial exchange, Regina moves onto the next. And dear God almighty, Narcissus is in the house. The man she shifts her attention to is so polished and perfect it is breathtaking, but the façade is shattered by the fact he so clearly knows he is. The suit he wears beckons to be deemed worthy; the accessories he sports are so in, fashion designers are clamoring to take credit, and the coolness he gives off makes Paul Newman rise from his grave and say, “yes, just give him my crown.” It would be so easy to despise him if not for the piercing gaze he gives me with those baby blues. Piercing me but not in the same way as Evan, these eyes are all about surveying his prey. As Narcissus was before him, he is all hunter. I find myself the intended target immediately, but he seems to want to mount me and then throw my carcass on the ground and feast.
“This is Jamison Wells, our Chief Financial Officer. I also believe he was the one you just personally requested to assist?” Regina chuckles, and Jamison looks supremely bemused.
“Yes, I did request Mr. Wells, but as you told me previously, Miss Marlo, I am here to assist all the officers. However, yes, I would like to shadow Mr. Wells as closely as possible since I did major in business with my focus being financial.”
“Well, Miss Adams—” Regina says, but is quickly shut down with a wave of Evan’s hand to dismiss her.
“I believe we can accommodate Miss Adams. However, my assistants in the past will tell you that I am overly demanding. My expectations are nothing short of impossible. The job is yours if you like, barring that you will additionally support my colleagues. My needs will be met first in all ways, Miss Adams. Do you think you can handle the challenge?” Jamison all but dares me.
Oh, you dare me, you sly devil; I am never backing down. My choice for Jamison was pre-calculated so I could be as close as possible to the financial dealings of Monroe Enterprises. No challenge here, only giddiness that he seemed to fall for my ploy so easily. You keep yourself pretty, Narcissus, and I will take it from here.
“Mr. Wells, it would be no issue at all, and I gladly accept the challenge.”
The men gaze amongst themselves at this statement, and perhaps I gave my hand away too easily. Yet they seem to have some sort of silent understanding because there are no words, expressions, or even body language exchanged. Interesting. They seem to not only know each other in the business sense but also in a deeply personal sense, which could prove to be tricky. While looking through my stack of research, I didn’t see much with them together as a group outside of corporate functions, but my notes could only take me so far. The radar on how they mix and mingle is definitely on the alert from now on.
“Finally, let me present the head of our operations, Merrick Monroe. He is our Chief Executive Officer and President. He oversees the board, and he is the figurehead for our major stockholders.” Regina looks ready to cream in her panties as she says all this, and I get the feeling that being before the man himself is something of a reward on her part.
Merrick Monroe. The tallest of all the four, and if possible, the most jaw-dropping. Words cannot describe Merrick Monroe. He has the appeal of every single fantasy a woman could have physically. A Harvard graduate like myself but seven years prior, he was rumored to have tested so high on his IQ that as a child, he tested over and over as a bet for his father’s disbelieving friends. The king of New York, the golden son, and my personal biggest foe.
“Mr. Monroe.” Regina stops as suddenly as she started. The air is so heavy in the room we all should be gasping for oxygen. The steel gaze he levels me with is unreal. The imagined moment of this meeting is so far off the scale of anxiety-inducing, I fear fainting or having a heart attack. Plummeting back to 2008, I hear my father in my head on that frantic day when New York and the world was taken to its knees.
“Lehmann’s fell! They knew what was happening and made me a part of it! I am not a monster! I swear on you, Ainslee, and your mother’s grave, I had no idea! They had it all concocted, and I was too damn blind to see it! Forgive me, dear Lord, I was just too caught up in my own devastation. All those papers I signed, all those meetings I missed. The fall guy. I know people say that, but, my sweet child please, believe your father is not a crook. The company was my family, and all those people we tried to help . . . Ainslee, promise me you won’t believe it no matter what. I would swear on a dozen Bibles I knew nothing. Please you must believe me!
I believe you, Dad, and I always will. This is why I’m here. Nothing can take that back and for the first time since walking into this room my backbone extends, and I leisurely stroll over to Merrick Monroe. Extending my hand, the same as PJ did for me, I delve into the speech I have practiced every day for a year.
“Mr. Monroe. I knew your father and—” The words die in my throat as Merrick freezes me with a look.
“Miss Adams. I am aware you knew my father. I knew yours also. My instincts to have you here were premature, believing that perhaps you had realized the loathe your family name still brings to us. Apparently, you still have not learned your place, but I will overlook it as you were young when your father’s ambitions did nothing but bring this once-thriving company to its knees. The name Adams means nothing here. It means nothing to our company nor to our shareholders. Monroe, on the other hand, means revival. Rejuvenation. A means to a terrible end brought about by your father’s callous need to possess material gains at the horrible decline of a stock market, a nation, a town, and many people who lost their homes and businesses. Look at the date, Miss Adams. Today is a new day in the world, and we no longer speak of the things your family did. We only speak of what my”—he spreads his arms out to extend to the other three—“and your other officer’s families did to bring back tranquility, profitability, and harmony to a market killed by actions ours had nothing to do with. I welcome you to the new day, but realize this, and I will say it only once, this is Monroe Enterprises. We have no need to revisit past times. If you came here for anything other than to further our vision, I advise you to turn, collect your things, and go. I have no time, nor do my colleagues, for the revenge dreams of a child.”
