On second thought, maybe he wouldn't tell her that he had tried subliminal programming on Allistair. She just might call that interfering.
* * * *
Ken walked Jo to her office the next morning. He nearly stopped short when they walked past his office and he saw the door was ajar, just enough to be noticeable. Somehow he managed to keep talking--what they talked about, he couldn't remember later--and made sure she got safely to her office without being ambushed by Allistair or one of his cronies. He walked back to his office, with a lead weight of apprehension sinking deeper in his stomach.
He nudged his door and tested the doorknob--nothing seemed wrong. Somehow, that wasn't a good sign. He stepped into his office and closed the door before turning the light on. No sense in letting the enemy see him react to whatever damage might have been done to his office. But nothing seemed out of order. Ken kept looking around while he hung up his coat, folded his scarf and put it on the shelf next to his coat hook. Then he sat down at his desk.
The monitor power light was on. The tiny amber light meant the monitor had been turned on, but not the CPU. Or was it the other way around? Someone had turned it off, but not the monitor? He leaned over and reached under his desk to put his hand on the dark gray plastic casing. He felt the residual warmth even before his fingers touched it. So, someone had been in his office this morning, searching his computer files.
He always locked his office at night. The only people who had the key besides Jo and the security guards were the cleaning crew, and they hadn't been in last night. That left him only a few guesses about what was up and who had been sneaking around his office.
There was a time to be a bigger man than his petty enemies, and there was a time to be sensible and ask for help. This was a problem for the whole company. If one person could circumvent standard office procedures and security, then so could others. And if people in security and IT were involved in breaking the rules, then Myerhausen had a real problem.
Ken called the head of security first, and then one of his weekend basketball buddies who worked in Maintenance. The computer was still warm when Ted in security came in. He gave the go-ahead for maintenance to change the lock on Ken's office door. Then they both went to report to Mr. Myerhausen.
* * * *
Jo laughed when she heard the doorbell ring only ten minutes after Ken dropped her off at home that night. She had left her shoe bag in Ken's car for the second time, and had resigned herself to getting teased about her forgetfulness when he picked her up in the morning. Leave it to Ken to turn around and come back to give it to her tonight.
"Okay," she said as she yanked the front door open. "I take back all the things I ever said about guys being--"
"Being what?" Allistair grinned wide enough to show his back teeth. "Nice place. I'm glad you could keep it, after all the hospital bills you have to pay."
Jo bit back a retort that no, she doubted he was glad about anything on her behalf. It chilled her to realize Allistair had researched her.
"Are you going to invite me in?" he continued, when silence and a glare were all she could manage in her own defense. Then he held out a paper-wrapped bouquet of three pink roses.
"No, I'm not. I don't make it a practice to invite troublemakers into my house."
Jo held her breath, waiting for Allistair's next onslaught of charm. Several new friends at work had warned her about his two-faced attack method. She thought she could handle Allistair at his villainous best more easily than the charm that didn't give her any loopholes to resist him.
"That's fair." His smile drooped and he backed away from her door. The bouquet hung at his side. "We got off to a bad start, and I do apologize. There's no reason for you to get caught up in a stupid contest between Ken and me. I really do want to be friends."
She opened her mouth to tell him she made it a practice never to be friends with co-workers. But that would be a lie. She wanted to be friends with Ken. Much closer than they were already.
But that wasn't helping her deal with Allistair, who would start gloating if she stayed silent much longer.
"I think this should be handled at the office. Coming to my home, uninvited, sends all the wrong signals."
"Ah. Good point." He nodded and backed up another step. "Honestly, I'm sorry for how badly things got started. I hope you'll let me be friends at work, at least."
"You could start by being friendly to everyone in the office, not just the people who can do you some good."
"Ouch." He offered a lopsided grin and started down the stairs. "I swear, the reformation starts now. See you in the morning."
