Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I let the questions fester in my mind all damn day until I hear the ding of the elevator a few hours later. They get off, carry-out cups in hand again, laugh about a few more things, and then go their separate ways.

  Time for another fake refill.

  I grab my mug again and move toward the door, heading for the kitchen that’s on the other side of her cube. I pause at her desk and clear my throat.

  She looks up at me.

  “Hi,” she says, her voice quiet. But her eyes have this pleading look to them, like she wants me to say more than just “hi” back. On the corner of her desk is a stack of paperwork she’s just dropped down—entitled “Eloway Gallery.”

  Eloway. Mark that down to search the shit out of later.

  “Hey. How was your meeting?” I ask her. She smiles and nods.

  “It went well,” she says. “How are you?”

  I smile and tilt my head a bit. She doesn’t mean how’s my work. She means how am I. Like, how am I holding up since I forced myself to leave her panting and clawing at me a few weeks earlier. God, I’m a stupid, stupid man.

  I shrug. And then I’m hit with a steaming pile of honesty.

  “I feel like I felt a few months ago, before I made this trip down to my college town,” I say. She cocks an eyebrow at me. “I feel like life’s on track, things are going as they should.” Her eyes narrow at me. “Except that it always feels like something’s missing. But now, different than before, I know what that something is.”

  I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know how it comes out so smoothly, but it does. She’s staring at me with her mouth open the slightest bit, and I tap on her desk and walk by, this time actually getting that second cup of coffee.

  I take the long way around to get back to my office so that I don’t have to pass her.

  I get what she needs. I get why it’s complicated. I get why it’s probably damned and probably never going to amount to anything. But I need her to know what she meant—what she means—to me. The truth is, I’m not okay. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be.

  I get back to my computer and immediately search for “Eloway Gallery.” And for the first few scrolls, there’s close to nothing about this damn place. I go to the second or third page of results, and then, finally, I see something—Eloway Gallery mentioned in an online chatroom of sorts.

  There’s not a ton of information aside from one of the people claiming to be in charge of it. Lots of good merchandise supposed to be available from all over the world, hoping to be in operations within the year.

  Then, finally—bingo—a location. I jot down the address on a piece of paper just as Rex is making his way into my door.

  “How’s my star?” he asks, grabbing a mint off my desk and tearing into the wrapper with his teeth. He balls it up and throws it at the wastebasket next to my desk and, per usual, misses. And also, per usual, he never bends over to pick it up. Once, he made a comment to me that he pays people to clean the office for him, so it’s useless to do their job for them. But every time he leaves, I bend over and pick up his damn trash.

  “Hey, Rex,” I say, quickly clearing out of the browser and covering up the address. “Doing well. How are you?”

  “Great. Just heard from Landry, and they are really happy with the first month’s results. Great presentation you sent over,” he says. I smile and nod. Luckily, our first analytics presentation was due to Landry last week, so I’ve been able to stay focused—for the most part—at work on that.

  Unless she walks by in those form-fitting skirts, or those godforsaken dress pants, or the blouses that tie at the front.

  Shit. Unless she walks by, period.

  Then, I’m a puddle of useless mush.

  “Good, I’m glad. I’m really happy with the first month. Hoping to beat the numbers this month,” I say. He smiles and nods.

  “Thatta boy. You ready for today’s presentation?” he asks. I nod and give him my best grin.

  “Always, sir,” I say. He pats my shoulder and heads toward the door.

  “That’s why you’re my number one,” he says, holding up a finger as he walks out of my door. I gather my stuff for the meeting and scrape the piece of paper with the address on it into my briefcase. I have a pitstop to make after work today.

  The meeting goes by swimmingly, just like I knew it would, with the board members clapping me on the back and asking all sorts of engaged questions. Nate sat at the back of the table with his arms crossed over his chest and a tight smile on his lips the whole time.

  When the meeting ended, I grabbed my shit from my office and headed out.

