by Gina LaManna
I grinned and shoved the plate toward her. “So, what’s the status on the morale at Castlewood?”
She bit into the cookie and paused, the pleasure of the treat overshadowed by a look of concern. “It’s shaky,” she said finally. “But recovering. As word of Nicolas losing his job went around, people were on edge. Then, Graham Industries began poaching our employees even harder. First Nicolas, then me, then you. We lost one employee to them.”
“Who?”
“A tech from Warehouse 6. Thankfully one of the geniuses who is more replaceable than most.” Mrs. Dulcet shook her head. “Arty Malone. I still can’t believe he left.”
“Why did he?”
“He was young, scared for his job and future. Has a pregnant wife,” she said. “And as far as I can tell, he heard a rumor that Clark Company was going under, or that they’d be bought. Whoever talked to him from Graham Industries hit him hard, I suppose. Offered him a job with a bigger title, a bigger salary.”
“Oh, no.”
“I think he regrets the decision now,” Mrs. Dulcet said. “But it’s too late. He’s jumped ship, so he won’t be returning.”
“Yikes.”
“I understand, I really do,” she said. “Loyalty doesn’t always put a roof over one’s head.”
“In Mr. Clark’s case, it does,” I said. “Arty should’ve realized Dane would take care of his employees.”
Mrs. Dulcet reached over. “That’s why you’re one of the good ones, dear.”
“This has got to stop, though,” I said. “It’s not healthy for the company.”
“No,” she sighed. “It’s not. If there were something I could do, I would. But I’m afraid I am no help with such matters.”
“Wait a minute…” At Mrs. Dulcet’s words, a sudden thought hit me. “I need to go. I’m sorry, but there’s something I need to do.”
“Go? Where, dear?”
“I’m going to pay a visit to Graham Industries.”
“Oh, you can’t do that.”
“I have a contact. It’s a business meeting, nothing more.”
“Does Mr. Clark know about this?”
“He knows I have a job to do. This is part of the job.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out my newly fixed computer. “I don’t recommend it either, but it has to be done.”
“Are you looking for directions?” Mrs. Dulcet asked. “You can put the computer away. Take the driveway to the main road. Twenty minutes to the north you’ll see a sign for Glassrock. Take the exit and follow the winding path to the stones over the ocean. You can’t miss the building.”
“Thank you.” I stood and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise you have nothing to worry about.”
“Should I alert Mr. Clark of your absence?”
I checked the time again. “Give me until noon before you sound the alarm.”
“Lunch is served at twelve thirty sharp,” Mrs. Dulcet said. “If you’re one minute late, it’s on your head, not mine. I’m telling Mr. Clark I had no idea what you were up to.”
I picked up a cookie and bumped it against Mrs. Dulcet’s biscotti. “Cheers.”
She laughed quietly, then sat back in her chair and sipped from her mug as I slipped from the room.
“Luke!” I’d been trying to slip out of the castle unnoticed, but my attempts failed miserably when I bumped into a surprising figure in the hallway. I eyed the handyman with a mixture of confusion and disorientation. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, an equal look of shock washing over his face. “I thought you quit.”
“I got my job back.” I clasped my hands behind my back feeling surprisingly sheepish over something that was entirely normal. “I need to pay the handyman after all.”
He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Reaching for my arm, he pulled me into a quieter hallway. “Is everything okay? It was your choice to come back?”
“Yes, why?” I frowned. “Is everything okay with you? Why are you here?”
“I got a call early this morning—and I mean early—asking if I could come fix a bathroom issue in the castle. I was surprised, but it paid well. Didn’t have another gig until noon, so I said sure.”
“That’s strange,” I said, an uncomfortable feeling creeping over my spine. After all, I’d only told Mr. Clark late last night—aka very early this morning—about my second date with Luke for later this evening. “Have you seen Dane around?”
“Now and then,” Luke said. He shifted from one foot to the next. “Call me crazy, but I think he’s scoping me out.”
“What do you mean?”
“He opened the front door himself. Usually a man of his wealth has someone else open the door for the workers. Then, he kept popping into the bathroom while I was working to see if I needed a glass of water.”
“Oh, no.” I raised a hand to my forehead. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault. I told him we had a second date tonight.”
Luke shrugged. “That’s not a big deal. I mean, it’s true, right? You’re not cancelling?”
“No, no! Of course not. I told him because I wanted to make sure I had the night off. No distractions. Nothing.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Mr. Clark has a funny way of showing his friendship sometimes,” I said. “And I suppose he just wants to make sure you’re on the up-and-up before we go out tonight.”
“Friendship?”
“He’s my boss,” I said. “We have a business sort of friendship. That’s it.”
“Okay, well, then by all means let him check me out.” Luke smiled. “Whatever it takes to get you out for an uninterrupted evening on the town.”
I laughed, the feel of Luke’s hand around my wrist familiar, comforting. But not electrifying. Not like the touch of Dane’s skin against mine.
“You’re off to work now?” Luke asked. “Will I see you before I leave?”
“I’m running errands until noon,” I said. “But tonight at seven?”