"Not if I see you first," she muttered, when he vanished around the corner of the house. She stayed in the doorway, listening to his footsteps on the driveway, until she heard the thud of his car door slamming shut. Shivering from more than the chill wind, she closed her door.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again. Jo put down the can of soup she had just decided to make for dinner, and stomped to the door. If Allistair had returned, she was going to yank those roses from his hand and slap his smug face with them. She hoped the florist had left the thorns on.
"I cannot believe this," the woman standing there sneered when Jo pulled the door open.
Jo stood still, trying to figure out what was going on. She did not know this woman in a fur-trimmed black wool car coat and a red dress skinny-tight enough to make Twiggy gasp for breath. Who in the world took the time to match her boots with her hat, gloves and purse?
Answer: someone who had money and time to burn.
Jo allowed herself two seconds of jealousy, then pushed it away. Even if she had the money and time to spend on her wardrobe, there were better things to do with both. Her unidentified and unwanted guest was giving her a thorough inspection. From the ugly curve of her upper lip, this woman with her I-just-spent-six-hours-at-a-salon hairdo didn't like what she saw.
"Let's get something straight. You don't have the style or the class or the brass to get your claws into Allistair, so just quit while you still have your eyes. Comprende?" The stranger flexed her red-lacquered nails for illustration.
"What makes you think I want Allistair?" Jo laughed, mostly from surprise.
"He followed you home." Glamour-Puss looked around the porch with its peeling paint and shredding doormat. Her expression said she expected to need a tetanus shot.
"He's trying to get in good with me so he can hijack Ken's new project. Why any woman would want that sleaze when she could have Ken--well, she needs to get her head examined." She realized that was the wrong response two seconds after the words left her lips.
Her guest's sneer went cold, she took a step backwards and looked Jo up and down again. "You're after Ken? Big mistake. Until those divorce papers are signed, Ken Jenkins is still my husband. He always was a softy, taking in strays and helping the sad-sacks at the warehouse, but with you he's scraping the bottom of the barrel. It's a good thing I shook free of that loser when--" She squealed when Jo's open palm connected fast and hard with her over-rouged cheek.
Jo gaped. She had never slapped anyone before. She didn't think she had it in her.
Then again, she hadn't known Ken was married, either. When the girls at the office talked about that skinny witch, Brittney, she thought the woman was just a girlfriend. What kind of woman would marry a wonderful guy like Ken and then dump him for Allistair Somerville?
With a yowl like a wet cat, the twitch leaped at her with both sets of claws spread and ready to rip. Jo screamed and ducked and turned, putting her elbow into the woman's almost nonexistent gut. But not before one set of claws raked her cheek.
"Get this straight, you filthy--"
"No, you get this straight," Jo snarled. "I wouldn't touch that idiot Allistair with a twenty foot pole and I'm this close to pressing assault charges."
"Assault!"
"I could go to a hospital right now and get documentation and they'll call the police. You're on my property, threatenin
g me, trespassing, and probably a dozen other charges I can come up with. Who do you think they're going to believe?"
Part of Jo stood back in amazement, unable to believe the words spilling out of her mouth. She had wanted to think this fast, be this vicious when neighbors were nasty to Aunt Myrtle or the doctors lied and overcharged for treatments that didn't help, or a dozen other injustices. She had always been afraid to make waves, to stand up for her rights, fearing that if she didn't cooperate, she would lose what little help she and her aunt had.
Jo thought maybe she would like this new part of herself. Once she got over the shock.
"Maybe I should just call the police right now. I have your license plate," she lied. Jo pulled her hand away from her face and was shocked and satisfied to see blood streaking her palm. She showed her bloody hand to the twitch, who had gone so pale all her makeup showed up in stark relief like clown paint. "I'll give you until the count of five to get into your car. Then I'm letting the dogs out. Self-defense. No judge in the land will convict me." She took a deep breath.
The twitch didn't move.
"One." She prayed the woman moved soon, because she didn't have any dogs to let loose on her.
