“He’s a problem. I don’t like the way he showed up last night. He hasn’t been to a Monroe Enterprises fundraiser since he was a child,” Evan says.
Merrick merely shrugs and shakes his head. The men turn to look at me and file down the hall toward the elevator. Interesting, they have Grayson on their radar and obviously saw our interaction last night. Could he really have been the one to donate the hundred thousand anonymously? Would he have assumed I would put two and two together? A lunch is in order, though I personally trust him less than anyone here. He’s a snake in the grass for sure, but my mouse days are over. I will make sure to come armed with a big club and brain not addled by sexual nonsense.
I slip out of the room and am just scrolling through my notes when I see Jamison waiting by the elevator. Oh boy. “I figured I would wait since you seemed to have a bit of an issue last time in the elevator?”
Narcissus is looking to hunt again, I can tell, but this prey is too smart.
“I am fine, thank you. I didn’t have breakfast, and considering the meeting time, I had to wolf down my lunch. But I can assure you, I am more than capable of riding in an elevator by myself. I might enjoy a quiet moment.”
Jamison laughs and leans against the elevator door. Does this man believe in standing straight ever? It’s a wonder his psyche is so toned since he generally looks like a sloth laying around.
“No problem. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t overheat this time. You know me, right? Mr. Extra. Extra sensitive to the fact that when you get hot your cheeks flush first, making two perfectly round dots like a china doll. The heat then spreads down your neck but grows more intense because the shade changes from a light red to a more scarlet shade. The warmer you get depends on how far down the blush goes, I’ve noticed. For example, in the elevator your chest was flushed with the most lovely shade of crimson. Forgive me for noticing, but it seemed to extend downward. The most obnoxious thing is all I could think of in the meeting was how far down it went and what shade would it be. Would it stretch across your stomach and make its way down? Would you feel the heat as it spread? All these questions, so few answers.”
The elevator door opens, and he catches himself before falling flat on his back.
“I think I will take the stairs and burn off some of this extra energy I seem to have. See you down there.” He walks away, and my hand immediately goes to my chest. It is warm. But not nearly as warm as the heat spreading down between my legs. My hand snakes down to my legs. Warmer.
I enter the elevator and by the time I reach the thirty-eighth floor, the heat is subsiding, and I am catching my breath. Let’s just say I enjoyed my quiet moment with myself to the fullest. Never mind the images usually are Chris Hemsworth or Ryan Reynolds that get me off, but this time they are with four men in a boardroom, each having their way with me.
I seriously need to get that information tomorrow because I don’t know how much longer I can last around these men.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SATURDAY DAWNS and finds me back to my old self. The order of the day is business, and I am grateful I won’t have to see any of the men today. Last night I was still so wired that I contemplated asking Chelsea where the hot spots were. I knew she would undoubtedly send me to a dive bar in a dark alley and tell me it was the latest speakeasy, though. Dancing sounded like a wonderful release, but deciding to play it safe, I merely binge-watched Dancing with the Stars. I may have been cut off from most of the amenities in the home, but my cable and DVR box remained untouched. Practicing a solo pasa doble, I didn’t even imagine one of the men as my partner. Well, not too much though James van der Beek did give me an older PJ kind of vibe.
I planned to apartment hunt all day tomorrow, and thanks to my anonymous donor, I would be able to put down a deposit. Sadly, my cable days would be gone as it was not a necessity. But I would be able to wake up in the morning, stroll to my kitchen, turn on the coffee maker, and not have to worry about any confrontations. Truly the weekend was going to be amazing, and humming a little Bruno Mars “Uptown Funk,” I walked gleefully to the subway.
I always found the subway to be a treat. Granted, we never rode on it much, but when we would have school trips or excursions with Savannah, it was a subway day. The first penis I ever saw was on a field trip to Coney Island. Savannah had tried to take a photo but quickly jumped out of the way when she realized the penis in question was urinating dangerously close to her. The man even came over to us and asked if we could spare any change. She gave him a twenty for fear he would whip it out and pee on her if she didn’t.
