I fold my hands in my lap and clear my throat, ready to rehearse the speech I created this morning. If I work from the speech, there’s less chance to veer off course, away from the opportunity to be heard and clear up any misunderstandings.
“First, I’d like to make it clear that I now understand and respect the company's confidentiality policy. When I first met with the client before he signed the contract for the job, I...” The white room, full of cocaine and guns. “I was brought to a room, made to be aware of the drugs and guns the client was holding, that he presumably wanted protection for. It was unsettling to say the least, but above all, I’d never seen anything like it on the trips I’d take with Ms. Locke to sign client contracts. If I could get a handle on your expectations of me and the clients we sign, I could understand the boundaries of the company and my position to better uphold them. I didn’t know what the company policy was, and I tried to speak with Ms. Locke about my concerns for the purposes of clarity, but it was difficult to tell what was or wasn’t acceptable, besides keeping it to myself.” I study his unsympathetic facial expression. I’m getting nowhere, and I can’t remember the rest of the speech.
“I see.” He scratches a finger over his clean-shaven jaw. “I can certainly understand why that would be upsetting to you, and I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He inhales sharply, taking a seat in the chair next to me, his body incredibly close to mine. So close, I can smell the heavy aroma of his woodsy cologne, not as strong as Tackman’s, but reminiscent.
Tackman’s arm, reaching out for me as I stepped away from the white room, flashes before my eyes.
“Josephine, can I be frank with you? You’re in the big leagues now. The client Cathrine has given you, the client I have trusted you with—” he pokes a finger into his chest against his gray silk tie, “is a big deal. You’ve been entrusted with his secrets, not just by him, but by Cathrine and me. I like to think we treat our employees fairly here. I like to think we don’t ask for too much. How much am I paying you, Josephine, remind me?”
He’s steering this conversation in the wrong direction. I don’t need to be made aware of what they’re doing for me. It’s the only thing keeping me here at this point, but his eyes bore into me, and I’m compelled to answer. “Before my raise, it was forty thousand, sir, but after signing the client, it was doubled, with the potential of signing bonuses for new clients henceforth.”
He smirks, his eyes darkening. “Eighty thousand. That doesn’t seem like just a little salary, now, does it? No, it’s a big salary. For a big job. There are plenty of people here making much less than that and dealing with much more.” It’s true. Katie’s one of them. “I understand your hesitations with your client; we’ve all been there, but I guess I thought you were in this with us for the long haul.” He pauses, his eyes traveling around the room.
Thought I was in it for the long haul? I didn’t think he even knew who I was… but maybe I was wrong.
Maybe he was caught off guard on Saturday, seeing me at his home, and he didn’t recognize me.
Maybe he’s had his eye on me this whole time, just like Cathrine, and my cheeks grow hot.
“Cathrine tells me you have goals to move up, like she has, like Mathison, like I have. Do you think any of us got where we are by running away from trouble?” Is that what I did? Run away? I guess I had—tried to anyway, until I was forced back into the house. I can still feel Carver’s arms wrapped around me, dragging me back in. “By breaking the client's trust?”
“No, sir,” I say straight away. “That wasn’t my intention at all.”
The crease in his forehead deepens, and his brows draw together in obvious frustration. I lean back in my chair, away from him ever so slightly, and reconsider what he said.
Did they get where they were by running away? No. But as far as I can tell, it was by nepotism for Orrick and Cathrine. They were hired and given their positions by the founder, their father and cousin respectively, Lawrence Locke.
“Intention or not, Josephine, that’s what’s happened. My family built this company from the ground up with one goal—to protect our clients and their secrets. In a world where secrets are so hard to protect thanks to technology, we stand in defense of those who need it.”
That’s why I joined the company, I believed in that, but in protecting people like Tackman? No.
“One thing I don’t like to do is play God. I’m not the judge of character, and neither are you. We don’t get to look at our clients as good or bad.” He pauses as if checking to see if I follow, but I can’t get over the slap in the face of his statement. That I’ve somehow unfairly judged the client.
“They are simply people who require a service, and we are the people who can provide that service. Anyone who can pay our fees, giving us the assets to provide for our families, gets our protection. Good, bad, or in between. If we were to get involved, we would lose all credibility, even with the clients who are entirely innocent. Our business would collapse. Everything I’ve worked for, everything you’ve worked for, would be gone. With the leaking of one tiny secret, the turning away of even one paying client, all of this,” he gestures to the room around us and snaps his fingers, “could be gone. That’s why we don’t judge. We protect. That’s it.”
I can understand it to an extent, enough to parrot it back to him right now to make him believe it, but is it true? Could the business even judge clients accurately to determine if they were good enough to protect?
If we betrayed one client’s trust, he’s right, and Fern said as much. The house of cards would topple down. Who could trust us after that?
But couldn’t the hard line be the law? Isn’t it there for a reason?
Legal and illegal.
Good and bad.
