Sleeping With The Truth_An Office Love Baby Daddy Romance

by Kelli Walker

  “What positions did they hold in the company?” I asked.

  “It varied. A few were part-time secretaries. One was a janitor herself. Working through college. A couple worked in the H.R. department. One was hired as a security guard for the front lobby.”

  My hands were shaking as I picked up the folder again. I wasn’t going to wait to read it. I flipped it open and started scanning the pages. Reading the harassment filings. Going over the payroll sheets. Looking at the official fucking paperwork of their massive raises despite no promotions. And we weren’t talking five thousand dollars a year. One woman got a damn thirty thousand dollar raise. For being a part-time Public Relations consultant.

  Someone framed Tiffany’s father.

  I was sure of it.

  I thrust the folder out and Ryan took it from me. I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to calm myself. But my blood was boiling and I could hardly see straight.

  And Tiffany.

  She was right outside the fucking office.

  “Here’s what I want you to do,” I said. “I want the private investigator you hired to compile a list of every employee who’s been at Instatech since it’s inception. Look at everyone. The board of investors. Friends who donate from the outside. Even Roman himself. Then, get that man in here for a formal meeting. I want to speak with him. Someone is harassing these women and paying them well for their silence. There are only a few people in an entire company that can make those kinds of funds happen.”

  “I’m sure it won’t take her long to compile the list, but I’ll make sure she’s thorough.”

  “This isn’t a breach of contract case any longer, Mr. Lockhart.”

  “Ryan is fine. And no, it’s not. This is serious. These women have been silenced. And chances are these harassment filings are false. I’ve seen things like this before in my line of work. They’re told a substantial chunk of money will come their way if they either keep silent or pin it on someone else. In this case, I think it’s both.”

  “What does your gut say?” I asked.

  “My gut? It says that the raises were triggered by the harassment complaints. The dates those filings were reported coincide very tightly with the dates of their raises. Then to keep the raise, they were probably told to keep silent about it. To go along with whatever happened.”

  Fuck. This really wasn’t good.

  Especially if my gut was correct.

  “What does your gut say, Mr. Weber?”

  I stood to my feet and looked out the window. Out at the unassuming world. None of those people had any idea what was going on in my office. What we were uncovering. What I was about to drop on my best friend’s head. Part of me kept telling myself it wasn’t true. That there was a piece of the puzzle I was missing.

  And then, there was that nagging voice in the back of my head.

  “My gut tells me that Tiffany Graves’ father deserves justice and that these women deserve a platform for their voices. Whoever’s doing this to them deserves to rot in the eyes of the media. That’s what my gut tells me, Ryan.”

  “Then I’ll get our P.I. on the line and get working,” he said.

  I stood with my back turned to him as he walked out the door. I didn’t want to chance looking out and seeing Tiffany sitting at her desk. If I did, I risked pulling her in and telling her what I’d found. I wanted to erase our history and try again. I wanted to show her that I was just as wrapped up in this web of lies as she was. But I couldn’t approach her. Not yet. Not until I had all the pieces in the right place.

  Because when I told her that her father was innocent, I wanted to be able to give her definitive proof.

  I looked over at the black television in my office and turned it on. I set the remote down and watched the screen come alive, and before I could bat my eyes the news was droning on. Tiffany’s father’s face was still plastered on the screen and pictures of them were still making headline news. Was nothing else happening in the fucking world? The news had morphed, of course. The focus was no longer on Mr. Graves’ death or our promiscuous sexual tryst. It was now on whether or not I was a murderer. Whether or not I had a hand in her father’s death.

  And whether or not she enjoyed screwing around with the man that killed her damn father.

  I almost turned the news back off until a live feed caught my eye. It had been days since I’d actually looked at the news, and it took me a second to understand what I was looking at. It was a lonely house on a cramped street and there were reporters everywhere on the side of the road. A rickety porch. A roof that needed to be patched. Windows with all the curtains drawn.

  But the car.

  I recognized that fucking car.

  “Mr. Weber?”

  “Put T.J. on the line,” I said.

  “Right away, sir.”

  I was placed on hold while I waited for my head of security to pick up.

  “This is T.J.”

  “I want you and three of your men to go to the address I’m about to text you,” I said as I sat down at my desk. “Miss Graves’ mother’s house is surrounded by attention-hungry reporters and it looks like they’re barricaded in. I’ll message you the address, but I want you there to dispel them.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take my best three men.”

  “Good. Make sure one of them stays behind. I want you guys taking shifts at the front door until all of this dies down.”

  “Will do, sir. I’ll write up a schedule. We’ll all take six-hour shifts.”

  “Get the media out of there so they can live their lives,” I said. “And send one of your men up here to get Miss Graves from her desk. Tell her I'm sending her home early and make sure she gets there without any trouble.”

