by J. A. Dennam
But he had to know. Before he committed himself to such a scary thing as an actual relationship, he had to know if he could trust her.
When he pressed the doorbell, a Latin woman with long dark hair and a curious smile answered the door. “Uh…,” he checked the brass numbers beside it. “This is Brooke’s townhouse, right?”
The woman lifted a sculpted eyebrow. “You don’t remember me?” she asked.
Ah, right. It was her friend from the carwash; funny how that particular face was pushed aside in favor of a certain redhead with a knack for pushing his buttons.
He grinned. “Is it Miranda?”
Her answering smile was brilliant. “Very good, Ethan.” Then it dissolved into a dry look of censure. “What are you doing here?”
“Just need to see Brooke for a second.”
“She isn’t here.”
Ethan checked his watch, wondering if he should abort his mission for answers since Brooke had company. “How long will she be gone?”
Miranda, dressed in a purple halter top and cutoffs, lounged against the doorframe. “As long as it takes to buy frozen pizza and popsicles.”
He squinted with revulsion. “Sounds delightful.”
Her ample chest shook with a throaty chuckle. “I take it you’d like to come in and wait for her.”
“If you don’t mind.”
To his amazement, she moved out of the way, giving him access to Brooke’s private domain. When she closed the door behind him, she asked, “Don’t you two hate each other?”
This meant that Brooke had decided to keep their “truce with benefits” a secret. Didn’t girlfriends talk about everything, especially when it pertained to men? Unsure of how he felt about that, Ethan scoped out the living room with a keener eye than the night before, searching for clues that he was in the domain of an artist. “I’m surprised you even let me in.”
The bracelets on Miranda’s wrist jingled as she ran a hand through her thick mane of hair. “I have this perverse love for drama,” she purred. “Brooke and I are polar opposites in that regard—which is why we get along so well.”
They made small talk while he familiarized himself with Brooke’s home. The complex was modern, clean, and in a nice neighborhood. She probably shelled out nearly two grand per month in rent. The open floor plan and recessed ceilings made it look bigger than it actually was. He suspected that she’d made her bedroom out of what was intended to be the family room, and that the actual bedrooms were at the top of the stairs beside the kitchen.
What was up there? And how easy would it be to get Miranda to show him?
“It’s her studio and guest room,” Miranda said, breaking him from his reverie.
Ethan chuckled, again asking, “Am I that transparent?”
“As a starving lizard.”
He followed her into the kitchen. “Sounds creepy.”
She got a glass from the cabinet, filled it with what looked like iced tea and held it out to him. “Are you a creep, Ethan?”
“I don’t want to be.” He took her offering and, after a tentative sip, deemed it safe. “I actually apologized to Brooke earlier today. Something I don’t do often.”
A gleam filled her dark, exotic eyes. “Good for you, Mr. GQ.”
Ugh. He hated that label and thought it was mighty judgmental. Did Brooke call him that behind his back? Probably. She used to despise him after all. “So, uh…she was a graphic designer for her father,” he said.
“Mm-hmm. A damn good one.”
“You said her studio is upstairs?”
“Yes, why?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’d love to see her work. We have a very spoiled lead illustrator who could use a good kick in the ass.” In fact, if Brooke was good enough, he might convince Ken to send Bill Knight back to South Dakota. She could lead that department if he won VP, and the problem would be solved.
Miranda considered him for a moment over the rim of her glass. She must have detected the sincerity behind his request because she crooked her head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Ethan smiled. “Even though she may not like that?”
“Sometimes Brooke can be her own worst enemy. I think it’s time she let you in.” He moved to follow. She pointed toward his glass. “Please leave that down here; she doesn’t allow drinks upstairs.”
He obediently set the dripping glass down on the island’s surface. “Why not? Is she a neat freak too?”
“More like a geek. Too many electronics.”
When she led him into the studio, he was a bit stunned to find a workstation topped by a bank of high-tech computer screens and equipment. On the other side of the room was a drafting table littered with rolls of canvas, textured papers, and open cabinets filled with a wide variety of art supplies. Next to the drafting table was a large-format printer, much like the ones in the creative department at work. He lifted a roll of paper from the shelf below it and held it up to find four complex graphic-design ads situated in a rectangular pattern. They all advertised various ways to use a popular local brand of rust remover.
“Those are hers,” Miranda said, peering over his shoulder. “She used to bring her work home a lot.”
“Why doesn’t she still do this?”
“Her mother, who was a co-owner, developed a heart condition and had to retire. So her father needed Brooke to pull double duty for a while. She put in way too many hours if you ask me, but she didn’t exactly have a personal life after Brandon left.”
Her dour look indicated that she’d offered too much information. Ethan dismissed her concern with a glib, “You aren’t the first to mention him.”
On the drafting table, he saw a sleek poster for Learjet, some low-light motion graphics for a roller skating rink, and a serene underwater oasis for a local spa. “These are…incredible.” He held up the underwater oasis. “This one’s hanging in the office.” Miranda nodded and he wondered how many more works of art in the office belonged to Brooke. “Did she go to school?”
