by Isan, Amy
I shake my head and set the picture down again. I need to dig in and find a common interest, or better, a weakness that I can take advantage of. A list of facts doesn't do much. Does he like something really embarrassing like ice skating? I'm sure his associates would love to find out about that. Or something really twisted, like snuff films.
I bite my pen and lean back in my chair a little bit, letting it strike the locking pin. The cold light coming in from behind me is all I need to see the file, and I hold it in my hands like a pulpy novel. He's definitely my type, tall, dark and kind of scary. But I can't let that interfere with my work. Fooling around has gotten a lot of people into trouble before, and I won't be like those idiots.
That doesn't mean I can't have a little fun though.
I drop the chair back down and lean forward to grab the phone. Before I can wrap my fingers around it, it starts ringing. I grimace and shove the receiver against my face hard enough to make my cheekbone hurt. "This is Marcy."
"You need to go meet with this James Pierce. Right now." It is the impatient voice of my boss. I didn't think he'd be in so early. I let a little sigh out under my breath, even though I'm tempted to let it air out right into the microphone. Pissing him off won't make my day any better. But it'd be awfully satisfying.
I nod, even though he can't see me. "What happened?" I let the pen I was fondling drop to the desk. It rolls a few inches toward me.
Michael grumbles over the line. "He's rattling off to reporters that his company is buying ours. We can't have that kind of crap going around. It could tank our stocks. Fix it."
"I'll handle it." I hang up the phone before he has the chance. The little thrill of satisfaction makes my heart race. I twist my chair around and stare out the window across the street at the other skyscrapers. They almost look ashamed to be in the presence of our building, with their downturned roofs filled with broken machinery. I wonder which one James Pierce works in? The smallest one? Maybe the one across from my office window?
Figures the first day back from my weekend and I already have to start running around acting like my head is cut off. I trace my finger along the edge of the candid photo someone took of Mr. Pierce leaving a coffee shop. His jaw is tight and his hair is flagged against the wind. His eyes are a color that would make ice shiver.
His phone number is probably one of the few important pieces of actual information that the file has on him.
I dial the number and wait for the connection to go through.
One ring. One beat.
The line comes to life. "James Pierce." His voice is smooth as stainless-steel. I'm caught off guard, but only for a second.
"Marceline Stone. I think you might have heard of me. I work with Hollet-East."
"Work with? Not for?" There's a scrape of paper or something across the line. He says something indistinct, as if he's turned his head away from his phone or covered the mouthpiece. "I can't say I have heard of you, Marceline." His voice grows louder as he returns his attention to our conversation, if you could call it that.
"Please," I chuckle a little. "Ms. Stone is fine."
I close his file and fume silently to myself. I can't tell if he's just being coy or if he really is that stupid. "I'm in charge of handling the merging of our companies. You were the man I could reach."
A breath, like he just stood up. "You mean, acquisition, right?" His voice is threatening, but has a hint of playfulness to it. I return with some of my own chill.
"I mean what I said, Mr. Pierce." I don't give him a chance to get a word in, "When do you want to meet? It sounds like you're getting a little ahead of yourself about this whole deal. A little out of bounds, if you understand." I recall the coffee shop in the picture. I flip open his folder again and catch myself trapped on his blue eyes, slightly averted and looking off frame. He didn't know he was being filmed. "How about the coffee shop... Java? Down on Seventh?"
"Ms. Stone," James says. "Have you been spying on me?"
"You'll be there in a half hour." I swallow air, trying my best to keep my voice from wavering. I can hear him grinning over the phone, his voice stretched by his own smugness. My chest burns and I don't know why.
"I'll be there," he finally answers. He hangs up the call before me.
I slam my receiver down into its cradle and cross my arms. My office feels suffocating all of a sudden, and I know I won't be able to wait a half hour. I have to get out right now. Get rid of this... nervous energy.