  I give the cabbie the address to the gallery, and after what feels like for-fucking-ever, he drops me off between two buildings that I know are not in the best neighborhood. I thank him and pay the fare then get out and stare at the tattered building ahead of me. There’s a sign on the front that says “Gallery” with an arrow pointing toward the alley. Of course there’s an alley.

  I follow it down to a red door on the side of the building and push it open. The inside smells musty but definitely looks like it could eventually be some sort of gallery. There’s a few paintings already hanging, but other than that, though, nothing is set up yet. There’s a counter, and as I take a few steps across the creaky wood floor, a tall, skinny dude pops up. He has long hair pulled back into a ponytail and a piercing in his eyebrow.

  “Hey, can I help you?” he asks. I clear my throat, not exactly knowing what I’m here for.

  “Uh, yeah, hi,” I say. “I’m Wyatt. I’m a colleague of Nate Calloway’s.”

  The man nods at me, then his lips break out into a smile. He shoves a hand at me.

  “Hey, man, good to meet you,” he says. “I’m Mack Teller. Nate and I went to high school together.” I nod. Another rich boy, then. “So you’re working on the deal, too?”

  I nod slowly as I shake his hand.

  “Well, sort of. He wants to bring me in on it but wanted me to come take a look at things ahead of time.”

  He nods slowly then holds his arms out.

  “Well, here it is,” he says. “We should be getting the rest of the artwork within the next few months. This room over here is going to be the lounge area, and then over in that corner is where we will sign the contracts.”

  I nod and look around. Nothing about this is raising any alarms, which is ticking me off. I know something’s got to be going on here. I know it.

  “So, have you decided on which services you’ll be using Caldell for?” I ask, turning back to him. He leans back on his heel and cocks an eyebrow.

  “Have Nate or Maryn not, uh, gone over everything with you?” he asks me, and I feel hot under my collar, like I’m about to blow my cover.

  And the mention of her name makes me feel all clammy; it feels like she’s in on something that she shouldn’t be.

  “We haven’t exactly had a moment in private to go over the details,” I say with a casual smile, “so he gave me the address and asked me to come here. He told me it was a private deal until things were worked out.”

  I pull a business card out of my wallet and hand it to him so he can see I am who I say I am.

  He nods.

  “So you know her, then?” he asks, leaning back against the counter.

  “Maryn?” I ask, feeling that heat rising again. “Yeah, I know her from around the office. Although, he hasn’t really explained her involvement with all this.”

  Mack nods as he walks around the counter, pulling a folder out from underneath a pile of other junk. He slaps it on the counter in front of me.

  “So, we are going to be a specialty art gallery, definitely,” Mack says. “But we will also be running another operation of sorts out of here.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. I nod slowly to let him know I’m following, though I am most definitely not.

  “We need some funding to get the place up and rolling—at least the art side of it—before we can
bring in the behind-the-scenes operations. That’s where Caldell comes in.”

  He opens the folder and pulls out some paperwork with the Caldell logo on it. It looks like a term agreement—like the ones that we provide all of our clients when we are ready to finalize an agreement with them. Except this isn’t a term agreement; it’s a sponsorship agreement.

  “Wait, so you’re not actually using Caldell for communications purposes?” I ask, staring down at the paperwork in front of me that has Maryn’s signature all over it.

  Mack gives me a look then chuckles.

  “I mean, who knows. If the gallery takes off down the line, we very well could use ya for that. But Caldell sponsors and provides financial aid to startup businesses each year. This year, Eloway Gallery is going to be one of those businesses. It will help get the gallery front up and more substantial so that the, uh, underground stuff can flourish in the background.”

  Mack is all too comfortable and proud of himself for someone that just explained that he’s launching an illegal drug ring.

  I swallow as I stare down at the paperwork.

  “And what exactly does Caldell get from this?” I ask, my voice low and filling with anger. Mack swallows nervously, noticing my tone.

