by K. C. Ale
Now I’m doing my best to run out.
“Call for help. She needs medical attention.”
A hand goes out, albeit a weak one. My gaze drags up to meet building security. “I’m okay. I just…” Breathe in. Breathe out. “I just need a minute.”
Concerned eyes dart over my features, visually examining me. “Is there someone we can call for you, Miss?”
That’s when the dam bursts, flooding my cheeks. “Carlson,” I choke out. “He’s supposed to take me home because there’s a groundbreaking ceremony and he’s not here.” I don’t know why I’m blabbering. The guard doesn’t know the he who isn’t here is Brad Hawkes. He doesn’t know who Carlson is. “Oh God, I don’t know his full name.”
The guard nods as though he understands. “Are you with HC?”
Not anymore. I say instead, “That’s the Carlson.”
They escort me to a small room off the security desk, probably not wanting visitors to see a crazy, sobbing woman in their pristine lobby. A few minutes later one of them comes in to assure me Carlson is on his way.
*****
I never thought I’d see the day Carlson would be shooting worried glances at me through the rearview mirror. Not long after building security relayed the message to me, he stomped in, grim but badass. After taking a look at me, his face was even more foreboding. The two guards that led him into the room stepped back in unison, instinctively reaching for weapons they didn’t have.
My purse was retrieved from my desk by Carlson, because at that point, who cared who knew about me and Brad? Immediately after that, he ushered me to the car as though there was a bomb in the building.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” he asks now, his booming voice bleak.
Inhaling deeply, I swipe at my damp cheeks. “I got fired.” He might as well know. He’ll find out sooner or later anyway.
“Fired?” His thick brows pull. “Does Mr. Hawkes know about this?”
A weepy laugh escapes. “Mr. Hawkes doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does about his company.”
“Meaning?”
I shake my head, opting for the side window than Carlson’s fierce scowl. “Nothing. It just means I’m not going back.”
“Mr. Hawkes isn’t going to like this.”
“Don’t tell him, Carlson. At least not yet. He’s with a client, and I don’t want this to get in the way.”
“It’s his company. He can get you your job back.”
“I don’t want it,” I murmur. “My self-respect is worth more than a paycheck.”
Twenty-six
Brad
“Hey, man. Get up.”
Groaning, I pry my lids up so I can glare at Carlson’s ugly face. “What the fuck?” I croak. “Don’t you know what time I got home last night?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I know, because I drove you home, dumbass. It’s six-thirty, and you need to get your ass up.”
Snatching a pillow, I bury my face beneath it. Um… it smells like Gemma. “Where’s Gemma?”
“Sounds like she’s in the shower.” He smacks the pillow right off my face. “Get up. You need to deal with some shit that went down yesterday while you were busy getting lap dances.”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Too fucking bright in here. “Don’t remind me. Those assholes didn’t know when to quit. I fucking hate those guys, but they’ve got projects up and down the country.”
“Tell that to Miss Warton when she gets a load of that cheap perfume on you.”
Pulling up, I rake back unruly hair. “You think I’m stupid? I showered before getting in bed. I wouldn’t fuck a stripper if HC depended on it, and I definitely don’t want that shit touching Gemma.”
“Whatevs,” he scoffs, sounding like Gemma. “I’ll get breakfast ready, ‘cause you’re gonna need it today.”
Scrubbing a hand down my face – I’m too old for this bullshit – I climb out of bed. Carlson must have taken Bull outside already, since he’s not leaping all over me.
Gemma was sound asleep when I got home last night. Or rather, early this morning. I’d texted her after dinner to let her know I was stuck entertaining those bozos, and she’d responded back with a thumbs-up emoji. Whatever the hell that meant.
The entire time I was thinking I rather be home, curled on the couch with Gemma and watching one of her shows. Or going over some report while she studied for finals next to me.
Carlson was tight-lipped when he picked me up. I figured the attitude was for the trek to a titty bar at one in the morning.
