Kill the Competition
Page 18
Relief flooded her limbs. “Thank you, Margo.”
One side of her boss’s mouth slid back. “You’re welcome. Now get out of here, I still have to go home and pack.”
“Just one more thing. I’d like to take a day of vacation tomorrow to have my car repaired, if that’s okay.”
A small smile curved Margo’s mouth. “One perk of being a senior manager is that you don’t have to take vacation for a personal errand. Take as much time as you need.” Margo’s phone rang with the double bleep of an internal call, and she sighed. “It’s a conspiracy.”
Belinda smiled. “I’ll let you go. Have a nice vacation.”
Closing the door behind her, Belinda released a pent-up breath, glad beyond words that she had followed her instincts and talked to Margo.
The woman was a conundrum. Margo could come off as such a hardass, but she was genuinely looking out for the good of the company. So she didn’t have the best bedside manner—if she were a man, her abruptness would be seen as a strength. And Belinda doubted that any man would have handled Jim Newberry with as cool a head as Margo had today.
Belinda gathered her belongings and retraced her steps down the hallway toward the back stairwell. The overhead lights were after-hours dim, the many cubicles sat vacant, and the air hummed with the distant drone of office equipment. At this time of day the department took on an almost eerie quality. A shiver traveled over her shoulders as she replayed the scene of Jim Newberry charging into Margo’s office earlier, his eyes wild. How differently that encounter might have ended.
Violence in the workplace had always bewildered her, but lately she could see how someone who was having a personal crisis might construe a setback at work as the final straw. In hindsight, Lieutenant Alexander’s concern today was well-founded, and she was grateful he’d thought of her safety.
Grateful and…flattered. But not swayed.
Her thoughts jumped to Rosemary, and she sent up a little prayer that her friend had fared well in her evaluation. It was a shame that Rosemary and Margo had once been friends and were now at professional odds. A potential outcome, she supposed, when relationships got “messy.”
She wondered if Libby and Carole had managed to follow Rosemary and uncover the root of her secret meetings. Yet Belinda’s immediate concern was the best way to get to Libby’s house to pick up her car. She pushed open the door to the stairwell, shifted her load, and began her descent down seven flights. What had begun as paranoia about the elevators had at least become a healthy habit.
A taxi from Midtown to Libby’s house would cost roughly the same as the killer Gucci purse she dreamed of owning, so that was out. But she could catch the MARTA rail train at the Arts Center station and ride the northeast line to the end, then hail a taxi, and that would set her back only about the cost of a below-average pair of shoes.
One minute she was thinking about the pair of shoes she was sacrificing, and the next thing she knew, she was falling. She flung her arms out to catch herself, but momentum she blamed on those extra twelve pounds sent her skidding over the steps on her belly.
A wall stopped her. When she opened her eyes, pain was her instant realization—her head, her shoulder, her wrist. And a sense of having missed something more than a step…time? Had she passed out? She moaned and was gratified to hear her voice. She dreaded moving because she suspected the pain would get worse.
She was right.
The ache in her left wrist convinced her to use her right arm to push herself upright. Thank goodness no bones were protruding, but her wrist was swollen and she was going to have a knot on her head. Her cheek burned, and the knuckles on her right hand were skinned, but otherwise she felt lucky. And, being the pragmatic girl that she was, her immediate thought was if the ninety-day probation period on her medical benefits had passed.
A couple of minutes later, she felt well enough to stand and gather her wayward items. She’d managed to lose a shoe and become detached from her raincoat. Her purse and briefcase were intact and undamaged, so that was something. From the sign on the wall she’d collided with, she had made it to the second floor, so she decided to proceed to the ground level lounge for repairs.
She navigated the rest of the stairs carefully, then avoided eye contact with passersby until she crossed the threshold of the women’s lounge near the entrance of the hotel lobby. Her navy jacket was filthy, torn, and minus one pewter-colored button. After removing the jacket, she pulled up the sleeve of her blouse and held her wrist under cold running water in one of the sinks.
A glimpse in the mirror revealed a bright patch of skin on her cheek. She’d probably have a bruise, but considering how hard she’d fallen, she was lucky she hadn’t broken her preoccupied neck. She washed the blood from her knuckles and noted with relief that her wrist was already feeling better. A woman exited a stall and cast suspicious looks in Belinda’s direction as she washed her hands. Belinda didn’t blame her for staring—she looked as if she’d been in a barroom brawl.
After dabbing powder on her cheek and fluffing her hair, Belinda dusted off her jacket and slid into it with a grimace. She decided she’d rather wear the raincoat than carry it, which meant more contortions. Thoroughly exhausted, she gathered her briefcase and purse and left the lounge. Having tomorrow off was sounding better and better; at least she could sleep late. And it would be nice to have her car back in top working condition. She smirked—might as well get her Georgia driver’s license while she was at it. Since she was going to be the new CFO of Archer Furniture Company, it looked as if she’d be staying a while.