  “Uh, the satisfaction of pushing a small business forward,” he says with a too-confident smile that makes me want to punch him in his entitled fucking face.

  “And what does Nate get?” I ask.

  “He’s a sort of shareholder, ya know, of the behind-the-scenes business. He will get a cut.”

  I swallow again, my grip on the paperwork tightening.

  “And Maryn?” I ask.

  Mack gives me half a smile and shrugs.

  “Someone’s name had to be on the paperwork,” he says. “Couldn’t be Nate’s, you know, just in case.”

  I nod slowly as my thumb grazes her signature on the paperwork in front of me.

  “So, she has no idea?”

  Mack shakes his head.

  “I imagine not. It would be pretty hard to convince someone from the company to sign these and risk all that. We figured the new girl fresh into this fabulous corporate world would be a good one to go with.”

  He’s so casual that it actually does take me a moment to restrain myself. I want to slam his fucking head into the stupid granite counter in front of him.

  But this isn’t even his fault.

  It’s Nate’s.

  And now Maryn will take the fall for it.

  I force myself to keep my cool, letting him know we would be in touch and that the deal sounded good. I have to keep myself looking like I’m truly working with Nate and not like I’m off to strangle him with my bare hands.

  I hail a taxi outside, my hands squeezing into fists of anger.

  Maryn trusted him. We all did.

  I dial Rex on my cell, my hands shaking.

  “Hey, Rex,” I say, barely letting him get a word in. “Are you still at the office? I need to speak with you.”

  “Yep, still here. Come on by.”

  “I’ll be there in about twenty.” I hang up, resting my head back against the seat and willing all other cars in Manhattan to get the fuck out of the way.

  As we’re getting closer and closer to the office, I text Maryn.

  Are you still at work? I ask.

  I wait. Then wait a little bit more. But there’s no response.

  When we finally get to Caldell’s block, I duck out of the cab, chucking cash back at the driver and basically sprinting back into the building. Nate will not do this. He won’t use her. He won’t hurt her, crush her spirit and her hard work.

  She won’t go through something like this. Not again.

  The elevator seems painfully slow today, and my palms are sweaty against my sides. Finally, I hear that ding, and I run off. I make a mad dash down the hall toward Rex’s office. Only, as I’m passing the cubicles, I see hers is empty. I have a sinking in my stomach as I keep walking, not acknowledging another human that I see.

  I reach Rex’s office just as he’s holding the door open for Maryn. She has her head down to the ground. Nate’s standing outside of his own office door, not the slightest bit of shame in his eyes. Fuck. Mack must have tipped him off. And suddenly, I see red.

  “Rex,” I say, breathless. He looks up at me.

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt, but this’ll have to wait. I have to speak with Maryn, here,” he says, dismay in his voice and his eyes. I shake my head.

  “Sir, I just need a minute. It’s about this—”

  “Not now, Wyatt.” Then Rex closes the door, and Maryn disappears behind it. I clench my fists and storm into Nate’s office where he’s casually straightening out piles of paperwork on his desk.

  “How the fuck dare you,” I grumble, slamming his door shut behind me. I hear gasps from outside as the sound made the whole building jump. Nate turns to me slowly, his eyes narrowed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t stutter. You were just going to have her slap her name on things, make her think she was taking a step up, but really you were setting her up.”

  Nate smiles, and I want to punch his teeth into his fucking brain.

  “If she was dumb enough to screw you, I knew she’d be dumb enough not to suspect anything,” he says, casually taking a sip from his coffee mug on the corner of his desk. I take a step toward him and swat the mug out of his hand, sending coffee everywhere. He barely acknowledges it, barely even lifts a brow.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  “You heard me, Wyatt. Don’t get all high and mighty. It doesn’t take a genius to see the world’s strongest case of sexual tension. And the way she can never stop talking about you pretty much gives it up,” he says. For a short moment, I’m blinking like a madman, taking in his last few words. She thinks about me as much as I think about her. “Besides, Ricky saw you guys together, getting pizza, a few weeks ago.” Fuck.