He leaned in to brush a kiss against my cheek then, and I closed my eyes until he pulled away. When I opened my eyes, Mr. Clark was standing at the end of the hall, his blue eyes focused on us.
Dane cleared his throat. “Mr. Anderson, I believe I’m paying you to work on my bathroom, not my employees.”
Luke flinched slightly, and took a step back. “Of course, Mr. Clark.”
I waved, and Luke disappeared around the corner with a last glance in my direction.
“Dane,” I called down the hallway, but he had already turned to leave. I scurried after him, trying to catch up. “I missed you at breakfast this morning.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable. “It’s a pleasure to have you back, Miss Pink.”
“I’ll see you for lunch!” I called again as he turned a corner. “Thank you for having me back!”
I muttered a curse word as I slipped my shoes on and pulled the front door open. My first morning back and I’d managed to upset both my boss and my handyman.
I had borrowed a car from Gerard to get to Graham Industries. Not a fancy one, or so he said. Even so, the car was a classic. Datsun 240 Z fully restored in a bright, flashy red.
It won’t be missed, Gerard had said. Somehow, I didn’t believe him. But since I didn’t have a car of my own, and I had no desire to bike up the winding coastal road, I drove the Z.
Drive might have been a generous word for the way I got to Glassrock in retrospect. I thunked, clanked, and rattled the stick-thing around. Gerard hadn’t offered an automatic, so I’d have to make do with a stick, even if I hadn’t attempted driving one since Babs’s dad had made us learn in high school. Most of the drive was sustained by curse words and the sheer power of prayer.
When I finally eased the car into a parking spot near the back of the lot, I was sweating in excessive amounts from stress. I took a moment to suck
in a few breaths and make my way toward the front doors while basking in the coolness of the morning breeze.
Glassrock was a coastal town to the north. Unlike the Sunshine Shore, however, the coasts of Glassrock were practically uninhabitable. Rocky, dangerous—even the roads through the city had folks biting their nails as they drove through. Or clunked through, in my case.
The only residents here worked in some capacity at Graham Industries. Most of them came down to the Sunshine Shore for weekends, beach days, and other fun things. I wasn’t even sure if Glassrock had a movie theater—the whole atmosphere here was barren at best.
“Are you with the cleaning crew?” A harried-looking man in a blue suit stepped toward me from his post at the front door. “They arrived twenty minutes ago. Get around back before they realize you’re missing. And take off those stupid sunglasses. Who do you think you are waltzing around like that, Beyonce?”
I thought I’d dressed up for the occasion, but apparently my black skirt and white shirt put me in the waitress category. I slid off the shades, since clearly they weren’t appreciated around here. Not that I was complaining about a free route into the building. “Yes, sir.”
I hustled around back and followed the sounds of mops, buckets, and brooms. I eventually found the group of cleaning staff, made a note of their location, and then turned in the opposite direction. At least my dress attire matched their black uniforms and white blouses perfectly—it’d be easy to pass for cleaning staff in the building. As an afterthought, I grabbed a bucket and carried it with me as I raced up the nearest flight of stairs.
I emerged onto the main level. Nobody paid me a second glance once I started dragging a rag over the railings, so I continued. I dragged my rag over every railing in the place until I found myself on the highest level.
“I was assigned the executive floor. Who are you?” A petite woman stepped out of the elevator, her eyes locked on me. “You’ve got to work your way up here, you know.”
“Oh, I’m just... interning.”
The maid’s eyes scanned over my body. “You’re interning on the executive floor?”
“I was a pity hire.” I forced a smile. “Someone in my family knows the boss man.”
“The boss’s office is on the other side of the floor,” she said, the judgement returning to her gaze. “I suggest you stay where you belong. I don’t want to get in trouble for your horrible cleaning.” She wiped a finger onto the railing. “You’re spreading dust everywhere.”
“Right, sorry.” I bowed to her. I have no idea why I bowed, but I did it anyway and scurried along in the direction she’d pointed. The boss, I thought. Surely, the boss would know about a stolen blueprint.
It was clear which office belonged to the boss from one glance. The room reminded me of the Eagle Offices in Dane’s warehouses, except instead of overlooking a production floor, this office overlooked the ocean. Glass floors, glass ceilings, glass walls—only a light frosting of the panels hid the exact movements of the person inside.
A glass door leading into the office opened at the exact moment I rounded the corner. I leapt into a crevice where a drinking fountain more expensive than my apartment spouted water like a Romanesque display. I pretended to clean the spigot as the man walked by. Without craning my head, I couldn’t see his face.
“I thought I told your company to leave the fountains.”
The footsteps stopped right behind me. I stiffened, recognizing the voice. Gary.
“Mmm, sorry,” I murmured noncommittally, lowering my head to take a sip. “I was thirsty.”
He gave a disgusted sigh, and resumed his departure. “Get someone up here to clean it properly. Now.”
I made some sort of noise of agreement as his footsteps carried him further away.
When I was certain he was gone, I stopped inhaling water and stood up. Gary had come out of the boss’s office. I’d thought Gary was a minion—the low man on the totem pole sent to do the boss’s dirty business. Had I been all wrong about him?
