Sexy Savior: A Hero Club Novel

by Kayt Miller

  “It helps me think.”

  Wow, he must think a lot because his arms are bulging. I shrug. “We all have our things.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s yours? Punching guys in the face?” And then he smirks.

  “I only punch people who deserve it.”

  His smirk falls. “I was merely trying to help you get your foot out of that grate. I was—”

  I hold up my hand to stop this conversation. “I just stopped by to introduce myself and to tell you that I don’t feel comfortable talking to you one-on-one, so in the future, Clive will need to be with us.” The hard eye roll he gives me makes me a little irritated. “What?” I snap.

  “That’s fine. But not Clive.”

  “He’s the li—”

  “Liaison. I know.” Eye roll number two. “I’d prefer if you chose one of the other assistants. Please.”

  “So, you have no problem with that?”

  “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  Good. Nodding, I step away from his door. “Great.” Without another word, I turn, take three steps, and enter what is supposed to be my own office. I blink in confusion when I see Clive sitting at the one and only desk in the room. When I checked out the office earlier to drop off my computer bag, Clive wasn’t around, and since I haven’t been back to this office all day, I’m surprised to see him. “Oh, uh….” What do I tell this guy? “You’re in my seat?” No. I’m not going to say that. “I think I’m supposed to work in here.”

  Clive simply stares at me. He’s blinking, and they appear to be extra-slow blinks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “We’re sharing this office?”

  Sharing? I didn’t expect to share an office with the liaison. Obviously, it’s the first he’s hearing of this as well.

  Not knowing what to say, I just shrug.

  Clive stands slowly and looks around the impressive office. “There’s no room for another desk.”

  I do the same, scanning the space and noting it’s nearly as big as Graham’s office a floor above. There’s plenty of room for another desk, but here’s the deal: I don’t want to share an office with Clive Burgess. As far as I’m concerned, Clive is under the microscope too. Anyone who has, allegedly, spent that much time compiling intel on his coworkers rather than actually working is just as much a problem as the guy who spends too much time playing solitaire on his office computer.

  “Well.” I smile to alleviate some of the tension I feel in the room. “It’s almost time to call it a night. Let’s figure this out tomorrow.”

  “Great.” He plops back down into his overstuffed chair and turns to his computer.

  I take a moment to look at the office again. It’s nice. There are black-and-white posters of places like Paris and London about the space. There’s a large plant in one corner next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that give an impressive view of the city. Yeah, it’s very nice.

  Absently, I look at the wall we share with Ben Schilling and recall his office has no windows. It’s also a quarter the size of this one, with barely enough room to walk around his desk. This office has a sitting area with a sofa, coffee table, and side chair.

  “Whose office was this?”

  “No one’s,” he says without looking up from the screen. “The former head of marketing had this office, but the new head, Sam, chose one closer to the elevators.”

  “I see.” Not really. It makes no sense, but there’s no need to worry about that now.

  “How long has it been vacant?”

  Clive shrugs. “A year or two.”

  A year or two? If it’s been empty that long, why didn’t Ben take this office? I might as well ask. “Why didn’t Ben Schilling move into this space?”

  Clive stops typing and looks up at me. His slow blink is a little unnerving. Then he smirks. “He never asked.”

  “Ah, I see.” No, actually, I don’t.

  “Well, see you tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh,” Clive says absently. He’s already back to his computer.

  I step over and retrieve my computer bag that’s on the floor in front of a small door. “Is that a bathroom?”

  “Sure is,” Clive mumbles but still doesn’t bother looking up at me.

  Without another word, I turn and step out of the office while at the same time pulling my phone out of my bag. I need to figure this office thing out tonight so I don’t have a repeat of any of this with Clive. I definitely don’t feel like sharing an office is a good idea.

  Opening my email, I decide to shoot a message to the man himself.

  To: Graham Morgan

  From: Alison Kirby

  Graham,

  Clive has already set himself up in the office you designated for me. Is there another space for me to work?

  Thanks,

  Alison Kirby

  By the time I’m on the street, I’ve already gotten a reply.

  To: Alison Kirby

  From: Graham Morgan

  I’ll take care of it. You’ll use the original office space.

  G.M.

  I sigh because I’m glad that’s handled.

  Making my way down the street to the subway, I feel a sense of relief. I need this job. Badly. Starting my own consultancy last year was a risk and one that wasn’t paying off until Graham Morgan contacted me. This job will be a make-or-break for me.

  Chapter Six

  Ben

  Well, that was awkward.

  She barely stepped foot into my office and I sensed her unease from my spot at my desk. It’s sad, really. I mean, the woman is beautiful. No, more than that—she’s stunning. When I looked up from my spot doing push-ups and found her standing there, I swear my heartbeat doubled when I saw, up close, just how pretty she was.

  On the street, I caught only a glimpse of her face, and in the auditorium, she was thirty feet away. This time, however, at less than five away, I finally saw her. She looks soft: soft skin, soft lips, soft hair, soft curves. Everything I love in a woman.

