by Mac Flynn
"You're looking me over like I'm your next meal," he teased me.
I sheepishly grinned. "Sorry about that, just thinking about-well, about other stuff."
He leaned across the table and dropped his voice. "I hope it's some good other stuff."
I blushed; this guy was really forward, but that wasn't something I hated too much so long as he didn't grab my ass like some of the customers at the diner. "Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't."
He glanced at his watch and frowned. "I guess maybe we can find out later. I have to go to a study meeting with a friend." He pulled out a folded slip of paper and handed it to me. "When you can pull yourself from your rock books, give me a call." He left, and I opened the paper; it was his phone number and address. He lived off campus on a well-known party street, but then most of the streets were party streets if college students lived there.
I pocketed the paper and resumed my studies, but managed to get revenge on my would-be assassin. The idiot taggers were still playing a few minutes later when I sat at the end of the table looking through some books. I saw them running down the tables toward me and recognized the attempted murderer. When he flew by my foot happened to slip out from beneath the table, and the guy went flying face-first into the rough, cheap, commercial rug on the floor. He slid for a yard and clutched his face in pain before he swung around and glared at me. His face was one long rug-rash, complete with little pebbles from the other students walking on it all day.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he screamed at me.
I put on my best confused expression. "What? I didn't do anything. You tripped because you were running."
My fake expression didn't work; he scrambled to his feet and rushed me. I dove over the table in time to escape his clutches, and kicked some books back in his red face for good measure. He howled at the pain, but that didn't stop him from running around the table after me. I wove in and out of the tables with my pursuer close at behind, but I had the upper hand. My body was nice and skinny, but his was bulky; he had a hard time squeezing between the people at the other tables, and by the time we'd gone past a half dozen tables he had a dozen people chasing him.
They tackled him and people came out of the bookcase woodwork to see what was the matter. Somebody tossed a chair, and the brawl began. I dodged chairs and stepped over overturned tables to snatch my bag and hightail it out of there. I heard later it was the biggest fight ever to take place in the library; even larger than the Great Computer Chair War of '08. I hurried home before the cops arrived, and was a good little girl for the rest of the evening.
CHAPTER 9
"So have an exciting time at the library?" Benson asked me the next day.
I shrugged. "Not really. Just read some books, met a guy after an assassination attempt, and started a library-wide brawl that ended in three concussions, a lot of broken chairs, and even more broken fingers." He blinked at me in bewilderment, and I shrugged. "All right, maybe I exaggerated the number of concussions, but the fight did spread to most of the floors of the library."
"You met a guy?" he slowly repeated.
I rolled my eyes; that would be the one thing he'd pick up on. "Yeah, he caught me before I fell backwards on the stairs."
"He must have left an impression on you to mention him," he quietly commented.
"Well, he did save me from the floor making an impression on me," I pointed out.
I noticed Benson was stiff. "No doubt good-looking."
As evil as it sounds, I had a hard time not snickering; Benson was jealous. "I'm afraid so."
"Tanned and intelligent?"
"Right on both accounts. He is a college student, after all."
"That doesn't imply intelligence," he countered.
I folded my arms across my chest and frowned. "So what am I, chopped liver?"
"You're my Angel, but today you need to be my chauffeur, too," he replied.
"Your chauffeur?" I had to make sure I heard him right; he was actually going away from the house, and only for the second time since I'd met him.
He nodded. "Yes, I need to go to my business to attend a very important meeting." He pulled out an address with directions. "This is where we need to go. Do you need any other instructions?"
I shook my head; I knew the city much better than the country. "Nope, this'll work just fine. It's just a few blocks from my campus."
"Good. Let's get me ready for the trip."
We went through the sunblock ordeal, but he didn't try to ravish me. I was disappointed, but he was distracted by this meeting and only wanted to hurry to the city. He dressed in his black attire and led me through the side door of the kitchen and under the thick canopy that led to the garage. Inside was a black car with the rear windows heavily tinted and a dividing glass between the front and the back. "We can communicate via intercom," he explained to me.
"And here I thought I'd have to learn Morse code," I teased. Things must have been serious because his stoic face didn't crack a smile. He slid into the back and I slipped behind the wheel, noticing first that there was a tag over the rearview mirror that denoted a handicapped person on board. That must have been how he got away with having such darkly tinted windows.
I drove out of the garage and onward to victory, which in this case was not getting lost and stuck in traffic for an hour. I followed the instructions to the letter and we arrived at a broad, forty-story tall office building. I drove around back to a parking garage and found his spot; it was prime real estate at the front closest to a side entrance of the building. I parked the car and, since I didn't know how to use the com system, knocked on the glass. "We're there," I called to him.
I heard his door open, and I hurriedly stepped out. With a briefcase in hand Benson looked like a real businessman, if a businessman was trying to imitate the invisible man. Without a word he led me to the side door and into the building. We entered the lobby, but there was a ninety-degree partition that hid us from prying eyes. Close at hand was a private elevator which had a sign beside the doors; For Official Use Only. I felt pretty official when Benson called the elevator to us and we stepped inside. This wasn't your normal, metal-walled elevator, either; it had soft padding and no annoying music. The doors closed behind us and Benson tapped the number for the top floor.