  “I’ll come up myself and get her, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone and settled into my leather chair. My eyes locked onto the television screen as news anchors came on the scene to dissect every single minutia detail they possibly could to keep viewers entertained. I’d never been a fan of the press. I was never a news watcher. But now? I couldn't stand them. They weren’t reporting news. They were destroying lives for the sake of viewership. Stalking people’s homes for the sake of a quote for some pathetic excuse for an article.

  It turned my stomach.

  But no more.

  This wasn't happening to Tiffany or her mother a second more.

  Not if I could help it.

  Fuck. Why didn’t I turn on the television sooner?

  Tiffany

  The elevator doors opened and I looked up from my desk. I’d been back one full week, and nothing had gotten any better. Not the stress. Not the notes left on my desk. Nothing. And to make matters worse, I still felt sick. I debated on talking with Kenneth on how he felt. Maybe it was something we had eaten. Or encountered. Or the water. But every time he passed by my desk and tried to make small talk, he seemed okay.

  I, on the other hand, was not okay.

  There were multiple requisitions that needed to be logged before I could leave for the day, but the burly man caught my attention. Dressed in all black and holding a stoic glare that could crumble any man to his knees, his eyes locked with mine. He approached my desk and I braced myself for whatever was coming. I didn’t know who he was, but I also didn’t like the way he was looking at me.

  “Miss Graves.”

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “T.J. Miller. I’m the head of security for the company.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to escort you home. Pack your things, please.”

  I glanced over at Kenneth’s office, but his door was closed. The lights were on and I could see him through the frosted glass, but the barrier between us was too great. Part of me didn’t want to leave my job for the day unfinished, but part of me was ready to get home. Ready to get back to my mother so I could take care of her.

  “Let me shut everything down and I’ll be ready,” I said.

 
It only took me ten minutes to close down my desk before I followed the man to the elevator. We stepped in and he pressed the button for the main level and I grew nervous. Escorting me home? Had something happened? Was something growing outside because of me?

  “Am I being fired?” I asked.

  “That isn’t my job, Miss Graves. All I’ve been asked to do is make sure you get home safely.”

  The second we stepped outside, I was grateful to have him. Reporters descended on us and thrust microphones into my face. People were snapping pictures as T.J. held them all back, and we made our way across the street to my car. I pulled out of the parking garage with a blacked out car behind me, and it followed me all the way home. I could barely make out the man’s face through his windshield, but I knew he was there.

  T.J.

  The man tasked with getting me home.

  We turned onto my road and I was bombarded with cars coming down the hill. Vans with news logos on the sides and cars honking their horns flooded my small hometown street. I furrowed my brow as I pulled into the driveway and that was when I saw it. Three other massive men dressed all in black escorting the media away from my house. Into their cars and vans before shoving them off down the road.

  They were gone.

  Holy shit, they were finally gone.

  I quickly got out of my car and whipped my head to look down the road. Not a single reporter in sight. I looked back at T.J. who got out of his car, leaned against the door, and grinned. Relief flooded my veins. It felt like I was free again. The three other men walked over to me from across the road, and I watched as one of them walked past me.

  Walked up to the porch.

  Walked to stand by the door.

  “Um… what’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Taking up his post. All of us will be taking six-hour shifts,” T.J. said.

  “For what?”

  “For your safety. Mr. Weber wanted us to-”

  “Wait a second. Kenneth put you up to this?” I asked.

  T.J. nodded and I sighed. I picked up my purse and slammed my car door closed, then made my way to the porch. I looked up into the eyes of the bear of a man standing beside my mother’s front door before opening it up.

  This was ridiculous.

  “You’re not staying here,” I said as I turned around.

  “Our job is to keep you two safe until the media stops with their circus,” T.J. said as he approached the porch.

  “It’s not necessary. You got them to go away. Now you can all go back to the company or wherever it is you perch.”

  “And the second we leave, they’ll come back. That’s how they work, Mis Graves.”

  “Well you're not staying here.”

  “With all due respect, we don’t take our orders from you,” he said.

  “And with all due respect, you’re on my property.”

  “It’s technically my property.”

  I whipped my head around and saw my mother coming into the room from her bedroom. She smiled up at the man as she walked to the front door and poked her head out. Her eyes scaled the broad man standing by the door and she smiled at him. And somehow, without even working at it, she managed to pull a grin across his face.

  “If you’re going to be staying, let me go get you a drink,” my mother said.

  “A drink? You’re going to feed them? They’re like feral cats. They’ll come back if you feed them.”

  “Men or bodyguards?” T.J. asked.

  “Both,” I said curtly. “You’re not necessary.”

  “Sadly, Mr. Weber doesn’t share your opinion. And until he does, we’ll be rotating out every six hours.”

  “Will you be watching us sleep, too?”

  “I could get used to handsome men watching me sleep,” my mother said.

  “Mom!”

  “I’m getting drinks! Do you want anything, Tiffany?”

  The men chuckled as I shook my head. All of this was insane, but a very small part of me was glad to have them there. It was the first time in over a week that my mother and I had been free of the media. I peered over T.J.’s shoulder and took stock of the empty road. The empty sidewalk. The empty curb. And the more I looked at the empty space, the more I became okay with the fact that men would be looming right outside the damn front door.