I didn’t call her back last night. I started to, but after the meeting and the feelings and the impromptu masturbation session in the elevator, I was honestly too afraid to hear her voice. She has been so good to me throughout all the years. She was the one who stuck by me when all the other classmates taunted me after the fall. She was the one who picked up countless tabs at bars and restaurants I couldn’t even begin to afford. But now I felt this chasm between us. If I was honest, I had felt it since I arrived in New York. She was always sympathetic and kind about my plight, but I could see her wince when I would drone on about payback and revenge. You can’t really embrace a plan like that until you’ve been the one who was burned. It’s too hard to envision a “what if” scenario in your mind. What if that happened to me? What would I feel? What would I do? Try reading The Count of Monte Cristo and never having been betrayed by someone you trusted and loved? It’s just a story then. But put the fact in that you have been in that situation; it’s no longer a story. It’s a blueprint for revenge.
But now as I whiz along back to Monroe, I don’t know anymore what is real and what is them just fucking with me. They can seem so genuine in their desire and need to want to have me, but come on. They know I’m just a lowly assistant, and they have all gotten off on that. But maybe me not backing down has shown them I’m more of an equal? Doubtful since I think they only believe they are all equals of one another and no else stands a close second. Hopefully, after today, I can garner enough information that I won’t need to worry about my mood swings on how to interact with the men. The plan of the day is to sneak into one of their offices and try to find the file Simon mentioned regarding the mysterious Alpha Corporation. With any luck, this is where they hide their dirty deeds such as faking appraisal values or siphoning money away from their donations to their charities. Or it could be a big fat nothing and just a file where Merrick keeps dick pics. Although if I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind perusing, strictly for purposes of blackmail.
Walking in today is so much different than my average morning. No crush of people, no click-clacks of heels and everyone surveying you as you walk in to make sure you measure up to the impossible dress code. The security officer is playing Candy Crush and has no use to check me to see if I am an employee or terrorist. Clad in jeans, a hoodie, and ballet flats, I make my way to the elevator without a hint of anxiety. Oh, what a feeling. My earbuds are still blasting about living it up in the city, and my feelings are all about ease. Hitting the button for the thirty-eighth floor, I continue to do a little happy shuffle. Why can’t this be my everyday routine? Do people walk into work like this every day? If so, I am completely envious.
Hitting the notorious thirty-eighth floor, I am met with silence. Complete and utter silence. This is the best I have felt in awhile, and I could skip to my desk.
The IT guys are down on the lower levels from what I understand, and this gives me hours to relax and do reconnaissance. Making my way to the luxury breakroom, I start a pod of Colombian dark roast. I start to sing along with Bruno Mars and being sexy and flaunting it. My ballet flats squeak on the freshly polished floor. Scavenging in the fridge, I swear to God I find fresh lox and bagels. Along with scallion cream cheese—my favorite—and I drool. This was my go-to breakfast for the longest time when I lived at home. Mom would come home worshipping Zabar’s and their amazing goods but wrinkling her nose at putting capers on the spread. S
he said too much salt took away from the flavor but double spread her bagel with cream cheese. Dad would smile and wipe her mouth off as she hungrily dove in. They had the best connection. Neither got upset when one would indulge a little too much and left the other to clean up. Whether it be scallion cream cheese smears on expensive dining linens, champagne spilled on the rug at New Years, or her obsession with extra gravy and butter on the holidays. My parents were the only ones I knew who loved each other as much from the day they married until the day she passed.
An errant tear runs down my cheek, but this will not be the time or place to have those memories come to me. Fetching my mug from under the Keurig, I move to my desk. Opening up the Google window, I start to search for available apartments in my price range. The outlook is bleak. Everywhere in Manhattan is too expensive, Brooklyn is too far, and the Bronx seems too dangerous. After searching for what seems like hours, I find a tiny sublet in Belle Harbor. Fearing being too late due to the amazing price of the rent, I call.