  From my vantage point, I noticed her eye color for the first time. I’m not surprised they were a bright blue, but I was still taken by them. They weren’t your typical blue eyes; they were brighter, more intense. Her eyes told more about her than anything else. That’s how I could tell she was wary of me, and that bothered me. There’s no reason for her to fear me. I’d never do anything to harm her. So I will absolutely make it clear that whatever she needs to do to feel safe is fine with me.

  I only hope nobody at work finds out it was her who blacked my eye. That would be embarrassing, and something that will only add to the pile of whatever bullshit Clive wrote about in his file.

  God, I’d love to get my hands on that file.

  Leaning back in my chair, I hear voices through my wall. The one I share with Clive. It’s only a couple of feet from my own desk, so I stand and move closer, leaning my ear against it. I hear Clive and Alison Kirby.

  Interesting.

  Pressing my head against the wall, I’m able to make out some of what Clive is saying, though it’s more of a mumble, but I can hear her clearly. “I think I’m supposed to work in here.”

  She’s supposed to have the office next door? A small smile grows on my face. If that’s the case, that means Clive did all that redecorating for nothing.

  I get the gist of his response. He’s surprised. Louder, he says, “There’s no room for another desk.”

  I roll my eyes. Hard. There’s a shit-ton of space in that office. But why would he assume they’d share that space? I’ve never been a consultant before, but something tells me she expects to have a private area. Just a guess, though.

  I press closer just as she says, “Let’s figure this out tomorrow.” Just as I’m about to pull away from the wall, she adds, “Whose office was this?”

  I know that office used to belong to the former head of Marketing. It’s the nicest office on the floor, but for some reason, Sam wanted a smaller office on the other side of the building.

  I press
in, wanting to hear the rest. I listen as Alison asks him how long the space had been vacant. I know the answer to that—about a year and a half.

  “Why didn’t Ben Schilling move into this space?”

  When I hear my name, I hold my breath.

  Clive’s voice is clear as day when he replies, “He never asked.”

  That’s a fucking bald-faced lie. I did ask about it. Actually, I asked Clive to find out about moving into that office. The asshole said he’d checked and that I couldn’t have it. They were saving it.

  I pull away from the wall, having heard enough. Sitting back down, I feel my head start to pound. What’s been going on around here? Why did I ever trust that guy? What else has he lied to me about? What has he told other people about me?

  And more importantly, why?

  These are all questions I can’t answer. Not yet, anyway.

  I decided to call one of the few people in my department I can trust. It just so happens that Sam Ford, our department head, is that person. I point to the chair opposite me. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “I’m glad you called.” Sam sits just as a waitress approaches our table. He orders first. “Bud.”

  I nod to the server, “Same.” Our love of domestic beers aside, we also both graduated from Big Ten schools—Sam went to Wisconsin and I attended Northwestern. Granted, he’s about ten years older than me, but it’s still something that bonded us from the beginning.

  As soon as the beer is served, I decide to cut to the chase. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Sam shakes his head. “No idea. This consultant was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

  “You do realize Clive’s got something to do with this, right?”

  Sam nods. “Green folder.”

  “An inch thick.” My guess is half of that is about me, but I’ll keep that to myself. “I overheard him tell the consultant something that wasn’t true, so now I’m curious what other shit he’s lied about.”

  “What’d he say?”

  I tell him what I overheard, and he shakes his head. “Clive never mentioned that office space, and honestly, I was surprised you never asked about it.”

  “The office space isn’t my concern. I’m worried—”

  “About what’s in that folder?” Sam’s head shakes from side to side. “What’s he up to?”

  “That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.” It feels that way to me too. “I know he hates my guts.”

  “When did that start? Because I swear the guy used to look at you like you hung the moon.”

  I wince at his expression. “Hung the moon?” I chuckle. “I wouldn’t use those words, but yeah, he used to look up to me.” When did that stop? I close my eyes in an attempt to recollect the change in Clive. It was around the last time we went out for drinks to celebrate the end of a big project. I still considered him an ally, at least. “Eleven or twelve months ago.” It was gradual, the shift from friends to enemies, so I can’t give an exact date. I drink the last of the beer from my glass. “We’d just finished up the new website and social media campaign.” It was also around the time Sky came into my life and when everything outside of work started happening. But I’m not about to tell Sam about my secret life as a superhero. He wouldn’t understand.

  “We need to get our hands on that damn folder.”

  He’s right. “The consultant has it.” And I’ll never be close enough to Alison Kirby to get it. I suddenly feel sad, and I’m not sure why.

  “As the department head, you’d think I could get access to it, but something tells me there’s something about all of us in that damn file.” He finishes his beer in record time. “And to be honest, it pisses me the fuck off. In all the years I’ve managed a marketing team, I’ve never seen anything like this bullshit. Graham Morgan had better know what he’s doing, because if not, he’s going to lose some good people over this shit. Including me.”