No one treats me like this. I stand up at once and wrestle my coat back on, before grabbing my purse and heading out the door of my office. I wave to Gwen as I leave. She tries to say something to me, but I don't catch it. I'm already descending inside the elevator.
I have a feeling dealing with James won't be like dealing with Doug from the last firm we took over. He was a complete pushover. A stutterer.
***
The wind has picked up and I squeeze my jacket tighter around my body. The belt attached at the waist can only cinch so much before it's choking me. My scalp hurts, the chill stiffening my hair and turning my bun into a snowball. Good. The less frayed my hair looks, the better.
The walk down to seventh street isn't far, but with the windchill and my thoughts racing like the swirls of litter and snow on the pavement, it feels like ages.
The streets are mostly empty of other pedestrians. The only people insane enough to be out in this weather don't have a choice. The homeless and the cursed.
I'm one of them.
I reach the end of the block and twist on my heel to cross the street. The blue walk signal feels warm in comparison to how cold everything is outside. A side street and another block later, and I'm standing in front of Java.
I stare into the windows and don't see the familiar jaw or icy eyes that I expect. I huff a bit and step inside anyway. Escape from the cold is all I want right now.
I order a black coffee from the bored looking barista and take my place at the window. The windows are frosted with fake plastic decals, trying to simulate the chill that is as real as the steam coming out of my cup. I'm sure it looked okay a month ago. Now, it's November. Fall has fallen. I let the heat of the mug burn my palms. I tell myself they're just thawing, but I know better.
As I stare across the street and start counting the brickwork built into the facade of the consignment shop, a black limo pulls up in front of the cafe and blocks my view. I nearly stand to try and look over it, peeved that I lost count already. The color of the limo is black so dark it looks like winter hasn't touched it.
The driver steps out in a hurry and races to the back of the limo. I've never seen one in such a hurry. His hat tips back from his movement. Before he can reach the passenger's door though, it opens and a long leg steps out. A man's leg.
This must be him, who else would have such an entrance? I frown and lean down to breathe on my coffee. It's still too hot to drink. James Pierce steps out of the limo and waves the driver off, who looks flustered. They exchange some words that I can't hear. With the look on James' face, I'm sure it's about the driver looking like a fool.
James' eyes move from the driver to the window of the cafe. They stare straight through the frosted glass, fake and real, and into my eyes. I don't flinch. I sip my coffee and let it sear my throat. Bitter.
He pulls on the door and steps inside, letting a brief gust of wind pass by him before the door closes. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he walks by and goes to the counter to order. I don't know if he's undressing me, or just trying to size me up. Either way, I'll have to make sure he doesn't forget who he's dealing with.
He returns with a cup of coffee, I assume, since it's hidden under a lid. He takes up a seat next to me, climbing onto the stool before shuffling off his jacket. His arms are larger than I thought they would be, but now I probably look like I'm undressing him.
"So, Ms. Stone," he says, that wry voice making my blood turn to ice. "What did we need to talk about exactly?"
I shove my h
and over the table and wait for him to respond. He stares at me, a bit agape, before smiling and shaking my hand. I try to crush his hand, but he overpowers me. Usually the men give in immediately when they realize I don't have a fin for a hand. I cup my mug again, letting the heat soothe some of the pain. "It's a pleasure to meet you, James."
"Ms. Stone, you're much too kind. Even going so far as to bring me to my favorite coffee shop? Someone might think we're on a date."
I frown heavily. "We are not. I know what you're thinking... scheming even. It's bad enough you're spouting off to people that you're buying Hollet-East—"
"Who gives a shit?" he interrupts. He leans back and swings his arm around the back of his chair. I stare at him, not sure if I should scold him or avert my eyes. Did he just... fucking interrupt me? He raises a hand and gestures toward me. "Are you really taking yourself this seriously?"
I clear my throat and take another scalding sip. "This is serious. You're threatening both of our careers."