“Hello?” a bored voice greets me, and I am sure they have already rented out the apartment from the sound of her tone.
“Yes, hello. I was inquiring about the apartment you had listed for rent. Is the space still available?”
“Rent is eleven hundred a month, a deposit of five hundred is due before you can see the space. Previous rental and employment history are mandatory and no evictions or bankruptcies in the last five months. Do you have any of those?”
“I have the first month’s rent and the deposit. Previous rental history was my dormitory at Harvard University, but my current place of employment is Monroe Enterprises. No prior evictions or bankruptcies to speak of, and my credit score is above eight hundred.”
There is a pause. A very pregnant pause enough to make me think she has is contemplating putting the phone down or considering my potential merit as a tenant.
“Monroe Enterprises? What do you do, housekeeping?”
Really? Okay, bitch, be prepared to be amazed. “I’m the assistant to the four officers of the company.”
“Like you fetch stuff for them?”
“No, ma’am. I handle their everyday needs within the company regarding business and personal matters. My direct supervisor is Jamison Wells.”
Another pregnant pause awaits me and I hear her covering the receiver to speak to someone else. “Tomorrow at 10 a.m. What’s your number in case I need to reach you?”
Holy shit, that was easy. I give her my cell phone number, and she rings off without a proper goodbye. Given my current housing situation, I couldn't care less if this lady is a bitch. At least I won’t be expected to see her on an everyday basis like the bitches I live with now. I’m on such a high, I decide to call Savannah and give her the good news. But it goes straight to voicemail. Apparently, while I was wishing I was out dancing at a hot spot she was she actually doing so. Leaving her a brief message and apologizing for not getting back to her, I ring off and lean back in my chair. The office is so serene. It’s surreal. Standing up, I wonder how long I should wait to see which of the men’s offices will be easiest to get into. Originally, I thought to use the intern’s computers, but then I realized if I was able to log into one of the men’s computers, I could potentially gain more access. Sadly, I think of Simon and wish I could call to ask him, but he made himself clear that his days of espionage were over. Standing, I head to Jamison’s office, though I know this will be fruitless. He locks his door every time he leaves if even just to use the restroom. Testing the handle, it doesn’t budge an inch.
Moving toward PJ’s office stealthily, my hip knocks over a vase of flowers. A shattering noise echoes loudly throughout the room, and water begins to puddle quickly on the floor. Thankfully the cleaning supplies closet is nearby, and I scramble madly to get the broom and mop. By the time I come back, the water has begun to pool under the door of PJ’s office. This is the best thing that could have happened. Dropping my supplies, I dart back to my desk.
“Security, how can I assist you?”
“Yes, this is Ainslee Adams from the thirty-eighth floor. I am working today and silly me, I just knocked into a vase of flowers. The water is pooling under Mr. Haywood’s office door, and I need to get in to clean it up.”
“I’m not sure I can help you. I mean with any other floor I could, but the thirty-eighth floor has a whole different set of security procedures. I mean they even . . .”
I cut him off with a shriek.
“Mr. Haywood mentioned leaving some equipment out that needed to be shipped back to a supplier because it was faulty. What if the equipment is in the way of the water and gets damaged? We could be talking about thousands and thousands of dollars! I don’t know what your salary is, but mine can’t afford the responsibility of paying for it!” I hope I sound convincing enough to scare the guard into action. Truthfully, having been in PJ’s office before, I doubt he would ever leave anything of value laying on the floor. It might have been a little disheveled but nothing to make me think there are in fact equipment being fried on the other side of that door right. But I’m also backing on the fact this guard wouldn’t know that or hasn’t seen the interior of the office.
“Shit. Well if you really think so. Maybe I should try to see if I can reach Mr. Haywood to make sure?”
Holding the phone away from my ear, I cover the receiver with my shirt. Thank God for the Tasty app. I quickly find one I had looked up about making candied bacon. I slide to the part of the video that shows the bacon being fried and making a hissing noise.