At this time of day, most of the activity in the Stratford Building surrounded the hotel and fitness center. Every time she thought about her brazen episode with Julian, she burned with embarrassment—and the teensiest bit of satisfaction that she had the potential to surprise herself. Then, as if she had imagined him into existence, across the enormous corridor she saw Julian walking into the gym carrying a black leather duffel bag, his shoulders rounded as if he were in deep thought.
Pleasure bubbled in her chest. “Julian!”
When he recognized her, he seemed surprised, then smiled.
She met him halfway. “Hi. I see you made it back.”
He nodded, but seemed distracted—probably tired from the flight. “You cut your hair—nice.”
“Thanks.”
He shifted foot to foot. “What are you still doing here? Hasn’t your car pool left?”
“Something came up that needed my attention, so I told the girls to go ahead. I was on my way to MARTA.”
“MARTA? To Alpharetta?”
“Well, as far as I can go, then a taxi to Libby’s house to pick up my car.”
“I can take you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to keep you from your workout.”
He hesitated, then smiled. “Nonsense, I’ll take you. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat on the way.”
She winced. “This sounds klutzy, but I fell in the stairwell and sprained my wrist, so I really need to get home and ice it down.”
Julian shrugged. “Okay, I need to run an errand out that direction anyway.”
“Thanks. I have to admit your offer sounds better than catching the train and a taxi.”
He looked down at his bag. “Um, give me a minute to ditch this in a locker.”
“Sure.”
Julian waved to the cute girl at the desk, who motioned him past the long checkin line. Local celebrity had its advantages, Belinda thought with a wry smile.
Then again, fooling around with a local celebrity had its advantages, too.
Chapter 18
Julian drove a navy blue Audi sedan with caramel-colored glove leather seats. Carole would have said it was a nice ride. So would she, Belinda decided, except she couldn’t fully enjoy the experience because they were moving at seventy-eight miles an hour. Granted, it was a smooth seventy-eight miles an hour.
The man had a beautiful profile. Speed agreed with him�
�in fact, he seemed to get high on it. She had heard of driving gloves but had never known anyone who took driving so seriously as to actually own a pair. They were fingerless, with padded palms, and apparently were coated with some kind of substance that allowed him to control the steering wheel with as little contact as possible. He seemed giddy, his fingers drumming, his head moving to the beat on the radio.
“It’s been a long time since I drove in rush hour instead of over it,” he said with a laugh, oblivious to the fact that they were almost airborne. “Thankfully the worst of the traffic is over.”
Thankfully. “You didn’t arrive back from Raleigh in time to go up in the chopper?”
“Er…no. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to fly again, and hopefully conditions will be better than they were this morning.”
“So you heard how bad it was?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah—I heard it was terrible.”
“I missed hearing your voice.”
He grinned. “You mean Talkin’ Tom’s voice.”
“Now that I know the truth, I hear your voice in his.”
He reached over to stroke her wrist with his thumb, sending little thrills up her arm, which might also have been terror because he was now driving with one hand. “So how did you fall?”
“Just carelessness,” she said. “It’s strange, but since I heard about Jeanie’s accident, I’ve been taking the stairs. And then I almost break my neck on them.”
His expression went still. “Guess it goes to show you that when your time is up, it’s going to happen, regardless.”
“That’s a fatalistic outlook,” she said softly. Especially for someone who considered the speed limit voluntary.
He shrugged, then gave her a little smile. “Pilots have to be fatalists, or we’d never climb into a cockpit.”
She chose her words carefully. “Julian, how well did you know Jeanie?”
Another shrug. “Well enough. We biked together on weekends and competed in a couple of 10K runs together. We had fun. You remind me of her a little.”
Hm. “Were you involved romantically?”
He pulled his hand away, and she missed it. “We were involved physically, but not romantically.” Then he flashed a rueful smile. “Sorry, babe. You asked.”
Babe? “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, although her stomach felt swimmy—of course, it might have been car-sickness. “The girls said Jeanie was jumpy, maybe even paranoid before she had the accident. Did you notice anything different?”
He shoved his hand into his hair, then shook his head. “No. I thought she was careful, just like any single woman should be.”
“But not afraid of anything specific?”
“Not that I know of, other than that boss of yours.”
Belinda frowned. “Margo?”
He gave a dry laugh. “Well, not literally, but she was always nervous about pleasing her, said the woman could make her life miserable. I don’t know her very well, but you said yourself she could be a tyrant.”
Belinda nodded, still warring with her feelings toward Margo. Many great leaders were misunderstood and were forced to make unpopular decisions. Margo couldn’t be all bad—in fact, thanks to her, this starting over thing was starting to look like it might actually succeed. “Actually, I think Margo might have a little crush on you,” she said with a grin.
“Yeah, she’s come on to me in the gym before, but she’s pretty severe.”
Instead of being dragged into a discussion about her boss’s attractiveness, Belinda decided to concentrate on hanging on for dear life. She hadn’t realized that the distance between Midtown and Alpharetta could be traversed so quickly. “D-don’t you worry about being pulled over?”
“Nah. I have friends in the APD. Alexander isn’t one of them, by the way.”