He laughs and tosses his head back, making sure everyone in the entire shop can hear us. I look around to see if anyone important is lingering in a booth or couch. When I look at him again, he's regained his composure, but still has his arm swung back behind the chair. He looks like a teenager. "I can say whatever I want, Ms. Stone, because my company is acquiring yours. I don't know where you've been getting your information, but it's dead wrong. Stop bullshitting me."
"I'm not. We're moving through with the merger. Whoever is telling you that it's an acquisition is..." I bite my tongue for a moment. It throbs. "Misinformed."
"You weren't going to say misinformed, were you?"
I shake my head. I have the upper hand, don't I? I'm the one with the file on him. The shredded and reconstructed resume. I smile a little, which he responds to. He must think I'm agreeing with him. "I can tell this was a useless meeting. I should have known that daddy's boy would still be getting spanked for his bad behavior. Am I right? How else would someone go from delivery room busboy to executive in under a year? I just didn't know he was hiring out the help now."
His expression transforms in an instant. His cheer vanishes and is replaced with a fury. He slams his fist on the table and spills his paper cup, the hot liquid pooling and pouring off the edge of the table. He runs his hands through his hair and tidies it up, locking his jaw and staring at the barista. Like he's waiting for them to come clean it up. No... like he's waiting for them to yell at him, so he can really explode.
I'm not buying it. "A temper, too? Look at you. A fucking mess." I stand up and pull my jacket back on. I leave the mug and gather my purse. "It's time for me to get to actual work, and stop screwing around with children."
As I slide past him, he grabs my wrist and stops me. I pull without a thought, but he only digs his fingers into my tendons even more. I wince as his gaze slowly runs up my arm and reaches my eyes. "So, you do feel emotion?"
"Let go of me!"
My wrist is in his control. I try and keep myself calm, but the sight of warm red pooling in my upturned palm makes my stomach weak. "You call me a child? I know you were burning yourself every time you drank that coffee. Knowing where and how I take my coffee is one thing, but bringing up bullshit about a dead man is another. Your company is toast," he says. "I expected more of you, Marcy."
His voice wavers as it hits my name, and he releases his grip on me. I coddle my injury and stare at it. It's light, more like a cat scratch than anything. There's hardly any blood. Was I imagining that?
"You'll live," he says, while turning away from me and back to the table. I shake my head. My feet won't move. "Your company will be mine. I don't care what your superiors think is going to happen. That isn't the truth of it. When I go inside your building, the whole place will be mine."
I rub my wrist absentmindedly. When I notice, I cover it with my sleeve again. "Then I'll have to make sure you don't step a fucking foot inside the place."
"You'll try."
I shake my head. "When you're ready to discuss this like adults, you have my information. Obviously." I turn and head out the door, nearly bashing the glass with my feet as I kick it open. I could just destroy it, couldn't I? Shatter it all and pick up a shard of glass, run back inside, and stab it into his fucking neck. How dare he grab me like that. How dare he touch me at all.
But I can't. My heart isn't racing from anger. I'm too turned on to be angry. I hike back through the streets to my office. I feel like I'm holding my breath the entire time until I finally reach the inside of the elevator. Halfway up to my floor, I slam the button to stop it.
I crumple down in the corner, only barely using the rails to keep my knees from touching the ground. A dress skirt in this weather is insane, even if I am wearing thick leggings. I pull up my jacket sleeve and stare at where he grabbed me. It feels like there should be electrical burns in my skin.
The whole time he dug his nails into me, I just... wanted to scream for more.
Maybe my weekly meetings with the Stranger are having more of an affect on me than I thought. Being empowered is one thing... but crippled at the touch of another man? What's the use of my power then?
I groan and shake my head, trying to replay the whole moment back in my head. Did his eyes twinkle? Did he like it, too?
He couldn't have.
I regain my composure and release the elevator again. It jolts back to life. It finishes the ascent to the top floor, and I step out of the double doors just as they slide open for me.
James Pierce is a problem. One that I will handle.