The elevator sped up, but I left my heart on the first floor; I admit I was nervous in this strange, foreign environment with this strange man as my sole guide. I jumped when Benson broke the silence by talking. "What?" I asked him.
"I asked if you were nervous, but that answered my question well enough," he replied. He wasn't teasing in his tone; it was more filled with pity and a need to give me comfort. "There's a reception room outside the boardroom. You can sit there if you'd like."
"Can I stay in your office?" I pleaded.
He shook his head. "I don't have time to show you the way."
I sighed. "Then I guess I'll stay in the reception room."
The elevator hit our floor and we stepped off into a long hall that stretched off to our right, but didn't go very far to our left because the elevator was so close to the outer wall of the building. On the opposite wall were a pair of inset doors flanked on either side by a pair of tall palms. There were other elevator doors to our right and along the same wall, and from these emerged about two dozen men and women in suits. At so many intimidating faces and voices, I inched behind Benson. Three men broke off from the herd and came over to greet Benson. "Good morning, Benson," one of them jovially greeted. He was a man of about forty with thinning hair and a bright smile. Benson didn't outstretch his hand, but the man took his hand and shook it anyway.
"Good morning, Truman," Benson returned after he'd extracted his hand from the man's jovial greeting. Benson nodded at the other two, a swarthy man of fifty and tall, lanky man of thirty-five. "Schuster, Rowland." They smiled and nodded in return.
Truman slipped closer and lowered his voice. "Quite a mess we've got here, isn't it?" Being so close to Benso
n, he caught sight of me. His eyes widened and his face lit up with joy. "My, my, who have we here? Benson, introduce we old fogies to your lovely companion."
I dug my heels into the carpeted floor when Benson reluctantly dragged me out into the open. "Gentlemen, this is Miss Calhoun." His gloved hand swept over the men. "Misters Truman, Schuster, and Rowland." They smiled and shook hands with me, and I nodded and shook back with as much energy as I could muster considering how badly I was shaking. "She is my new secretary for the present, as my other left me rather suddenly."
Truman chuckled. "You mean to say you fired her," he corrected Benson.
"The parting was mutual," Benson countered. At that moment the double doors opened, and the crowd of suits flowed into the inner room which I saw to be the promised waiting room. Benson gestured to the other men. "It seems the meeting will begin soon. After you, gentlemen," he invited.
They joined the herd and hurried inside, but Benson kept at the rear and let everyone go ahead of us. We stepped into the inner sanctum and found ourselves facing another open pair of doors. Through those was a large meeting table with many high-backed, cushioned chairs. Everyone filed into that room, but some paused to speak with a few secretaries on the left who sat at large, wooden desks. I noticed a long, padded bench on the right side with a few palms on either end. "You can sit there while we talk, but this may take a while."
"It'd definitely be more comfortable than the car," I countered.
"You could go for a walk," he suggested.
I plopped myself down and managed a smile. "I probably shouldn't. I'd be tempted to spend my food money on more shoes I don't need."
"That can be taken care of." He dug out his wallet, but I waved him off.
"I'll be fine, just go in there and try not to let them eat you alive," I joked.
He didn't smile, but he did put his wallet back. "I send you out as sheep among the wolves..." he murmured.
I blinked. "Beg your pardon?"
Benson shook his head. "Nothing, just quoting from an old book. Hopefully I'll see you soon."
He stepped into the large meeting room beyond the double doors, and they were shut behind him. The clang of the latch was ominous to my ears, and I turned away to find the secretaries staring at me. They quickly looked away when I caught them, but that didn't make me feel any easier. I slid close to a large palm plant to hide myself from their prying eyes, and was doubly grateful for the protection when the doors to the hall opened and a couple hurriedly stepped inside. I was also surprised to see one of them, the woman of the two, was Constance Sievers; she sure got around in this company. The pair stopped a few feet from my hiding position, and Sievers handed the man his briefcase. "Good luck, sir," she spoke up with a smile. I'd never seen her smile before; it was like looking at a grinning crocodile.
The man smiled back. "All I need is you, Miss Sievers," he sappily replied. I resisted my gagging reflex. The two parted, with the man stepping into the boardroom and Miss Sievers leaving the way they'd come.
Then came the long wait. The boredom was punctuated by loud voices from the boardroom, most notably from Truman. I strained to hear Benson, just to give me a sign he was still alive in there and not eaten alive, but there was nothing until the doors opened after two hours. The men and women filed out like robots, reminding me why I chose not to get an office job. I noticed the strange man from before, the one with Sievers, and his grin was even wider than when he'd entered. He was flanked on all sides by admirers, both men and women, and all their tones were jolly.
Behind them came Benson, sans hat, Truman, and the other two. Their faces were somber and Truman spoke to Benson in a hushed voice. "I'm sure we can figure something out, or perhaps this arrangement won't be as inconvenient-"
Benson whirled around to face the man. "This will be very inconvenient to me. You know I prize my privacy above all else," Benson snapped back.