“Nope. The other Monroe designers tutored her a little, but it’s mostly just raw talent.”
“What in the hell is she doing in the administrative department now? I’m sure Ken would pay her plenty as a designer.”
Miranda plopped down into the desk chair and barked out a laugh. “Do not ask her that. She’ll think you’re dissing her management capabilities.”
“I think I’ll take that risk,” Ethan said with a frown. Why should he give up his position to a woman much better suited for other jobs? “Miranda, I understand why she’s pissed. I have a feeling it has more to do with her loyalty toward you and Amy and all the others who lost their jobs. She made that pretty clear from the start. But I’ll bet money Ken won’t let her rehire any of you regardless of her authority as vice president. He’s not a pushover and he doesn’t make those decisions lightly.”
“Ethan…,” Miranda sat forward and rested her elbows on her knees, “we aren’t exactly holding our breath. Hell, Amy already found a job. We know Brooke’s intentions are good, but we aren’t her only excuse. She was unhappy in just one department. When her dad let her move around, she found this nice balance that kept things fresh. She got to feed her creative side, her techy side, her administrative side.. Her father gave her that freedom. Ken Stevens won’t. Now she can’t even start fresh with her own graphics business because of that non-compete clause in her contract. Unless she’s laid off, of course, which would hurt your company more than help it.”
This only strengthened her motive to cheat. Though Ethan desperately hoped that wasn’t the case, he couldn’t ignore the damning clues that kept surfacing. He looked past Miranda and drank in all the hardware beneath the bank of screens that was somewhat concealed by the shadow of the desk. Some of it was broken open and partially stripped. Strange contraptions were connected via USB ports to the only computer tower with a glowing power button. He walked over to get a closer lo
ok at some printouts scattered across the desk. Most of it was gibberish, but the corner of a notepad peaked out from beneath the pile.
“I don’t think she’d appreciate you going through that,” Miranda said behind him.
“She has nothing to hide.” Ethan echoed her words to him in the elevator that were spoken with such conviction and emotion when they were truly connecting for the first time. He pulled the notepad out and instantly recognized her wild scrawl. Several things popped out at once.
Miranda began to pull on his arm. “Come on, I think you’ve seen enough.”
He shook her off and kept reading.
Voices came from downstairs and a door slammed. Brooke was home and she wasn’t alone. He looked at Miranda.
“Amy’s here too,” she explained. “We sort of ambushed her.”
“Yeah.” His voice was tight. “She tends to frown on that.”
“Miranda!” Brooke called from below the stairs.
The woman winced. “If she finds you going through her stuff, I’ll be in trouble.” She ripped the notepad from his grasp, stuck it back beneath the papers, and forced him to follow. “Coming!”
Armed with what he’d learned, Ethan descended the stairs without an ounce of expression on his face. Brooke was waiting at the bottom, her eyes practically burning with guilt. It wasn’t until then that Ethan knew for certain his suspicions about her had been well justified. The disappointment that coursed through him quickly turned to anger…then to betrayal.
The woman barely breathed as she watched him take the last step. She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
He answered with a cold sort of detachment: “Learning more and more about you as I go.”
Her terrified gaze darted to Miranda. “Why did you take him up there?”
“He wanted to see your work,” the woman explained with a shrug. “I didn’t see the harm.”
In the kitchen, Amy unpacked the groceries with wide-eyed curiosity. Ethan acknowledged her with a nod and then turned toward the front door. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”
“Ethan, wait—”
“What, Brooke?” He stopped and turned with a desire to shake the life out of her. They stared at each other for a few tense seconds. She was dying to ask him something. When the silence stretched on too long, he gave her no more chances to come clean on her own. “See you at work tomorrow,” he said coldly and headed toward the door with the weight of crushing disappointment resting heavily on his shoulders.
And this time she let him go.
FRIDAY—THE LAST DAY OF COMPETITION—BEGAN strangely quiet. Brooke reached her desk, put down her belongings, and noticed that Ken’s office blinds were closed. Ethan was nowhere in sight. Shannon’s lights were on, but she wasn’t around either. The sense of unease that had haunted her since Ethan’s untimely visit the night before grew into a pool of dread. He’d seen something in her home last night. Despite Miranda’s denials, she knew it to be true. The mistrust radiating from him in potent waves had not been her imagination.
She picked up her phone and dialed Roger’s extension.
“Systems.”
“Is Roger in yet?”
“He’s in Ken’s office.”
The pool of dread turned into a pit of doom. He knew. And now Ken would know. Roger didn’t have the spine to keep his mouth shut when put under that kind of pressure.
Her brain raced to stay ahead of the game. Shit, shit, shit…everything she’d done for this company was about to implode around her. Ken and Ethan already suspected her; they wouldn’t understand. She’d never convince them.
The problem was that she couldn’t even blame Miranda. Her friend was a matchmaker at heart and was only trying to give Ethan more insight into what made her tick.
Now, with only nine hours to go and a healthy lead under her belt, Brooke had a feeling that the competition was already over for her.