“That is literally your only job here.” As he echoes Cathrine’s sentiments, I shift in my seat. He sees the world in gray. He truly believes in turning a blind eye and protecting all who can afford it, and I’m falling for it, because why? He’s wearing an expensive suit, cologne, and watch. Because he owns the building? He doesn’t own the people in it.
I feel it in my gut now more than ever. This company has the power to make someone into something, just as they have the power to destroy them like they did Billy.
Katie’s right.
Will Orrick make or break me?
The kindness reappears in his eyes as he leans his head to the side. “I could tell you what potential I see in you.” He lets the words rest between us, but I soak them in. “I could tell you that Cathrine greatly respects you, and though we don’t always see eye to eye, I trust her judgment—in this case.” He smirks. “I know she has trouble showing it, but trust me, I’ve heard the way she talks about you. I can promise you that if you stick it out with us, you could have a lifelong career here, with unlimited possibilities.” He scoots forward in the chair a bit, clasping his hands in front of him, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off him. “So, Josephine,” I lean forward to hear him, his words weighted and low, “I guess the ball is in your court. What’s it going to be?”
He says he wants me to succeed, and he thinks it’s possible. Whether I have trouble believing it or not, why else would I be given this opportunity in the first place or be allowed a second chance?
He seems to believe in my potential, and no one else has seen it in me or believed I could be something more.
The opportunities he’s offered sit before me, within reach, and I’ve run away from them instead of grabbing at them as I have all my life.
Could I really look past the clients’ business and take care of them, no matter what they did or who they were? Can I do it with Tackman?
But I don’t have a choice. Does Locke know I know that?
Does he know I’m trapped, financially, or does he truly wonder if I’ll choose to leave the company after what I’ve seen and been through?
I don’t have that luxury anymore. Not after last night with Maggie.
“Mr. Locke, I�
��ve been so grateful for my job, and the new opportunity I’ve been given here. Please let me assure you, I was only trying to look out for the company’s best interests when I brought the client’s activities into question.” I press my lips together, take a deep breath, and tread lightly. “I appreciate my job, and I want my job, Mr. Locke, and you’ve made your policies very clear to me now. What will it take for me to keep my job and earn my way back into your good graces?”
It’s the only thing left to do. For Maggie and Andy.
He stands from the chair with a sigh and makes his way back behind the desk, looking down at the stack of papers in front of him. “From what I understand, Mr. Tackman is upset with the way you handled yourself, and he doubts your ability to maintain professionalism where his business is concerned. If, and this is a big if, you think—no, you know—you can do this, the only option is for you to convince him of that. I’d like to know that you can own up for your mistakes and win back his trust with an apology. Do or say whatever it takes to make sure he knows you will do your job to the best of your abilities. That’s what this is, Josephine—your job. I trust that you can make it right, and he wants you to do that, still hopes you can, for some reason, so now you have to prove it to us all. I don’t want you to let me down.”
“I don’t want to let anyone down, sir. I can make sure the client is taken care of by apologizing and re-establishing trust, like I hope to do with myself and your company. Moving forward,” I pause, searching his face for the patience I need to ask my question, “may I ask whom I should talk to about matters of concern regarding the welfare of the company?”
“I’d like to remind you of our company policy: We take care of our clients' business by minding our own. If you have issues, you should be the one to take care of them however you see fit. At the end of the day, yours is the name on the contract, and it's your judgment you should defer to. And as for re-establishing trust with the client and my company, I have no doubts you can. I see that in you—the fire it takes to do a job like this and do it well. You have it; you just have to trust yourself to use it. Cathrine may have helped you as much as she has the means to, but it’s up to you now.” He taps his knuckles on the wood of his desk. “Welcome to the big leagues, Josephine.”
As I sweep my hair over my shoulder, my stomach churns as my cheeks flush. His flattery and attention juxtaposed against his threats and intimidation confuse every fiber of me.
How can I be so flattered, and yet disgusted with myself?
He sees potential in me. How can I ignore that? How can I reject it when I know what I’m capable of? How can I reject the money to pay off the debt and take care of my family? How can I deny myself the opportunity to be recognized for my loyalty, the same trait that has never been respected or acknowledged by anyone else in my life?
Are my own ideals of loyalty so far from his vision for the company? I’m loyal to a fault, and I need to prove it to keep my job, regardless of the personal conflicts.
I have what they are looking for. I can be what they need. I can earn my position, pay, and power.
“I appreciate the second chance, Mr. Locke. I won’t let you down, sir.”
“I’m trusting you not to.” He stands up and offers his hand to me, his gaze intense. “I’ll have you meet with Cathrine now to discuss your next steps.”
I reach for his hand, his smooth skin skimming my palm, and he squeezes, his strong grip matching mine.
Am I making a deal with the devil himself or my saviour?
“Thank you. I hope to make you proud.”
“Don’t hope, Josephine. Do.” With that, he drops my hand and steps back to his chair, settling in without giving me another glance.
A coldness settles in with his absence, and I step to the side of the chair and turn, striding out of the office.
I belong here. I’m wanted here.
A means to an end.
And maybe more.