Jo kept counting, even as the woman slipped and stumbled down the steps and the paving stones to the driveway. She picked up a snowball and lobbed it at the red sports car, just as the engine roared to life.
It was true, what Aunt Myrtle always said. The ones who shrieked the loudest and made the most threats had the most crimes to hide and the most to fear.
Jo stayed on the porch, memorizing the license plate before the car pulled into the street and screeched away. Then her hands started shaking. She made it through the door before her knees wobbled, but she managed to lock up and stumble to the couch.
She didn't cry. There was this odd, empty feeling inside, like she had been kicked in the gut, but numbness instead of pain.
That twitch said she was getting divorced from Ken. That meant she was Ken's wife. Legally, if no other way.
Ken had married her? Ken liked that kind of woman, with her clothes painted on, wearing an inch of makeup, driving a fancy sports car that probably cost more to service than the monthly mortgage on Aunt Myrtle's house?
They were getting divorced, weren't they? That meant Ken had seen the light.
But she had come here to drive Jo away from Allistair, so what did that mean?
That anorexic idiot had left Ken for Allistair. What was wrong with her? Besides a hooker's taste in clothes and makeup?
But Ken had married her? What was wrong with him?
* * * *
Jo wasn't at home when Ken came to pick her up the next morning. He rang the doorbell and walked around the house to look in the kitchen windows and see if she was all right. The wrinkled little man next door leaned out his upstairs window and told him Jo had left early for the bus. He warned Ken he'd better take care of Jo, because she was a good girl and took good care of her aunt before she died, God rest her soul.
Ken assured him he planned to take very good care of her, before he got back in his car, in a hurry to get to the office.
Had he done or said something yesterday to irritate Jo?
He could hear her tapping away on the keyboard before he walked into her office with the bag of shoes. That reassured him. Would she be working so hard if something was wrong?
"Hey, Jo, are you okay? I stopped by your house--" Then he saw the scratches on her cheek. She had tried to hide it under makeup, but obviously she didn't have a thousand-dollar investment in makeup like Brittney did.
Brittney had left similar marks on his cheek when she was leaving to move in with Allistair, and Ken had been too stunned to get out of the doorway fast enough to suit her. She had clawed Felicia in a catfight that had brought half the office staff running to intervene.
"Sorry." Jo flashed him a thin smile without meeting his eyes. "I should have called you and said I needed to get in early. Did you bring my shoes?"
Numbly, he held out the bag. She took it, thanked him, and put it down under her desk.
"Please tell me you didn't run into Brittney," he said. All Brittney's screaming and whining and ranting couldn't compare to that one hurting look Jo gave him.
"When I run into that-- Well, it'll be with a car and she won't get off so easily," she muttered. Then her eyes widened and she blushed.
"What happened? I'm sorry. Whatever she wanted, it's--well, why did she come after you? The sooner Brittney is free of me, the happier she'll be." He thought of the final divorce papers, sitting on his desk at home for the last two weeks. Ken couldn't remember why he delayed signing those papers. He didn't want Brittney back, and she wouldn't care if he signed right away or never. "I should have signed the divorce papers weeks ago."
"Why didn't you? Are you--" Jo looked away.
"No, I'm not still in love with her." Wow, that was easier to say than I thought. "No, I'm just delaying to irritate her and Allistair. Not that they care whether it's legal for her to live with him while she's still legally married to me. But why did she come after you?"
"Believe it or not, she came to warn me away from Allistair."
"Why'd she rake you?"
"That's what it felt like." She brushed her fingertips over her scratched cheek. "So that's Brittney, huh? I kind of guessed her name, but she didn't stick around to ask mine. For all I know, she still doesn't know who I am."
"Are you going to tell me before I have to shake it out of you?" He felt a little breathless at the momentary surge of anger that just as quickly turned into a feeling like laughter wanted to burst out.
