Boss Undercover: Part 1 (Boss Undercover Series)

by J. S. Badham

  “This is Officer Jones. I have a murder on—”

  She did not have a chance to finish her words as the tall figure snatched the radio from her hand and pushed her to the ground. The figure applied pressure on her neck with the gun, its metallic surface cold and firm against her skin.

  “Fucking stay down, bitch!” he spat. “Call it off now before I fucking blow your brains out!”

  Eva choked, gasping for air as she struggled to fight back. The figure placed the walkie-talkie towards her mouth and forcefully applied more pressure. “Now. Do it.”

  Struggling to defy the man, she nodded. As he began to ease the gun, Eva kicked the man in the groin. He moaned in agony, allowing her room to jump up. Eva picked up the walkie-talkie, bringing it towards her mouth when two solid arms suddenly took her hostage and snatched the device from her hands again. Eva screamed, kicking her feet out as her unknown captor pulled her along. The man she had kicked to the groin began to slowly get to his feet, groaning a little as he ordered, “Get her inside, quick. She’s one of them. I’ll remove this body. Let’s just hope her little buddies didn’t get the message.”

  “’Course,” the stranger agreed. She remained restrained as he pulled her towards the door, her struggles useless. She was dragged into the dark building. Behind her, she could hear the door being shut, then the movement of the man reaching to the side.

  “What we going to tell the boss?”

  “We’ll bring her along. I don’t fancy cleaning up a cop,” the man said, his voice gruff as he continued upfront.

  “Won’t they know if she’s missing?” the figure who held her asked.

  “We’ll let the boss fix that. Now get her in the van.”

  Eva screamed, although it was barely audible as her mouth was covered with material, and suddenly everything went dark.

  ***

  CLAIRE

  RING. RING. RING.

  Claire jumped suddenly out of her skin, throwing the plastic bowl full of sweet and salty popcorn into the air, the kernels raining like edible paper confetti. Her heart rate hammered like crazy as she shoved off the blanket, muted the television, and sped in her own time—a snail’s pace—to the kitchen to answer the phone.

  “Hello?” she whispered, leaning her back gently onto the wooden kitchen counter.

  “Claire, it’s me. Why are you whispering?”

  “Oh, Abbey! H—hey, heyyy.” She coughed, awkwardly scratching the top of her head in embarrassment. At least it wasn’t a murderous killer, she thought. “No reason.”

  “Okayyy. Well…I was just checking up. Seeing if things were going all right. I saw your advert on Facebook for the apartment. Any luck yet?” Abbey asked.

  Claire groaned, running her right hand through her hair. “No. Nothing. Absolutely jackshit! It’s ridiculous! I would have thought someone would have at least phoned up, but there’s not been a single soul. Not that I blame anyone. It’s because the stupid landlord has decided to put the rent up.” She sighed, standing on her tip-toes. “Oh, Abbey, why did you leave me for that boyfriend of yours?” she teased.

  “I’m actually asking myself that every day,” Abbey joked.

  “Don’t lie, you love it.”

  “Well, have you tried the local universities? There has to be some students looking for a place to live, especially if all the nightlife, public transport, and food chains are nearby, and you live right damn in the centre of the city,” Abbey suggested.

  “Nope. Again. I don’t think their finances stretch far enough with what my bloody landlord is asking,” Claire grumbled.

  She could hear shuffling from Abbey’s line, a single pause before her friend piped up, “Oh, oh! Please tell me you’re seeing someone, Claire?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Abbey.” Claire dragged her hand down her face with frustration. “I don’t have time if I want to get that promotion,” she explained, aware that wouldn’t excuse her in Abbey’s eyes.

  “You’ve been waiting for that promotion for ages. That shouldn’t stop you from dating,” she lectured. “It’s important that you don’t end up like a cat lady, Claire.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “That’s such a cliché thing to say.”

  “Welcome to society. And, Claire, are you wearing that top with the ‘I’m single and I don’t want to mingle’ on it? You know, the one you always wear when you’re having a lazy day in?” Abbey pointed out. Claire could imagine the peak of her eyebrow rocketing up alongside that.