Chapter Thirteen
Speak No Evil
Fern buzzes me in through the glass door, and I walk through, stopping at her desk.
She looks up at me, and the words “poison the well” come to mind. Does she think I’m a poison only cured by absence, or will she be pleased I’ve been given a second chance?
“Ms. Locke's expecting me.”
She raises her brow. “You had your meeting with Mr. Locke, then?”
I nod.
She gives me a once-over and picks up the phone. “You survived,” she mutters before hitting a button and pressing it to her ear. “Josephine’s here for you. Yes. Fine.” She hangs up and folds her hands together on the desk. “She’ll see you now.”
I stride to the door with my head held high.
“Josephine?” Fern calls to me, and I turn over my shoulder. “Remember what I told you. It’s business.”
I nod and reach for the knob, twisting it and pushing it in as I walk into the room. Cathrine’s in her wingback chair beside the bookcase with a martini in hand, her toned legs crossed, and her elbow resting on one of the arms. I close the door behind me and walk to the front of her desk.
“Sit,” she says.
I obey, rounding the chair, and sit. I rest my hands in my lap, against my mother’s black chiffon skirt, more matronly than Cathrine’s, staring at her, awaiting the next hoop to jump through.
“I just got off the phone with Orrick.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “He let me know he’s decided you should have another chance.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But I haven’t. Not yet.” She takes a sip of her drink and lets it sit in her mouth before swallowing. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of him, and I just don’t think you understand the way your poor decisions have affected your future here.”
I straighten my posture. “Mr. Locke said I could have a bright future here.”
She lets out a little burst of laughter. “Did he? Well, that’s what I thought too, before you made a fool of me.” She turns her body toward me, her vodka splashing around in her glass. “Haven’t you noticed how much more often my decisions are questioned here? How I’m put under a microscope and judged as the most powerful female board member.”
“I hadn’t noticed. No.”
“Open your eyes, Josephine. If you want to get ahead as a woman, you have to work twice as hard as the men, especially these men. You haven’t done that. You’ve made Orrick and the other board members question my judgment with the stunt you pulled.”
“Stunt?” I scoff.
She stands, wobbling to her feet at first, but then she balances, staring down at me. “You’ve forgotten who you’re talking to, Josephine. You might have smoothed things over with Orrick, but I’m your direct boss, and your actions are a direct reflection on me. You broke company policy.”
I sit, tight-lipped, knowing any explanation will be the wrong one. Especially while she’s on her way to being three sheets to the wind.
“Now,” she rests her martini glass on her desk and turns back to me, leaning against it, “I could threaten you with legal action for breaching the contract.” I open my mouth to ask how, but she’s too quick. “I could tell you about all of the information we’ve learned about you and your...family...over the years.” She’s using the same tactic as Tackman. Getting to me through my family. A lump forms in my throat, and I clutch my own hands tightly. “I could tell you that we can make sure you aren’t able to work, not only in New Gilford, but anywhere ever again. I could tell you about all the documents I have with your signature on them, signing off on very unsavory things.”
She’s close; I can smell the vodka on her breath, and I fight the cringe coming on as I try to imagine the scenarios in the order she listed them, but all I can think about is Maggie and Andy.
Without me, what would they do? I shudder, a cold chill ensnaring me as she stares into my eyes like she’s reading me. Like she’s ready to do something.
I swallow hard at the lump in my throat, but
I can’t choke it down. Whatever happened between the time I confessed what happened and now, she’s been punished for my actions. She’s taking it out on me.
It’s business, like Fern said, but I’m still digging my nails into my fingers to keep from defending myself against her.
“I don’t want to have to do any of that, but if you make the wrong move again, if you violate our company policy in any way, I’m afraid you’ll leave me with no choice. Understood?”
“Yes, Ms. Locke.”
She pushes herself away from the desk and picks up her martini once more, turning to the window wall. “Make things right. Go.”
I leave the office, grab my purse, and rush downstairs to the parking lot. A few minutes later, I merge onto the highway, heading toward Copperfield County, and press my Bluetooth speaker set. “Call Maggie.”
If she picks up, it’ll be the first time we’ve said more than a few words to each other since the night she almost relapsed. With each ring, I’m praying she’ll pick up.
“Hi,” she says in a dry tone.
“Hi. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be home late tonight if you want to go ahead and have dinner without me.”
“Okay.”
I want to ask her how she’s doing, if she’s okay, but it’s too weird after the night before and the whole Sunday we spent not talking. I still feel the burn left from what she said about me—about how I make her feel. Walking on eggshells isn’t the answer, but until we’re face to face, I don’t think we can have a proper conversation.
Still, I worry for her. Every minute I’m away, she could fall into that mindset again. I need to get a better feel for how she’s doing, or I won’t be able to concentrate.
“Andy okay?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “we’re playing Zombies.”
“Oh, nice. Okay, well, I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.”
But I don’t want to end the conversation this way, feeling bad about how I reacted to the way she shared her feelings with me. “Um, anything I can pick up on my way home or?”
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