“Do you hear that! The equipment is getting fried! Listen to that hissing sound! You have to come up immediately!”
“Shit, okay, I’m on my way!”
I have never been prouder of myself. Completely on the fly and completely by accident, I have solved the issue of gaining access to one of the men’s offices. Turning off the Tasty app and putting my cell on airplane mood, I secure the USB in my pocket and wait for the guard. And it isn’t a very long wait. A burly man in his late thirties comes flying out of the elevator with a large set of keys jingling like it’s Christmas time.
“I’m here, do you smell smoke? Do we need to call the fire department? Which office is it? Shit, I knew I should have called in sick. This is a fucking catastrophe!” My guilt creeps up when I see what a state he’s in.
“Relax! No, there is no smoke smell, and the hissing was faint at best. It’s the office right here.”
The guard, whose badge reads Bruce, opens the door carefully. We both hesitantly step forward and Bruce goes flying as we both forget about the water on the marble floor.
“Shit!” He lands hard on his backside, and I go around him on tiptoes so as not to go sliding as well. My ballet flats don’t have the traction, and funny enough ballerina I am not.
“Are you okay?”
He nods and looks more embarrassed than hurt. His pants seem to have ripped in the back and also are sporting a large wet spot in the crotch area. I go to help him up, but he shakes his head no.
“I’m fine, just give me a minute.”
“I am so sorry, I totally forgot about the water and the floors being marble. It’s like ice when they get wet.”
“Where is the equipment?” Bruce is glancing into the office now and looking everywhere for the equipment that was frying, not even two minutes ago. I admit I hadn’t really thought this far ahead. I had hoped to head him off by saying that Mr. Wells was very private about his space, and I would take responsibility for the equipment. Unfortunately, that’s not an option, and I may be out of luck.
I decide the ditzy approach will be my best strategy. I hate to play that card. It’s so degrading, but I need Bruce out of here fast and without asking too many questions.
“You know I’m not sure. I could have sworn I heard sizzling. But you know I am a little out of it today. Late night and all you know?” I throw him my best I’m just a party girl with no formative brain cells to speak of look.
“Well, I am goi
ng to have to let Mr. Haywood know about this. Security is to an extreme point these days. But you know, I’ve never been up here before. Pretty damn swanky, huh?”
“You know Bruce, there is a breakroom up here that is more like a free-standing Starbucks with a Zabar’s deli. I saw fresh lox, cream cheese, and more bagels than you can imagine this morning. Why don’t you rustle yourself up a plate and take a little break? I bet being on guard at such a big company really works up a man’s appetite.” I truly am hating myself right now; I sound like fucking Chelsea. But this is my big chance, and come hell or high water, I’m not spoiling it.
Bruce’s eyes light up at my invitation, and he is hooked. Escorting him to the breakroom, I pull every ounce of delectable food from the refrigerator. I lay out every single type of coffee we have and even throw in a few teas should he possibly be a tea drinker. The piece de resistance is the caramel coffee cake and box of eclairs I smuggled in from home when no one was looking. Bruce happily begins to pile up a plate. Excusing myself to go clean up the floor, I sprint back to PJ’s office and shut the door behind me ever so quietly. Walking around his desk, I am still puzzled by the children’s toys. I know he doesn’t have children of his own, and everything I read about him stated he was an only child. Maybe he was dating someone with a child? The thought begins to take hold in my brain as I settle into his office chair. No, he couldn’t be dating anyone. He would have brought her to the fundraising party, and besides, the gossip columns I obsessed over for years never showed him with anyone.
Who cares, Ainslee, I tell myself as the computer boots up? Yes, he is powerfully attractive and sexual but definitely not a candidate for anything. Funny how when I think of the men, he is the only one I ever consider to be totally out of my league. He’s too sincere, too genuine, too moral for someone like me. I guarantee he’s never even read The Count of Monte Cristo. He seems more a To Kill a Mockingbird kind of person.
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