  “So? I like that top.”

  “Yeah, and you’re twenty-four. Anyway, I gotta go. Matthew is burning the food; I can smell it. I’m sure you’ve smashed your promotion. You always have your shit together. I’ll text you later or something,” she said, ending the call.

  Claire sighed, then mimicked Abbey as she turned her hand into a sock puppet, “You need to date. Blah. Blah.” She paused, dropping her hand, then glancing to her top. “I like this top.”

  ***

  ZACK

  “Okay, what? A bet?” Zack reiterated, scratching the tip of his nose.

  “Yeah, you’ve given me an idea,” Kyle agreed, slapping his knees as he got to his feet. “We’ll make a bet. Besides, every CEO pretty much goes on a break. The business can just run itself and you could have flown off to Las Vegas for all they know.” He slowly grinned from ear to ear.

  “I’m confused, man. What are you getting at?” Zack got to his own feet, watching as Kyle wandered around the room, biting the tip of his thumb and going back and forth between the fireplace and Zack.

  Kyle suddenly exclaimed, “I got it!” Picking up a magazine from off the side, he jerked it in front of Zack’s face, jabbing at a single word. “This,” he cried out. “Undercover. You. You do this! You’ll do as you said. Pose as an employee in your firm and learn that I was right all along. You won’t be able to cope,” he said, triumphantly crossing his arms as Zack snatched the magazine out of his hands.

  “So what? Is this how I’m supposed to prove I can be normal?” Zack muttered, confused.

  “Yes. And think about it. It’s like an unofficial inspection of your own company if you want to see it like that, too. I know you’re competitive, Zack, so I know you’ll accept.” Kyle smiled, adjusting his fedora slightly.

  “I’m just—wait, so, to prove I’m not idle…wait—hang on.” Zack itched some of the stubble cloaking his chin. “So, you want me to put myself on hold, go into my business, pretend to be an employee for however long just to prove I’m not idle as you say I am?” he explained, watching as Kyle’s face lit up.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you even know how silly you sound? I mean…” Zack snickered, waving his hands gently about by his sides. “You want me to—you have got to be joking!” He shook his head in disbelief as he pulled out his iPhone. “Ah, great.” Zack threw his phone back onto the side. “Dad ain’t so happy about my appearance last night. Another fucking thing he’ll have me for. I swear, what is even the point of me running it?”

  “I’ll make it’ll worth your time,” Kyle sang, ignoring what he previously said.

  “Name your price,” Zack sternly said, his lips curving. “I might as well. It’s not like I’m really doing anything.”

  “I get choice of any of your cars. And you have to go on a date with my cousin if you fail,” Kyle demanded. “And I don’t mean Jenna. I mean my cousin, Trevor.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s just a bit of fun, Zacky-boy. Or are you too chicken to go through with it?” Kyle teased.

  “No, I’ll do it.” Zack held out his hand.

  “Don’t you want your side of the bargain?”

  “Nope. I just like the good ol’ spirit of competition,” he replied.

  “Well, okay,” Kyle said, then shook Zack’s hand. “Oh, and by the way. I didn’t say how long this bet will last. So thanks for signing this deal with the devil.” He smirked, gripping Zack’s hand.

 
If there was one thing about Zack, he didn’t like losing.

  Chapter Two

  CLAIRE

  Claire had never felt so exhausted. If she hadn’t been well aware that her alarm clock was the life vessel towards her living¸ eating, and surviving in this world, she would have smashed it, chopped it, and burned it to pieces. She hated mornings. She was pretty sure her mirror hated her mornings too; her hair was a bird’s nest, dribble was still snaking out of her mouth, and—she might as well have called them teabags—she had small bags under her eyes. Thank God she didn’t have anyone in her bed, because even her toothpaste seemed repulsed to want to touch her stinky breath—a gift by yours truly, the retainers.