Gemma is just tucking a towel between her breasts when I push through the door. Warm steam fills the expansive bath, lending an ethereal glow to her glistening skin.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, finger-combing her long hair and pointedly not looking at me.
“Hey,” I call gently, pulling her in when she makes to brush pass me. “Where are you going?”
“I have an eight o’clock class, remember?”
She slips out without another word.
That was offbeat. My gaze falls on the mirror, on the baffled green eyes staring back at me. “Ookay.”
Women.
I make use of the facility, going through the ritual of washing my hands and brushing my teeth when all hell breaks loose.
A white shirt is hurled at my head. It reeks like it was soaked in cigar butts and bargain basement perfume. I peel it off with a grimace.
“Why is there makeup on your shirt?”
Gemma is positively fuming, stomping her foot like an enraged bull ready to charge. She’s put on a pullover shirt and jeans, sporting her worn sneakers, ready for a fight.
Fuck.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, Hawkes,” she sneers with disdain, “you have no idea what I’m thinking.”
It’s way too early for this. “You know those clients I met for dinner?”
She folds her slender arms and kills me with her glare. “What? You’re a pimp now?”
“Ha! That’s funny, Gemmy. See, no.” I rub a frustrated hand on my forehead. I was afraid she was going to overreact. “After dinner, they wanted to go check out some exotic dancers.”
“Strippers,” she snaps.
I thought exotic dancers sounded tamer. “Yeah,” I say. “A few dances. That was it.”
“A few dances?” she repeats with scorn. “A few dances don’t get makeup on your shirt, Hawkes!”
I wince, because even I know this isn’t going to be good. “There might have been a lap dance or two.”
Did her eyes just glow red?
“You let naked women climb all over you?”
Now I’m raking at my hair. Or yanking it out by the roots. “You see, these clients… they’re into that shit. It’s like a business relationship building thing. They wanted to talk shop while getting lap dances.”
Lame.
True but lame.
“Did you touch them?”
“Of course not!”
“I meant the strippers,” she taunts, “not the clients.”
I shoot her a look. “No and no.”
She’s still furious. Her entire face and neck are flushed with indignation. Visibly trying to contain herself, she draws in a deep breath, then drops her arms to her sides.
“Go fuck yourself, Brad Hawkes. Your so-called clients. Most of all, fuck your company.”
She whips around so fast she leaves a draft in her wake.
Fuck!
“Gemmy!”
A hurricane on speed, she blows out of the room, dashes down the hall, and slams the guest bedroom door so hard the whole floor rattles.
Feverishly twisting the locked handle only increases my aggravation. “Open this door, Gemma!”
“I told you.” Carlton is at the top of the stairs, shaking his big head. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Fuck off.”
“Yup.” Negligently, he scratches his neck tat with a finger, completely ignoring my glower. “You’re
in the doghouse now, Hawkes. Better look up how to grovel.”
“Get the fuck out of my face, Carlson. I don’t need your shit on top of this.”
He bobs a shoulder. “Suit yourself.” Halfway turned, he glances back. “Oh, and by the way, some motherfucker fired your girl yesterday. I had to pick her up from building security. She was crying her eyes out and didn’t even remember to grab her purse.”
*****
“What the hell happened?”
Mart fidgets noticeably in the chair across from me, all but pulling at his sweaty collar. “I don’t have the full story yet, but Todd mentioned she got physically violent with him.”
“Bull. Shit.” Gemma is not a violent person. Even this morning, when she looked ready to maim me with her bare hands, I only ended up with screaming and the subsequent silent treatment when she could’ve clobbered me with a textbook. Reaching over, I depress the necessary button. “Linda, get Todd Jansky here.”
“Yes, Mr. Hawkes.”
“Todd was adamant that he did what he had to do.”