  “Fuck you, Nate. She has nothing to do with this, and she’s done nothing but everything you asked since she started.”

  He smiles again, dabbing at the coffee stain on his shirt with a tissue.

  “Thus why I knew she’d be perfect,” he says. “If I hadn’t known that you’d already tainted her, I’d probably have requested a quick blowie in my office now and then. And you know what? She’s such a good worker, I bet she would have obliged.”

  I stare at the man in front of me in a combination of disbelief and the purest anger I’ve ever felt.

  Well, almost the purest anger. The only time I can remember wanting to kill someone so viciously was when I saw my sister’s killer in the courtroom. This is a close second.

  I lunge at him before my brain can catch up with my body’s reaction, and before I know it, my fists are swinging in his direction. I land one to his chin just as the chair behind him is falling. He lands one to my gut, making me heave before I swing again, clocking him on his cheekbone. I stand up and grab him by his collar, shaking him and throwing him to the ground.

  “She won’t go down for this,” I growl at him as he rubs his face.

  “What, and you think I will? I’m the future face of this company. We both know I’m not going anywhere.”

  I glare at him before storming out of his office and back in the direction of Rex’s. I have to fix this, because there’s a fear in me that Nate’s right.

  I walk toward Rex’s office, expecting to have to pound on the door, but to my surprise, it’s open. I turn my head and see Priscilla walking Maryn toward her desk. Maryn’s crying. I storm into Rex’s office and slam the door shut.

  “She didn’t do it, Rex,” I say.

  Rex is sitting in his desk chair, his back to me, facing the crazy panoramic view of the city he has from his office. He’s got his face in his hand.

  “Rex,” I say again. “She had nothing to do with this. She had no idea. It was...it was Nate.”

  Rex doesn’t say anything. He just turns his chair around slowly. He takes in a deep breath th
en finally raises his eyes to me.

  “I know,” he whispers, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “You...you know?” I ask. Rex is a good man. He’s got a lot more integrity than his asshole son. But that doesn’t explain why Maryn was crying.

  Rex looks up at me, shame in his eyes.

  “We both know he can’t go down for something like this,” Rex whispers. I swallow.

  “What?” Rex is a good leader. A strong leader. I know he has more in him than this.

  “Wyatt, he’s my son,” Rex says. “This is going to break soon. We got a tip from a friend in the police department that they’ve been tracking the gallery for a few months and believe they have eyes on their first shipment of drugs. And when it blows open, the names of every person and company involved will be exposed—including Caldell.”

  I’m staring at him.

  “Rex, you know she had no idea,” I plead, sitting down across from him at his desk. “Don’t do this to her.”

  He shakes his head, letting out another long, slow breath.

  “She’s a good kid. But he’s my son. I can’t let our name go down with something like this. This will ruin his future. Maryn was at the wrong place at the wrong time, Wyatt.”

  I push myself up from the desk, clasping my hands behind my head as I walk to the window.

  She’s here partially because of me. She’s here because she’s a hard worker. She signed those papers because she thought she was doing her job.

  I spin back to Rex.

  “Say I did it,” I say. His eyes flash to mine.

  “What?”

  “Say I was her manager, and I instructed her to sign that paperwork,” I say.

  Rex waves me off as he spins around in his chair like he’s too afraid to face me head-on.

  “I’m resigning today, Rex. Write up the press release, slap my name on it, and take her off of everything.”

  Rex’s eyes are wide. He stands up now.

  “Wyatt, you didn’t have anything to do with it,” he says.

  “Neither did she. I’ll sign an NDA. I’ll sign whatever the fuck you want as long as it’s written into the agreement that her name is kept out of it. That she had no voluntary involvement in it whatsoever. And she gets out from under him. He’s no longer her manager.”