Fortunately, Gary had left the door open to the now unoccupied office. I suspected that meant he’d only be gone for a second; a trip to the bathroom maybe, or a coffee refill. I really shouldn’t step inside.
But my feet had a different idea, and they carried me through the open door despite my brain’s alarms clanging on high alert. My feet carried me all the way behind a sleek black desk. It was eerie standing here—nothing between my body and the ocean raging a thousand feet below except for a single pane of glass.
If I had an office like this, I’d never get anything done. I’d be too busy calculating the probability I’d die by overindulging on breakfast burritos and crack the floor by lunch.
I poked through the clutter on top of the desk, careful not to skew any of the paper stacks. At first glance, I couldn’t make sense of any of it—not the complicated contracts, hand drawn diagrams, not even the hand written Post-It notes affixed to the computer screen. It was like trying to read a Martian language.
The inside of the drawer wasn’t any better. Pens, calculators with more buttons than a space station, and devices that looked like detonators but were probably high tech paperclips, all organized into little cubbies.
I closed the top drawer of the desk. Time to beat it before Gary came back. Though what he was doing in the boss’s office, I had no idea. Gary had seemed too casual, too middle management to have business with the CEO. Before I took a step, however, a single photograph caught my eye.
Perched on the edge of the desk in an expensive looking frame stood two men. One of them was Gary. The other person looked familiar, but it took a moment for the name to surface.
I knew those eyes, knew that surface-friendly smile with a pinch of something else underneath. Then I gasped. Mr. Flanagan Sr.—Nick’s father. This photo had been taken before he’d fallen ill.
Here, in the frame, Mr. Flanagan Sr. gave a knowing smile, as if he held a special secret. Gary had his arm around Mr. Flanagan, and the two appeared to be buddies. The backdrop of the photo was a golf course. Mr. Flanagan and Gary were friends?
“Enjoying my office?” Gary’s voice woke me from my daydreams. “You did a nice job cleaning the fountain. I figured I’d give you a few minutes to poke around in private. After all, I have nothing to hide.”
My face burned—he’d known it was me. I should have guessed. I’d seen him not twenty-four hours ago, and the occasion had been a memorable one.
“Take a seat.” Gary’s voice was firm as he shut the door. “Or do you need to contact the head of the cleaning staff to let them know you won’t be polishing the drinking fountains anymore?”
I watched him uneasily as he paced around the room, his gaze fixed through the clear panels of glass. I rotated with him, eventually finding my place behind the guest’s chair.
“Sit,” he said again without turning to look. “What brings you here today?”
I eased myself into the seat. Somehow, the mere fact that we were suspended in the air by a panel of clear glass gave this meeting an element of terror. Not only was I worried about getting caught snooping in the CEO’s office of a multi-million dollar company, but I was worried I’d go hurtling into a freefall at any time.
“Can we move inside the building please?” I asked.
Gary turned around, a smile on his face. Here, poised in a sharp suit in a sharp office, he looked the part. Boss material. CEO material. He didn’t look like a messenger-boy sent to deliver notices to Castlewood.
“You don’t like the office?”
“I had three cookies for breakfast. I prefer not to take risks.”
“Which is why you snuck into our private grounds, pretended to be cleaning staff, and then rummaged through the office of the CEO?” Gary raised his eyebrow. “If that’s not taking risks, I’m not sure I’d like to see what is.”
“I didn’t rummage,” I grumbled. “I just peeked.”
“Oh, excuse me. In that case, continue peeking. By all means don’t le
t me stop you.”
“Why did you come personally to the castle? And to find me?”
“Why, I had to see it for myself. I didn’t believe it when I heard the news.”
“What news?”
“That a woman had brought Mr. Clark to his knees.” Gary shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips upward. “I never thought I’d see the day. He’s met hundreds of women—beauty pageant winners, swimsuit models, celebrities—and yet, he picked you.”
The way he leaned on the word you told me all I needed to hear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Which is why you’re still dating the handyman.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I do my research.” Gary paused. “But if you can’t see the effect you have on Mr. Clark, I’m sorry, but you are blind. Blinded by love, perhaps?”
“What are you getting at? This is all nonsense. He’s my boss—nothing more. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. We just work well together.”
“Fine. Then what brings you here? Did you kiss and make up after you tore apart your contract?”
It was odd exactly how much Gary knew, and I wondered how. An inside source? Rumors? Surveillance devices? “Why are you toying with me?” I asked finally. “Either let me go or tell me your plans.”
“You came to visit me. I’m just playing the good host.”
“Right,” I said with a stiff laugh. “The host. Well, fine. Where’s the blueprint?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Next question.”
“Mr. Flanagan Sr. How do you know him?”
His eyes flicked toward the photograph, and for a moment, I suspected I’d caught him off guard. Then he cleared his throat. “We are acquaintances. He’s an investor of Graham Industries.”
“How large of an investor?”
“Large enough.”
“And you’re the President?”
“Let’s not talk about titles,” he said. “They’re so stuffy.”