“Mart, the top of Gemma’s head doesn’t reach my neck, and she weighs all of a hundred pounds with boots on. You’re telling me she got violent with Todd Jansky after being here for less than two days for no apparent reason?” I cut him a look. “That doesn’t sound suspicious to you?”
“I don’t know, Brad.” He sighs. “I’m sure there’s more to it, but I have to trust my operations manager when he says he did what he thought was right for the company.”
“Did you check on her like I asked you?”
“Well, no. Not yet. I stopped by her desk Monday afternoon, but she was already gone. Brad.” He hesitates. “I did have a quick chat with Tiffani Forrester while I was there. She didn’t seem happy with Gemma Warton. Said she was not at her desk most of the morning and didn’t look to be doing her job.”
I’m not buying it. I saw her at Conyers. She busted her ass more than all the servers put together, and the customers appeared to appreciate her attentiveness. Not only that, I’ve seen how she dedicates herself to her studies. A full-time student with two part-time jobs, and I’m supposed to believe Gemma is lazy? Fuck that.
I would’ve gotten the account from Gemma, except she wasn’t talking to me. Carlson didn’t know shit other than what he already told me.
Without taking my eyes off Mart, I reach for the same button. “Linda, get me Tiffani Forrester.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Actually, Linda, I want Tiffani Forrester. Hold on Todd Jansky.”
“You got it.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to intervene,” Mart offers, his shoulders slumped. “First Peter, now his daughter. I just wish things were different.”
“Peter was not informed Gemma was working for HC. Which is a good thing, considering the outcome.”
Two raps at the door, then Linda is showing the guest in. I don’t know Tiffani very well, just vaguely recall seeing her around procurement when Peter headed up the division.
“Tiffani, thanks for stopping in,” I begin, trying to put her at ease even though I want to wring someone’s neck. Repeatedly. “Have a seat.”
In her early-forties, Tiffani doesn’t look like she would be easily intimidated, but when you’ve been called into the CEO’s office and finds not only him but the COO, that can’t be easy even for a veteran employee.
“Am I being fired?” she asks immediately.
“If that were the case, you’d be with HR.”
She takes a second to consider that. Apparently mollified, she takes the seat next to Mart. “Is this about Gemma Warton?”
Smart woman. “Tell us what you know.”
Her mouth twists in thought. “Not much. I know she was fired yesterday.”
Mart curves in his seat so he can see her better. “How did you know?”
“These things have a way of getting around,” she says sardonically. “As I told Mr. Perez on Monday, Gemma wasn’t at her desk most of her first day. I thought she was slacking off somewhere, so I didn’t spare her any time.” She shrugs. “I figured if the company was okay with that, who was I to challenge it? When she came in Tuesday morning, she offered to help me. I thought that was weird, considering she was gone the day before. Then she told me what she was doing. Honestly? That was messed up.”
“What was?” Mart wants to know.
“Well, she told me she had to help setup for a lunch meeting, get coffee for Mr. Jansky, organize the IT stock room – and we all know what that looked like – and check the expiration dates on the junk in the kitchen.”
Mart is shaking his head in disbelief. “Why in the world did she do those things?”
“She said Mr. Jansky told her to.”
I don’t say a word, distraughtly trying to take it in. Gemma hadn’t said anything to me. I distinctly remember asking her about her first day, and she downplayed it and changed the subject.
“I don’t understand.” Mart is frowning, veering between Tiffani and me. “That wasn’t what she was hired to do.”
“She was gone for a bit after lunch yesterday. I’m not sure why and I didn’t ask. When she got back, she told me Mr. Jansky wanted to see her in his office. She never came back. The next thing I knew, Carlson was going through her desk for her purse.”
“Man,” Mart wheezes in astonishment. “What else?”
“That’s all I know.”
Outwardly composed, I nod. “Thank you, Tiffani.”
After she walks out of my office, I call Linda. “Get IT to send me a printout of all electronic communications for Gemma Warton. Then I want the surveillance footages for the fifty-seventh floor for Monday and Tuesday.”