  She sluggishly headed out of the bedroom, took five minutes in the bathroom, then forced herself into the kitchen. She could always detour back to bed¸ she thought. No, she forced herself to make a coffee. Its power to knock some energy into her was evident as she felt its fierce embrace slide down the back of her throat. Ah, coffee, her only companion in the mornings. It didn’t bug, didn’t moan or speak; it knew the only way to survive the mornings was to hush up and let a person relax. If this happened to be a set scene for a TV advertisement, she’d nailed it. Cut the crap out of being ebullient at the crack of dawn, look half-asleep, and move like a sloth, then you’ve nailed it. This should be how coffee should be served.

  Seven-thirty was already moving on; Claire had just only happened to slip on her second black ankle boot. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, she groaned as she slumped forward, begging herself to go back to sleep. But it made no difference. She got up, shoved on her blue parka jacket with the white fluff around the hood, locked up the apartment, and headed for the bus stop.

  The bus was not tardy this morning. It arrived dead on time, exactly what was predicted on the timetable downloaded to her phone. Thank God, she thought. There were plenty of vacant seats. And there were the familiar faces of commuters she saw pretty much every day. Some looked shattered, just like Claire felt. The journey was the same—long queues of traffic, so many frequent stops—and there was always someone who decided to fall asleep, someone who just happened to slump awkwardly onto Claire’s shoulder. But, alas! She made it, getting off at her stop to follow the marching congregation of crowds meandering through the business district. Claire felt lucky that her workplace, the towering rectangle compared to its neighbours, was not far from her bus stop.

  Bensons Corporations. The location of its headquarters. Some old man, or whoever the CEO was, sat right at the top of the floor while all his working ants, like Claire, shared the floors below. She entered the building, swiping her ID card to get through the barriers, smiling as she caught sight of her other close friend, Darren, snooping through the collection of visitors’ magazines.

  “Morning, sunshine.” He smiled, the cheekiness prevalent in his small dimples on either side of his cheeks.

  “Oh, why must you remind me?” Claire said, playfully frowning as they headed side by side towards the elevated space holding five lifts on either side.

  They stepped in one lift. “Excited? Nervous?” Darren said, nudging her in the shoulder.

  “I’m…anxious,” she replied. “I just want to get it over with. I need this promotion. It will help pay the bills.”

  “Oh, yeah, you know, I saw some guy looking at your advert pinned on the board this morning. Maybe they’ll be interested. And you know you have nothing to worry about,” he encouraged as they stepped out onto the sixth floor. They passed through the lines of desks holding her fellow colleagues captive, making their way to the department’s kitchen to quickly snag a cup of tea.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Claire muttered, flopping into the chair.

  “Here, cheer up. You need to be more positive. I bet you’ll get a phone call sooner than you think. And, girl, you know, we’ll be celebrating in no time when you get that promotion, eh?” He winked, filling two empty cups with hot water.

  “Morning!” another voice blurted.

  Claire and Darren looked over. Jason, one of their friendly colleagues, entered the room, taking his empty mug to the sink.

  “Hey!” Darren cheerfully replied.

  Jason was one of those men Claire was slightly confused about. Not that she was confused about him as a person, but she couldn’t tell if she had a bit of a crush on him or she just liked his character. The man did have a nice ass, though.

  “How was your weekend?” Jason asked, drying his hands on a tea-towel.

  “Good. Just the usual. Parties, just like back when I was that daring, young, gay teenager,” Darren teased, waving his hand with sass.

  “And you?”

  Claire blinked. “Ah, doing some catch-up work, but I did watch a movie.”

  “Good, good. Well, hey, good luck today, Claire. I’m cheering for you,” he said, whooping his right fist in the air briefly. “See you guys around, then.” He exited the kitchen.

  “He fancies the socks off you,” Darren declared, raising his right brow.

  “Er, no, he doesn’t,” she disagreed. “What makes you even think that, I’ll never know.”

  “I just know.”