The Stranger is another, who I will deal with when I meet him again this weekend. Some things are going to have to change though, if it's just going to get all my wires crossed like this.
I can't have that happening. Not when my job, my life, and my lifestyle ride on it all.
***
Gwen perks up when she sees me and smiles. "Marcy! Didn't you hear me when you were leaving?"
I shake my head, still flustered. I can't tell if my cheeks are burning from the cold or from my shame. "I didn't."
"I was trying to tell you we just got some information from Capital Inc, they're going public with our bid amount for the merger." She swivels her computer monitor to show me and highlights a headline for me. CAPITAL INC, TO AQUIRE HOLLET-EAST.
I lean in closer and skim the rest of the article. Turns out James Pierce not only blabbed to the reporters that he was buying us out, but made it official. It had everything, the pitiful bid offer we sent them and their reply. He claimed he was going to take over our little shack and turn it into a mall.
I close my eyes and try to breathe, but I can feel Gwen's gaze on me. She's waiting for my reaction. That's the last thing I want her to see. "Thank you, Gwen." I say through my teeth. Like a wooden doll, I make it to the corner of the floor and manage to unlock my office. I fall inside and shut the door.
I lie on the floor and stare under the crack of the door for footsteps. I can't believe this shit. If I thought I made a fool out of myself back there in the cafe, I've only just found the tip of the iceberg.
The article mentioned me. That I was the reason Hollet-East was getting purchased. The timestamp was right after I got off the phone with him. Just before I left for the coffee shop.
I'll destroy him. It's the only thing I can do now.
Even if it means destroying myself to make it happen. It doesn't matter anymore. He won't undo years of work. The years and years of work I've put into gaining this position. The work into perfecting my stare, my bargaining, my cold shoulder. If I don't have any of that, then I have nothing.
Except the Stranger. He might be the only one who can actually help me. I might have to try and move our next meeting a bit closer. He's the only one who can tease this stress out of my muscles. The kind of stress that creates knots at your temples and knives in your back. He's the only one who can actually unlock the shackles that keep my feet bound together and my wrists stuck behind my neck.
&nbs
p; I gulp as a pair of slick black shoes walk past my office. My light is off, no one could know that I'm in here unless Gwen told them, so no one should try coming in. The feet come closer to the door and there's a sigh.
A note is slipped under the door.
It's pink.
I reach out and snatch it with my fingers and pull it closer. Am I fired? Is this really how it goes down? Just a note without a knock or a 'see you later' or 'I'm so sorry'?
I stare at it. It isn't a release of work slip. It's a note from the mailroom to come pick up a package. Looking at it closer now, it isn't even pink. It's more of an orange. My office might be a little too dark.
Standing up from the floor, I brush myself off. The sun has lifted over the blinds and streams in flat lines of light across the wall. I walk over and pull the blinds open, letting the shadows vanish. The sun almost feels warm. I can't let this whole deal with James get to me. I need to be proactive.
Men like him were what stood in my way in the beginning, and I won't let them stand in my way at the end of my career either.
***
Down in the mailroom, I tap my fingers on the receptionist's desk. Even the mail has assistants. After a bit of time, a stressed out woman with wavy hair and dark lines under her eyes appears through the small doorway. She registers my presence, but doesn't say anything as she sits down at the chair at the counter.
"I have this," I say, pushing the slip across the laminate desk. "Someone slid it under my door. I have a mail slot."
"Oh," she looks at me and suddenly away. Do I intimidate her? "I'm sorry, that was my fault. I'm... new."
"What happened to Eric?"
"He quit," she says. She takes the slip and pulls it down to her level on the desk. "Looks like it was too big to go in your slot, that's what it was." Her fingers search along the keyboard, finding the right letters, and tapping them one at a time. Her name tag is attached to a lanyard around her neck. Her sweater looks worn and is peeling, and her slacks are a little loose. The belt too cinched to really be of any help. She must be in her mid thirties.