  “Oh no!”

  “Mom!?”

  A massive thud followed by a deafening crash resounded from the kitchen. I took off on my own two feet and heard T.J. not too far behind. I skidded into the kitchen and saw my mother on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and covered in lemonade.

  “Mom!”

  “Tiffany,” she said as tears rushed her eyes.

  I ran across the glass and knelt by her side. The entire house tilted with my quick movements. I choked down the bile rising up the back of my throat and took my mother’s hand. Her face grimaced with pain and she swatted away as I tried to help her up. She was holding her back and moaning, and her eyes started to flutter closed.

  “Put me down. Put me down. Put me down,” she chanted.

  “Hello. I need an ambulance at 1284 Meredith Road. Elderly woman, mid sixties. She’s fallen and hurt herself. History of back problems, not sure of any other health conditions.”

  “Mom, look at me,” I said.

  Her head could barely turn in my direction and I knew that wasn’t good. And the worst part was I felt like I was about to puke on my own mother. Could my body not keep it together for one fucking moment? I smoothed the broken glass away from her body as the guard at the door grabbed a broom. He began to sweep the entire kitchen floor, clearing a path for the paramedics to get to us.

  Tears flooded my mother’s face and neck as I cupped her cheek.

  “You need to breathe. It’s going to be all right,” I said.

  “Something isn’t… something’s not…”

  “Ambulance is five minutes out,” T.J. said.

  “You hear that, Mom? Five minutes. They’ll come in, we’ll get you to a hospital, and everything is going to be okay from here. You got that?” I asked.

  “My… my legs, sweetheart.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong with your legs?” I asked.

  But the paramedics barreling into the house ripped my attention away from my mother. The pushed me out of the way and began to check her vitals. They hooked her up to an I.V. and I could see the fear in my mother’s eyes. She hated doctors. Hated medicine. Hates hospitals. They lifted her from the floor and only a rolling gurney, and the ear-piercing cry she let out left me breathless. I rushed to her and took her hand, jogging by the rolling bed before I got into the ambulance with her.

  “We’ll lockdown the house,” T.J. said. “Morris, get up there.”

  I watched the man from the door hop into the ambulance and perch beside me. But I didn’t have the energy to protest. My mother was in too much pain for me to stand around and argue with some sort of personal security I’d never asked for. The ambulance doors shut and it pulled away from our house, and I peeked out the window to see T.J. put his phone to his ear.

  I knew who he was calling.

  I knew who was on the other end of that line.

  But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about Kenneth or about locking down the house. I didn’t care about the mess or the broken glasses. I didn’t care about the media or the spilled lemonade or the massive man who was squished a little too close to me for my liking.

  I was worried about my mother.

  And as I held back tears of my own, I felt the ambulance roll down the road away from my home. A place that, only a few seconds ago, had finally seemed safe.

  What an illusion that had been.

  Kenneth

  “Talk to me, Morris.”

  “The x-rays just came back, sir. Apparently, Miss Graves’ mother fractured two lower vertebrae in her back when she fell in the kitchen.”

  “Is there anything else going on?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. One of the fractures is cavi
ng in on her spinal cord. That’s why her mother kept complaining about her legs.”

  “Can she not move them?” I asked.

  “It’s difficult for her to, yes. And she’s in a lot of pain. That’s what they’re struggling with the most. Just managing the mother’s pain.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “The doctor keeps telling Miss Graves that her mother needs surgery, but they’re putting it off.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “My guess, boss? They can’t afford it. People who live in the area of Miami they live in can’t afford things like this.”

  “Tiffany’s got health insurance through the company. Her mother should as well. That doesn’t make sense. I’ll do some digging and let you know. Put her on the phone, please.”

  “I can try, sir. Hold on.”

  T.J. called me the second they loaded Tiffany’s mother into an ambulance. They successfully got rid of the damn media, and then her mother hurt herself in the kitchen. Morris was sent to stay with them and make sure they were all right, especially since I didn’t know how ruthless the media would be. The last thing I wanted was any reporter cornering them in the hospital.

  But putting off surgery?

  That shouldn't be happening.

  “Get that thing away from me.”

  “He wants to talk with you, Miss Graves.”

  “The last thing I need to be doing is talking with that man. Get that phone out of my face.”

  Hearing those words was like a punch to my gut. I was worried about Tiffany. Worried for her mother’s health. I clenched my jaw as I turned to look out the window, watching the sun beginning to set over the city. I had no plans to go home. There was too much work that needed to be done at the office. Too many investors breathing down my neck and too many complaints I was trying to combat to save the image of the company. But I could hear the desperation in Tiffany’s voice. I could hear the pain and the hurt. I wanted to be there for her. At the very least, I wanted the opportunity to tell her that I would do whatever she needed of me to ease her pain.

  But she wouldn’t even talk to me.