Ken’s door opened. Roger walked out of it and shut it behind him. Brooke stood with a nervous edge as she watched him approach. The look on his face said it all.
She swallowed hard. “You told them, didn’t you?”
The apology in his eyes came with a helpless shrug. “I may have said something to Wolf yesterday. I thought he already knew.”
Ken’s door opened again. Ethan’s head popped into view, his eyes immediately searching her out. Their blue-gray depths were cold, lacking the warmth she’d come to know the day before and even the cocky assuredness from before that.
“Brooke. Would you join us, please?”
So professional and by the book; how did it ever come to this? Just one month ago, she was so close to running the business her father had built from the ground up. Now these people she considered as invaders were about to throw her out as if she never had a right to fight for it.
She glanced at Roger. It was clear the man was oblivious to the serious nature of her predicament. His attention darted between them and then his lips parted as it dawned on him that she was actually in trouble. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and walked toward Ken’s office.
Shannon sat with her back to the blinds. Ken was behind his desk, searching her face for answers the moment she walked in. Ethan stood by the window, his mouth stretched into a grim line.
Ken gestured to one of the empty chairs. “Sit down, please.”
She smoothed her skirt on the way down and sat primly on the edge.
“Do you know why we called you in here?” Ken asked.
Brooke fought back an urge to throw up. “I think I can guess.”
“Why didn’t you divulge that you’d also been a systems operator here?”
“For the same reason I didn’t divulge I’d been a designer. It had no relevance in my bid to secure the vice president position.”
Ethan spoke: “Is it also because you wanted to spy on this company without drawing suspicion to yourself?”
“No.”
Ken: “Did you spy on this company, Brooke?”
She swallowed and stared down at her hands. The sound of her heartbeat drowned out the accusatory thrum of Shannon’s fingernails on her chair. Her worst nightmare coming true, Brooke answered with a quiet “Yes.”
“I knew someone had been hacking into my computer!” Shannon burst out. “I started noticing discrepancies in the dates on my confidential files, ones I knew I hadn’t opened that recently.”
Ken’s eyes raked over her from across the desk her father used to occupy. “Do you know anything about that?” he asked softly.
Brooke clenched her hands together to stop them from shaking. “I’d rather not say, sir.” What she really wanted to say was Yes. I took a peek, but not to leak what I found. It was to find out what was worthy enough to keep an eye on.
It was what she would have done as systems administrator. But these three people would never understand that or believe her.
Ken released a loud breath and settled into a pose that meant business. “Ms. Monroe, since discovering your technical background, we checked your computer.”
Her eyes closed.
“We saw you’d recently broken through security and bypassed our system altogether. In the process, you managed to avoid our internal monitoring software, which records your personal keystrokes, as well as your internet activity. Do you deny this?”
“ No , sir.”
“You realize that even though we can’t see what you’ve been doing, the timing is what works against you in this case. Since yours is the only computer not being monitored, we have to assume you’re the one who broke into Ms. Webber’s confidential files. This provides me with ample cause to fire you.”
Her heart breaking into a thousand pieces all over again, Brooke’s answer came out hoarsely: “Yes, sir.”
“Now is the time I ask if there’s anything you’d like to add in your defense.”
Brooke quickly glanced at Ethan, who stared at the floor in quiet condemnation. “Only that my intentions weren’t to hurt this compa
ny,” she said to him. Shannon made a sound of disgust. “But I realize why it would appear that way.” She stood on shaky legs. “I assume you’d like me to clear out my desk now, Mr. Stevens?”
Ken sat back in his chair and regarded her with a look of professional detachment. Gone was any warmth he may have developed for her within the two measly weeks of her employment here. “I’m afraid so,” he answered. “In the interest of our non-compete clause, you won’t seek employment in this industry for the next year or have any business dealings with our current customers in that time. All of your accounts, including the Parks campaign, will be divided among the other account specialists.”
She dared one more look at Ethan, whose only sign of emotion came from a slight pulse at his jaw. At this point, it would be best to leave as quietly as possible, so she only nodded and left the three of them to discuss her transgressions in private.
When she reached her desk, it was blurred by the tears in her eyes. The humiliation she’d just endured was beyond anything she’d ever experienced, including the sale of her graphic-design business. Her mind numbed over with needless worries. Who would take care of her Ficus tree? Was she allowed to take the coffee cup she’d used for years, or had Ken legally purchased that too? What in the world was she going to put her stuff in? A box, she needed a box.
Roger appeared, a wobbly distortion in her peripheral vision. “What happened?”
Brooke carefully lowered herself to the chair while keeping her gaze averted. “He fired me.”
“Why?” he exploded. “Because you used to work in systems? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Because they found out I was spying on the company.”
A deathly silence followed her statement. “You wouldn’t do something like that,” Roger said with a good dose of denial.
Her eyes welled up even more. “I did do it, Roger.” She reached for a tissue, hoping she was still entitled to one.
“Brooke…,” his hand touched her arm. “No.”
“Ms. Monroe.” Her eyes now dry, she looked over to find the security guard plunking an empty box on her desk. “I’m here to help you collect your things.”