“I saw him today.”
He scowled. “Where?”
“A guy Margo fired a few months ago barged into her office. No one was hurt, but Wade was following up.”
“Wade?”
“Um, Lieutenant Alexander.”
“He seems to have a knack for being everywhere,” he said sarcastically.
She squinted. “What do you have against him?”
His jaw tightened, then he smiled. “I don’t care enough for the man to have anything against him. How about lunch this week?”
“Maybe Wednesday? Tomorrow I’m having my car repaired.”
“How much damage?”
“Headlight, dented fender, and a broken trunk latch. Oh, and the tire of course, but I already had it replaced.”
“I meant how much is it going to cost you?”
She told him, and he whistled.
“The next time you need bodywork, let me know.” Then he grinned and winked. “Not that you need bodywork.”
She laughed at his friendly flirtation and marveled over her different reactions to the three men who had shown an interest in her. Perry sickened her. Julian incited her. And Wade…disconcerted her.
The clock on the dash read 7:35 P.M., and darkness was falling early due to cloud cover. Her wrist was beginning to throb, and her head was making itself known. She warned Julian of the upcoming turnoff to give him plenty of time to slow down. He did—some—then they were tearing through Libby’s neighborhood in the semidarkness. She prayed that all children and pets were stashed away securely in their homes.
Considering the girls’ Operation Nosy Friend and Julian’s need for speed, Belinda worried they might arrive at Libby’s before Libby, but when they roared up, the Honda sat in the Janeses’ dark driveway.
He pulled alongside her car and shifted into park. “I’ll wait for you.”
“I might have to go in for a minute—I missed out on an after-work, um, project.”
“Take your time.”
She gave him a grateful smile, then closed the door and hurried up the sidewalk to Libby’s house. Two sodden newspapers lay on the stoop, next to a pot of drowned geraniums. Belinda rang the doorbell and gathered her coat around her against the chill left in the storm’s wake. The wind whipped her face, stinging the tender skin on her cheek, and she was thankful again that she hadn’t injured herself worse. Her penchant for accidents lately would give a therapist pause.
An outside light came on and the door opened abruptly. Libby, still in her work clothes, sans the shoes and panty hose, was in the middle of yelling at someone.
“—and I mean it!” She turned to Belinda and sighed. “Take my life…please. Come in if you dare.”
Belinda laughed and stepped into a crammed foyer. The scent of fried chicken permeated the air, and two televisions blared from different directions. “I can only stay for a few minutes—a friend drove me over.”
Libby’s eyebrows climbed, and she peered out. “A friend?”
Belinda closed the door to circumvent Libby’s curiosity. “I ran into Julian as I was leaving the building, and he offered to drive me.”
Libby frowned. “Where did you get the shiner?”
“Oh.” She touched her cheek gingerly. “I fell in the stairwell at work.”
“Did Margo push you?” Libby asked sarcastically.
“No. I was alone, and it was an accident.”
“What was so important that you had to stay over?”
“Just a matter on the Payton acquisition to clear up before Margo left for vacation.” To change the subject and because her own curiosity was getting the best of her, she asked, “So, how did it go with Rosemary?”
Libby sighed. “Carole was late, so we missed her.”
“Oh. Well, it was probably for the best.”
“We’ll be ready next time.”
“Or you guys could simply tell her that you’re concerned friends and see if she tells you of her own volition.”
Libby shrugged. “Maybe.”
Belinda shook her head. “I’m taking tomorrow off to have my car repaired and to get my driver’s license changed—should I call Rosemary to let her know?”
“Thanks, but I really need to get home.”
Libby’s head bobbed. “With Julian?”
“With an ice bag. I sprained my wrist.”
“Oh. Well, feel better, and try to enjoy your day off. You’d better take something to read in that DMV line.”
“Duly noted.”
“In fact…” Libby disappeared into a darkened side room, then reappeared with a half-inch stack of pages and a huge grin. “You can be the first to read the opening to our DOs and DON’Ts manuscript.”
Belinda hefted the pages in her good hand. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Especially if it means extra cash.”
“Does this mean you’re not getting a part-time job?”
Libby looked over her shoulder, as if she was afraid she’d be overheard. “I came into a little unexpected cash, so I’m okay.”
Belinda really didn’t want to know any details, so she pointed over her shoulder. “I’d better get going.” She took the car keys Libby extended. “Thanks again for driving my car home.”
Just as Libby opened the door for her, a huge crash sounded from another room in the house, and a wailing ensued.
“Libby!” a man roared.
Libby closed her eyes briefly. “One of these days, Belinda, I’m going to come unglued. Think of all the writing I could do in a nice, quiet prison cell.”
Belinda gave her a pained smile and a quick wave, then vamoosed and closed the door behind her. Julian’s car was still running. As she approached the driver’s side, his window came down, and he leaned out. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his upper lip, and he seemed anxious to get going. Guilt stabbed her as she held up her keys. “I’m good to go.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his hand drumming.
“Absolutely. My place is only a couple of miles away.”
“Maybe I can see it next time.”