Jo must have felt the same way, because they exchanged grins a moment later. He reached out to touch her cheek. "I've felt her claws myself. What made her think you were interested in Allistair? I mean, I know you have a lot better taste than to encourage him."
"I hope so!" She didn't pull back from his touch, and that encouraged Ken. "Allistair followed me home from work yesterday, and she must have followed him. Those two deserve each other."
"So Allistair made a play for you. He must be tired of Brittney already." Allistair always wants what I have. Does he think Jo is mine already? Please, God, I've been good. She'd be the best Christmas present I ever got.
Ken mentally slapped himself for those thoughts, even as warmth spread through him.
"Thanks," Jo said, "but he's only interested in getting an inside track to either Mr. Myerhausen or the Flagstaff project. Or both."
"Don't be too sure." He regretted it, but Ken knew how it would look if someone saw him sitting on the desk, touching Jo's face, so he withdrew his hand. Did she look a little disappointed? "You're worth the trouble," he added, his voice a rasp he didn't recognize.
"Why didn't you tell me you were married?" she blurted, and got up quickly to pull open a filing cabinet drawer three steps away.
Ken noted her blush. A hungry part of him woke up and howled victory. He hushed it immediately. This was just the first step in what would be a long, careful campaign. After he had messed up so badly with Brittney, he refused to make that kind of mistake again. No more rushing in, no more getting swept up in dreams and facades. Jo was real, honest, and genuine.
"Almost divorced. And that's a part of my life I prefer to forget, thanks very much." He got up off the desk and jammed his hands in his pockets.
"How could she leave you for that slimy Allistair?"
"Thanks." He laughed when she blushed at the throaty emotion in his voice. "Allistair only wants what I have. Brittney figured that out. She couldn't get him interested until it looked like she was interested in me. Then he went on the warpath. She's a real player."
"Yeah, I could tell. Kind of scary, when you think about the time she spends on looking just so..." Jo sighed, and a wistful look flashed into her eyes.
"Hey," he said, softening his voice, wanting to help her. "You don't need to spend time on looking great. That's what I like about you. You don't waste t
ime on makeup and clothes and--Uh, that didn't come out right. But..."
It helped that Jo went red and bit her lips, visibly trying not to laugh. It didn't help that Mr. Myerhausen chose that moment to stick his head out of his office.
"Ken, don't you have something to do besides fluster my secretary?" the old man asked, shaking a reproving finger at him.
"Yes, sir. Sorry." He backed toward the door. "Uh, Jo..."
"I'll see you at lunch," she said, her voice rich with laughter.
Ken hurried for the door. Out in the hall, he stopped for a moment, to give a one-armed pump of victory. It took all his self-control not to dance down the hall to his office.
By the time he got to his chair, his chain of thought had switched, back to that wistfulness in Jo's eyes. She wanted luxuries, to be pampered and wear stylish clothes and hairstyles and makeup, Ken realized. Didn't she see how pretty she was right now? How much more appealing she was in her simple, clean and neat garments, instead of coated in makeup and perfume and too-tight clothes? He knew when he finally took Jo into his arms, she would be soft in all the right places, sleek and firm. She'd smell like rain and wide-open spaces--not a perfume factory.
But before he could start his campaign to win Jo, he had to free himself of Brittney. He kicked himself for not signing those papers immediately. Thinking he could irritate her by delaying, he'd been childish and blind. It wasn't like he wanted her back. Not if she begged him. The sooner he cut the last flimsy ties with Brittney, the sooner he could get to work on winning Jo.
He regretted wasting his wish at Divine's Emporium on a date for the Christmas party. Ken wished he had saved it for the insight and tactics to learn all he could about Jo and convince her to be just as interested in him as he was in her.
He grinned widely as he thought of Divine's. Angela knew Jo. She would advise him.
* * * *
"I hope you aren't going to make a wish for Jo to love you forever," Angela said that evening, once Ken finished explaining the situation at work. She reached out to rest a protective hand on the Wishing Ball.
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