“When would you like them?”
“Yesterday.”
“Understood.”
Twenty-seven
Gemma
When a couple of classmates invited me to join them for coffee after class, I went.
And yeah, they were both men. Both attractive men. So what?
Because fuck Brad Hawkes.
I spent an hour laughing and flirting with two attractive men who insisted on buying me a cup of joe and a scone. At least they weren’t dancing naked on top of me.
That might be on the agenda now that I’m done with finals. Not them, specifically, but I’m sure Craig wouldn’t mind such an outing. It would be a celebration of sorts. Graduation. Being single again.
Yup. That’s right. Gemma Warton is single. Wait… I guess I wasn’t really in a relationship. Even I know fucking a few times does not equal to a committed relationship.
It felt like it, though. Way down deep, in the recess below my head and above my waist, it felt like it.
I just might have been falling for him.
Maybe a bigger part of me didn’t want to leave his home, leave him, even though I overstayed our arrangement. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to boot me out.
I let myself fall, because I felt safe and cherished. Like I mattered to someone special. I haven’t had those feelings in my life in a long, long time. Since I was a kid, in fact. I learned the hard way those things don’t last. Just like now.
“Carlson, would you take me to my apartment?”
After my coffee adventure, I texted for Carlson. My car was never brought to me, so the only way for me to get around was with Carlson. More than once I tried to borrow one of Brad’s many vehicles, but he’d argued there wasn’t a need.
Carlson glances at me through the rearview mirror. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I left something there. Something I really need. I’d like to get it.” I meet his gaze briefly on the mirror. “It won’t take long.”
Indecision wars within him. “Let’s ask the boss.” With a few presses on the steering wheel, a phone begins echoing through the speakers.
After four rings, a generic message blares throughout the interior.
I guess Brad Hawkes is busy. Maybe he’s at the bank getting a bunch of singles for
tonight.
What am I thinking? Lap dances require more than singles.
Bitter much? Yup.
“Just a few minutes, Carlson,” I implore when he looks ready to redial. “What am I going to do? Make a run for it? And go where? It’s important. He doesn’t have to know.” I refuse to say that stripper-lover’s name out loud.
Carlson sighs. “Ten minutes. That’s it. That starts from the second you get out of the car, or I’ll haul you out of there.” He’s already turning in the other direction towards my apartment.
That should be long enough for me to grab what I need and quietly ditch Carlson for my own car. It’s a long drive to Arizona, and it’s just eleven o’clock now. I wouldn’t arrive in Sedona until nightfall.
Last night, while Brad was partying and basking in exotic dancers rubbing all over him and Carlson was chauffeuring him around, I was able to dig through the house for a clue to my dad’s whereabouts. I found a file in his office for an exclusive treatment center in Arizona. A quick online search of the facility, and I’m positive it’s where he sent my dad.
It’s time I visit him. I felt bad about having to do it so underhandedly, couldn’t meet Brad’s sleepy eyes this morning, but I won’t let that stop me.
“You know, Mr. Hawkes is a good guy.”
I keep my gaze on the window. “I know that.” He is one of the good ones, but that doesn’t mean much at the end of the day. He has his life. I have mine. They might not mesh regardless of how hard we try.
“So why are you so pissed at him?”
“Because the man is clueless.”
With a chuckle, Carlson shakes his head. “Maybe you’re the one who’s clueless, if you thought men weren’t clueless. You think those college boys are any different?”
“Whatevs.” I’m not entirely shocked Carlson knows I was having coffee with some classmates. I’m not naïve enough to think Brad has Carlson drive me around so I can efficiently get from point A to point B. It’s his job to keep tabs on me. That was why I made sure I appeared at ease, played it up with those guys, not wanting Carlson to get a hint I was up to something. “You know, just for the record, I think you’re a good guy too.”