Regina openly smirks, PJ looks somehow embarrassed, Evan is completely unreadable, and Jamison grins like a kid in a candy store.
“I understand completely, Mr. Monroe. Thank you for the opportunity, and my only wish is to learn.”
Merrick narrows his eyes, but my composure never leaves. “Miss Marlo, please show Miss Adams to her desk outside Mr. Mancini’s office.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And Miss Adams?”
“Yes, sir?”
“One more thing, we are all your bosses. Displease one, displease us all. Understood?” Each man seemed to stand up higher and straighter as he said this. Their presence once again swallowed the boardroom whole, and
they knew it. I was a little fish in a tank of sharks. And they would circle me until I was dizzy enough to stop and be caught. Not going to happen gentleman.
Throwing on my biggest, fakest smile, I nod demurely. Exiting the boardroom, I have only one thing on my mind.
These assholes are going down.
CHAPTER NINE
THE REST of the day passed by in a surprisingly easy blur. Regina walked me to my desk and quickly left me to my own devices. The sheer amount of space I had to myself was refreshing. Jamison’s office was behind a wall of opaque glass, and my desk was a massive bleached-wood monstrosity that sat like a gatekeeper by his door. A mini-fridge, a microwave, and a small set of cabinets were hidden behind an alcove. The sitting area was comprised of white leather couches and a faux fur rug that was so disturbingly cheesy ‘70s porn, I wanted to see if had been planted there to throw me off. I studied it for far too long, imagining after-hours trysts with Jamison playing Barry White over the quadraphonic speakers, which were surely hidden in the corners of the office. Clearing my thoughts and settling on the task at hand, I quickly begin to study the computer systems used at Monroe. Five minutes later, my head was cradled in my hands, and phantom tears were threatening to fall onto my cheeks.
The firewall was massive and no doubt impenetrable. Any luck of gathering data would be tricky, and no doubt even over my outside hacker Simon's head. We had met on a rather shady site that Savannah said was popular amongst the rich college sect for attempting to hack into their parent’s accounts for additional funds once their “allowance” ran out. He didn’t ask any questions and was affordable, so I couldn't have cared less about what he did for his other clients. Yet another immediate problem was my lack of access to hardly any of the programs Monroe used. My access level was at the lowest, and I knew many of the programs that held the files I needed to copy would require administrative access. Undoubtedly this would normally be given to someone in my position, but unsurprisingly, I was not awarded that.
PJ was CIO and by far the most welcoming, so I decided to pay him a visit and plead helplessness on getting acclimated with the systems. Perhaps if I played my cards right, he would petition to have my access moved up. The initial meeting had led me to believe the only ally, or should I say the only non-asshole, would be him. The four men’s offices all lay within the floor, each one taking up a different corner. The layouts all seemed similar, except Merrick’s, which was situated behind transparent glass, which I found incredibly odd. Guess he never mixed business with pleasure or was just too smart to drop his demeanor ever. My backup plan would have to be a well-timed distraction, something to entice all four corners of the office to vacate temporarily. Surely one of the four would leave their computers with their user ID still signed on, and I could attempt to gather what I needed. However, it would have to be one hell of a major distraction. My hacker on the outside might be able to rig something, so he would be my first phone call this evening.
Lunch came, and despite my hesitation, I found myself joining the throng to the company’s cafeteria, or as I had seen it listed on the map, dining hall. Cafeteria would have been an absurd word for the layout, which resembled a fine dining establishment. Linen tablecloths, menus on vellum, and waiters who catered to your every need—including taking special requests for vegan, non-dairy substitutes, which I am sure the chef had learned by now to keep on hand. I spotted Chelsea easily at a large table near the center of the room, and I swear it was high school all over again. She was the queen bee, and all her little worker bees were swarming around. The hot topic was how she was quietly suffering through the tragedy of sharing her personal space with that Adams piece of trash. The women were all comfortingly patting her shoulders and shaking their heads as she spelled her tale of woe.
Quiet as a mouse, I skirt around the fringes to see if I could pick up specifics of what was being said. A tall stunning brunette was asking her if she had considered moving temporarily and offering her a spot in her Upper East Side coop. Chelsea grabbed her hand and feigned a teary response.
“Thank you, Shelia. You have no idea the shame she is bringing on my household. I shudder to think what Page Six is going to have printed every day I wake up. The stress is unimaginable.”