  Their conversation ceased as Monica, the red-haired devil, as gorgeous as a top model, broke into the kitchen. “Chop, chop, you two. We’re having a staff meeting,” she stated, possibly spitting fire at the end of her tongue.

  “Thanks, Monica,” he sneered. “I would love to just throw those black Gucci heels she wears into her face.” He rolled his sleeves up.

  “A’ight, a’ight, easy, tiger. Let’s just get in there.” Claire chuckled, guiding Darren like a mother would do to a child, out of the kitchen and into the office space.

  The majority of staff were huddled around, some quickly sneaking past, to not get caught being late. Darren and Claire pushed on towards the back, watching as Clive Graves, department manager, exited his exclusive office holding a pile of paper under his arm. He was a grey-haired man, broad, and he was very boastful about those huge bullet-sized arms. Susan—the office gossiper—had accused him of using steroids. She’d also thrown in that, apparently, he was sleeping around with Monica.

  “Okay, settle down,” Graves ordered, loosening his tie a little. “I know that some of you have been very anxious as to who will become co-department manager for some months now. But, alas…” He sighed, leaning his hefty hands onto a desk. “I’ve decided…”

  Claire’s heart was thumping like a drum. The tension was unbelievable. She wanted it so badly.

  Darren squeezed her arm reassuringly. “You’ve got this,” he whispered.

  Graves opened his mouth. “That person is,” he said, driving Claire even crazier by the second, “Ms. Monica Andrews.” He clapped his hands along with the rest of the office except Darren and Claire. She slumped into her chair, defeated.

  “How is this even possible?” she muttered, dropping her head into her hands.

  “Claire. I’m so sorry—”

  “I worked so, so damn hard,” she interrupted, passionately erasing the physical sight of Monica being congratulated at the front until only a few gathered around her. “I had employee of the year last year. I worked overtime. I even helped Marketing improve targets for customer relationships. It just doesn’t make sense, Darren.” She wanted to cry.

  “I know, babe. I know you did,” Darren said, sitting on the adjacent desktop chair and clasping her hands. “This isn’t because of you. This is because she’s manipulated him with sex.”

  “And how’s that fair? It’s bad enough women still get shit in the workplace. Eurgh!” she complained, slapping her hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch. It just sucks. I genuinely would have been happier if it were anyone else. Just not her. She makes me so mad.”

  “Er, don’t apologise, babes. I feel the hatred just as you do. Graves is being so unfair,” he agreed.

  “Now what? It’s not like I could go and complain. And now I still can’t fix my rent problem,” she
sighed.

  “And I told you, if it gets to that, you can move in with me, babes,” Darren said.

  “That’s why I love you.” Claire smiled tightly.

  ***

  ZACK

  Zack leaned back in his leather desktop chair, drumming his fingers together as if he were praying—although, if he could, he would pray that his father would stop pestering him. It didn’t help he had gotten lectured on the phone last night on how important it was for him to maintain his father’s positive relationships within the elite circles. How his father found out was another thing. Maybe his old man had connections with the MI5.

  “So, you were joking about all that yesterday, right?” Zack suggested, watching as Kyle, this time in bright green chinos, sat on the single black leather armchair opposite Zack’s desk.

  “Er, no. You’re going through with it. And thanks to me, I’ve made it ten times more possibly real,” he replied, eagerly unwrapping the sweet wrapper from the mint he’d picked up from the bowl on the side table next to him. It was supposed to be for visitors.

  “Ah, well,” Zack sighed, flipping over folders on his desk to illustrate his point. “It’s not like I have much to do,” he said sarcastically.

  “Deal’s been made. And it’s a bit of fun.” Kyle crunched on the mint. “Anyway, I saw this advert on floor six. And might I just add, your building is still a fucking maze. Anyway…” He swallowed. “Someone is advertising for a flatmate. Down in the city centre, so not far from here. So there’s your accommodation sorted for some months to come.” Kyle smirked proudly, leaning his leg over the other.

  “Oh, okay,” Zack sneered, “I’m supposed to move in with someone. I thought it was just me working undercover here and learning to be normal?”