Truman sighed. "And that may be how this came to pass. You weren't at the helm as you used to be."
Benson narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying?"
I felt sorry for Truman; he looked like a man trying to tap dance on the edge of a pool of piranhas. "I'm trying to suggest you spend more time attending to your work here, rather than at your home."
"You know that's not possible for me," Benson countered.
Truman gestured to his person. "But you are here, and very well-looking, might I add. Maybe we have that young lady to thank for this small improvement." Truman's friendly eyes settled on me in my hiding spot.
Benson sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and put on his hat. "Whether I am here or there, we are stuck with that man as a new partner. Our only hope is his ambition is quenched."
Truman mournfully shook his head. "I very much doubt such a man's ambitions can ever be quenched."
"Call me if you hear any news about him," Benson requested.
Truman nodded. "Certainly. It was a pleasure seeing you again, rather than speaking over the phone." They cordially shook hands, and Benson repeated the formality with the other two. The three passed by, each with a kind nod toward me, and I was left alone with my boss. He looked exhausted; his gaunt face had traces of sweat and his hands shook.
I jumped up and smiled at him. "Ready to go home?"
He shakily smiled. "You read my thoughts, Angel."
CHAPTER 10
I helped him back to the car and it was another quiet drive back to the house. When Benson got out he didn't look any more relieved, or rested, than when he got in. Inside the safety of the house he shed his dark clothing, and I saw how warm he'd been. His shirt and pants were soaked with sweat, and I swear I heard him squeak every time he took a step in his sweat-filled shoes. He removed the rest of his clothes down to his pants; even the socks flew off. I tried not to look, but it was hard when he tossed the wet clothing at me. "Put those in the laundry room," he gently ordered me.
I went to the rear of the house and deposited the laundry in a basket as though it were radioactive dirty laundry. Apparently his secretary needed to be tasked with doing his laundry, too, or it would never get done. I shoved a load into the washer and set it going, then went in search of Benson. I expected to find him in the study, but that room was empty. I heard a deep sigh from the living room and found him leaning back on the couch with one hand holding a damp cloth over his eyes.
"Things went that bad?" I asked him. He nodded. "You want to get it off your chest-" that damn nice chest, "-or will I not understand all the business lingo?"
He sighed, pulled the cloth off his face, and patted the cushion beside him. I sat down, careful to keep my distance from his sexy, half-naked body. Benson stared straight ahead and ran his hand through his short hair; the effect was untamed, wild. It suited him. "I don't know how much you know about my business-"
"Not a thing," I replied.
He smirked. "Then I suppose I should start at the beginning."
"Always a good place."
"My family has a very long tradition of being stockbrokers, investors, accountants, bankers, and other sorts of money managers."
"So your family tree looks more like a bean-counter pole?" I teased him.
He chuckled. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. That's the kind of family I was born into. I think I told you my mother died giving birth to me." I nodded. "My father and Cecil ran the family company until my father died twenty years ago." He raised his eyes to glance around the room. "Cecil raised me in this house, away from prying eyes-"
"-but not away from the family business," I guessed.
Benson gave a nod. "Cecil worked with me to use technology to keep track of my holdings, but even with Cecil's help control of the company slipped out of our hands. When I reached twenty-one I was given a partnership in the company, and a place on the board. I tried to manage everything on my own, but it was too much."
"And in comes the secretaries," I finished for him.
He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. "Are yo
u sure you're not reading my mind?"
"I could say maybe you don't have a mind to read, but I think you're a little smarter than the average person," I replied.
"I'll take that as a compliment, but would you like me to finish my story?" he returned.
"By all means."
"I haven't had much luck with secretaries. Perhaps because I brood too much," he admitted.
"Definitely."
He glared at me, and I imitated zipping my mouth shut. "As I was saying, I couldn't find reliable help and recently things at the company have been growing more, well, intense. There's been a lot of ambitious people climbing the ladder, and some of them made it onto the board without Cecil or me noticing. One of those men is Greg Monroe. He was the man surrounded by the others when we left the boardroom."
That set off all kinds of alarms in my mind. "The young one? I saw him with Miss Sievers right before he went into the room," I told him.
Benson straightened and snapped his face toward me. "What about Sievers?"
"She came in with that Greg guy and handed him his briefcase. They looked like they were old friends," I explained to him.
I jumped when Benson slammed his hand down on the table. "That bitch!" he yelled. "She played me to get at information for Monroe!"
I blinked; this sounded outrageous, like something out of a romance serial. "Seriously?" I asked him.
"Seriously," he growled through clenched teeth.
"So Sievers came here posing as a secretary to get info for Monroe? What kind of info?" I wondered.
"My personal contacts, messages, files, she had access to everything that dealt with the company," he bitterly told me. "She passed on what she found out to Monroe and he maneuvered himself into a greater position of power on the board."
This wasn't just awful, it sounded downright illegal; like insider trading without the trading part. "Isn't there anything you can do about it? Anything illegal about what they did?"