Her stress was unimaginable? What the fuck? She truly was the biggest piece of work I had ever seen or heard. Deciding to step in, I raised my hand to butt into the group and was quickly pulled back. PJ’s eyes were a glacial blue. He shook his head and stepped away. His back faded into the crowd but not without sighs and stares from female and male colleagues. I was immediately ashamed and mystified. Guess my initial impression wasn’t completely accurate, my Southern gentleman boss perhaps had a bit of bite. Mentally, I resolved never to let my polite façade slip again while in the office.
Chelsea was going to run her mouth, and I was going to simply look the other way. Shit, I had been doing that all throughout my childhood, and while I had loved my recent ability to call her out on her bullshit, I knew when enough was probably enough. My mom was always an expert at the art of being a lady even when I knew she secretly wanted to tear down her walls, spew obscenities, and make the rudest gestures possible. But she maintained her elegance, always smiling genteelly, and uttering a bless your heart. Gliding by the table, I gave them all a beatific smile and decided to place an order to go. My tolerance level was waning, and my stomach was growling after my decision to skip breakfast. Quickly perusing the menu, I ask for a tuna wrap with avocado and tomato basil soup. I was given a number and told I could sit, and it would be brought to me. Deciding to sit as far away from the mayhem as possible, I duck into a corner and exhale.
“The soup was a mistake. It’s terrible.” His lanky frame is half-hidden in the shadows since the area was poorly lit. But his presence was the same, half terrifying and half laughable. My brain had yet to wrap around how someone who looked like Evan Mancini could be anything but a tattoo artist, aspiring musician, or beatnik poet in SoHo. He was tapping away on his iPhone and didn’t bother to address me with eye contact or anything that would lead me to believe he had spoken to me out of anything but sheer boredom.
“Thank you for your insight. I will avoid it from now on.”
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he finally made eye contact, and now I was regretting my desire for him to acknowledge me properly. The man was a beast. The air around him was like the air five minutes before a tornado. Still, stifling, eerily quiet but charged with so much chaos, you couldn’t help but get the most wicked adrenaline rush. Evan was the living embodiment of why the body went into fight or flight mode.
“May I offer you a suggestion, non-menu related?”
“Please, I didn’t get a lot of insight into Monroe Enterprises other than the generic welcome packet supplied by Human Resources.”
“Pack your lunch. I would consider the cafeteria an out of bounds area for you. You’re the gazelle the pride has been waiting to feed on. You can’t expect anything to get easier, so I would avoid all public and common areas. Do yourself a favor, Miss Adams, be as unseen as possible.”
“Mr. Mancini?” A hostess was scurrying forward with an enormous domed tray. “Can I carry this to the thirty-eighth floor for you?”
He nodded and crooked his finger. “Hurry along, I have a meeting in thirty minutes. Is the dome hot, or do you need to go back to reheat it? I refuse to eat lukewarm muck, so be sure.”
“It’s piping hot, sir. I triple checked.” The hostess chuckles nervously. You can see she was straining to maintain the large tray without dropping it. The sight made me infuriated, and I desperately wanted to grab the tray and throw it all over his lazy ass.
“Miss Adams?” A waiter came forward to me in a much more leisurely pace. I nodded graciously and reached for my wallet to tip him. Evan started laughing, and the waiter smirked. The hostess was still too busy trying to balance the tray to make any noise.
“We do not accept tips, Miss Adams. Our salary is above and beyond tha
t of normal wait staff, so we do not need additional compensation.” The waiter brusquely sat my domed tray, no doubt not hot, on the table and made to leave without offering help.
Evan shook his head and motioned again to the hostess who was now straining so hard to support the tray her face was beet red.
“Can I help you with the tray? I am going to the thirty-eighth floor also, and my tray looks much easier to carry. I really don’t mind.”
Her face looked hopeful until she saw Evan cut his eyes from her to me in almost a dare.
“No, thank you.”
“Truly, I don’t mind, and I am sure Mr. Mancini wouldn’t either as long as he is not inconvenienced by carrying his own lunch. I am his assistant after all, so this really falls more under my job title. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Mancini?” Cutting my eyes to him, I double dared him.
Stroking his jaw as if he found the whole scenario wildly thought-provoking, he shrugged his broad shoulders and nodded.
“Lisa, please switch trays with Miss Adams. She is my assistant, and I think she is right. This falls under her duties.”
Lisa gratefully dumped the tray into my arms, and I damn near dropped the whole thing. Holy shit, how much was this man going to consume in a mere thirty minutes? We began to cross the cafeteria, and snickers abounded.
“Look how cute! She finally realized her place in the company! She’s a server?”
“Can someone let Regina know immediately, so I can reapply for her position?”
“When you’re done, can you come back and take our order?”
Yes, a high school cafeteria. Despite my fury of being told to stay out by Evan, I resolved myself that as long as I was employed by Monroe Enterprises, this would be my last trip here. My focus became balancing on the killer heels while carrying a massive tray. Thankfully the elevators were close to the dining hall, so a short ride up and this unexpected detour would be done. The doors pinged and Evan, Lisa, and I got in.
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