  It’s a grim outlook, but he’s right. I nod, then wave down the server. “Another one?”

  “Is the sky blue?” Sam chuckles, then coughs.

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Alison

  I tossed and turned all night, and the little I did sleep was marred by dreams—dreams starring none other than Ben Schilling. The very attractive and muscled Ben Schilling. The wavy, dark-haired and blue-eyed Ben Schilling. Yes, I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him, but sometimes our subconscious plays tricks on us. In my defense, it’s been a while since I’ve, well, done it. My last relationship ended over a year ago, and I’ve not pursued anything since. It’s been just me and my vibrator, and it’s been fine.

  Yeah, it’s been great.

  Mostly.

  Besides, Ben Schilling is not unattractive. On the contrary, he’s quite good-looking. I’ve seen him three times, and each time my body has reacted to him. Sure, the first time it was more of a fight-or-flight reaction. That time I fought, and rightly so. The second time I was shocked to see him and my handiwork. I really nailed him. His eye was a deep shade of purple.

  The last time I saw him was from his doorway of his tiny office, and I felt a little sorry for him.

  Okay, I’m just going to admit it. Perhaps I was hasty. Maybe he’s not a lech. Maybe he was honestly trying to help me the other day.

  But he just grabbed your leg, Alison.

  “That’s true.”

  Great, now I’m talking to myself.

  I’d love to tell you that jabbering on to myself is uncommon, but I can’t. Ever since I made the monumental decision to start this consulting company, I haven’t slept much, and second-guessing myself has become a daily occurrence. I’m not a risk taker by nature. Quite the opposite. I’m one of the most cautious people you’ll ever meet, but when the last company I worked for shuttered suddenly, I was left with a decision: either I needed to hunt down another job that I’d probably hate, or I could follow my dreams—the dream of owning my own company and working for myself.

  “And how’s that working out for you. Ali?”

  All I can say is, “Not good.”

  After buying the largest coffee this shop sells, The Vat, I walk the final two blocks to the subway that will take me to Morgan Financial Holdings, all the while planning out my day. It’s time to sit down for one-on-ones, and I plan to start with the support staff. They’re the part of the team who knows everything that goes on. Not only do they assist everyone at the management level but they also talk to each other. Plus, they listen; they hear things. Sure, some of it is bullshit, but every now and then, a nugget of truth seeps out.

  Hopefully they’ll be able to validate or disprove the three main allegations made by the person who created the green folder. Those include whether or not there’s been overt favoritism within the department which prevented others from advancing, if leadership has been stealing ideas from support staff, and whether or not someone’s been stealing lunches out of the break room refrigerator. Okay, that last one seems a bit ridiculous, but nothing tanks morale faster than a lunch stealer. I know this from personal experience.

  Those are three serious accusations, and so far, the only things the documentation has told me are some names and a few examples that may or may not be true. There’s an abundance of notations made by the author of the green folder. Lots of what appears to be verbatim dialogue between colleagues in meetings and some that seem to be one-on-one conversations. Those really don’t tell me much other than this person, the one who wrote it all out, had too much time on their hands. I’m concerned about all three issues, but the one related to favoritism can really create an unhealthy work environment. There, Ben’s name is listed several times, while several other managers, including Brendon Lang, Silvia McAllister, and Sam Ford, are also mentioned. As for the stealing of ideas, I was surprised to see that our author—assuming it’s Clive Burgess—claimed it was a manager who was slighted in this case. No name was provided. Of course.

  Honestly, the assertion is vague,
and I’m not sure it’s got much merit. It’s one person’s word against another’s. I guess that’s why I was hired, to check those out—and to see how well the inner workings of Sam Ford’s department are functioning. Or not functioning, as the case may be.

  When I step onto the elevator, I recognize a few people from the department I’m observing. I smile but get none in return. No doubt they all think I’m here to streamline their operation. That’s fine. They can think whatever they want. I’m not about to explain that to them. Fear will help. As hard core as this sounds, people are more willing to talk if they think their job is at stake. And I need people to talk.

  Once the elevator doors open, I step off and make my way around the perimeter of the floor to the hallway that houses my office. I spot a few others who work in the area and try that smile again. Only one person makes an effort: Lindsay Barker, head of social media.

  When I reach my office, the door is shut. With my hand on the knob, I see movement from my left.

  “Good morning, Alison.”

  Ben Schilling.

  My heart does a little jump in my chest as the few memories from the previous night run through my mind. I’m a little tongue-tied, “Uh, morning.”

  As Ben enters his office, I turn the knob and push my door open. The first thing I notice is Clive. At my desk.

  I thought Graham was going to take care of this.

  “Clive.” I’m about to ask him about it when he points to my right. I look over and see a desk and chair pushed up against the wall. It’s small, about the size of the desk I used to have in high school. I step closer and can’t help noticing the chair looks like one of those from the small break room. Plastic with a straight back and no wheels.

  “Uh….”

  “They said if you need a computer, they’ll bring one up for you.”