by Kara Lennox
“You must be very disciplined.”
Jillian quickly changed the subject. It was foolish of her to give him hints about her former weight problem, even if the details weren’t accurate. She was lucky he had such a bad memory.
Even if he figured out she was Jillybean, maybe he wouldn’t fire her. A couple of punctured tires and some idle threats from when she was a teenager…big deal. Surely he could overlook her childish acts of revenge now that she’d proved herself a useful assistant.
But if she expected him to let go of the past, that meant she had to, as well. And she wasn’t prepared to do that. Maybe Conner Blake wasn’t the Antichrist, but she still thought he ought to suffer for what he did to her.
Or at least feel terrible about it and apologize.
That was the worst thing about what he’d done to her. He’d expressed no remorse and he’d never apologized. He should have sent her two dozen roses and a box of chocolates so she could at least have the satisfaction of throwing it all in the trash.
Her biggest fear, she realized, was that if he remembered the incident, he still wouldn’t own up to what he’d done. That he still wouldn’t feel badly for humiliating a vulnerable young girl who thought she was in love with him. That he’d still think it was the funniest prank he’d ever pulled.
That cruel Conner Blake didn’t jibe with the one she was getting to know, the one who honored his obligations, cherished the trees and cared about whether an owl had a place to raise her babies.
She wasn’t ready to know which one was the real Conner Blake.
It was almost a relief to drop Conner and his survival gear at the job site, wish him luck and head back to civilization, though perversely, she missed his presence in the seat beside her. She was more alive when she was around him. Her body tingled, her stomach quivered about every ten seconds or so, and every muscle was tense with vigilance, lest she say or do something that might give away one of her many secrets.
She arrived back at Mayall Lumber around lunchtime. As she waited for the light to turn that would allow her to pull into the parking garage, she spotted a familiar face—a man standing on the sidewalk outside the garage, casually sipping an iced coffee drink. An employee enjoying his lunch break?
Then she placed him. It was Mark Bowen, the reporter. He’d situated himself where he could spot any Mayall employee exiting the side door on foot.
What was he trying to find out about the company?
She didn’t think too hard about what she did next. When the light turned green, instead of pulling into the garage, she pulled up to the curb and rolled down the Jeep’s window.
“Mark Bowen?”
He whipped off his sunglasses and approached her car. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Get in.”
He didn’t question her motives but followed orders. “What’s the deal?”
She sped off before anyone spotted her talking to the forbidden reporter. Although, come to think of it, the memo had been circulated before she started working at Mayall, so technically she shouldn’t have known she wasn’t supposed to talk to him.
“I’m a new hire at Mayall. I’m just curious why every employee has been forbidden from talking to you.”
“So that’s why everybody’s ignoring me like I’m something they scraped off their shoe.” Then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though there was no one to overhear them. “Do you know something?”
“I don’t know. I guess that depends on what you want to find out about.”
“You honestly don’t know?”
She didn’t want to appear completely stupid. “I thought at first it might be about the murder. But you’re not a crime reporter. You write business stories.”
“True. And I’m not interested in the murder per se—I’ll leave that to the boys and girls at the Chronicle. But I would like to know what Greg Tynes was involved with before he was killed. He’d called me and set up an appointment. Said there was something going on at Mayall Lumber that was so bad, so scandalous, it would put them out of business.”
“But he never got the chance to tell you,” Jillian concluded.
“Right. Frankly, I’d sort of written him off as a disgruntled employee, not a genuine whistle-blower. Mayall Lumber has one of the cleanest reputations in the whole industry, and Greg was kind of…I don’t know how to say it. I hate speaking ill of the dead, but he was kind of a self-important jerk.”
“But now you think he really was on to something.”
“Yeah. We’d set up a meeting, but he didn’t show. Then I found out his body had been found in Stan Mayall’s car, and I thought, maybe he’d stumbled on to something bad enough that the company CEO was willing to kill for it.”
Jillian tamped down the urge to declare Stan Mayall was innocent, that he’d been framed. That was information she shouldn’t logically be privy to as a newly hired clerical worker.
Instead, she played like she was merely curious. “You could be right.”
“The fact I’m being stonewalled just adds fuel to the fire,” Bowen said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what sort of hanky-panky your new employer is involved in, do you?”
She shook her head. “I just started this week—still trying to figure out how the computer works.”
“What department are you in?”
“I’m an administrative assistant to one of the directors. Conner Blake.”
Bowen’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? Greg worked in your department!”
“He did?” She acted all wide-eyed and innocent. “No one talks about it.”
“You’re in a prime position to find out what Greg knew.”
“I’m just a secretary, really. I’m sure no one would tell me anything.”
“Are you kidding? Secretaries know everything.” He pulled a card case from his pocket, extracted a business card and handed it to her. “If you find out anything, maybe you could give me a call. I’ll keep your name out of it.”
“Well, sure…if someone is doing something wrong, I wouldn’t want to just turn a blind eye. But I also really need this job.”
“Honey, if you help me break this story, and you end up losing your job because the company closes its doors, I’ll help you find work. I know tons of personnel directors in all kinds of companies.”
She tried not to bristle at being called “honey.” “That’s very nice of you. But don’t expect much. Mostly what I do is really boring.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open. You never know what your boss might let slip.”
“Okay, I will.” But she sure as hell wouldn’t reveal anything to a reporter. “And if you find anything out, maybe you could tell me. Just between us. I’d just like to know if I’m working for a company that’s doing something illegal. I don’t want to be any part of that.”
“Sure thing.”
She doubted he was any more sincere than she was, but that was okay. She now actually had information to report to Daniel. Other than her revelation about the affair between Chandra and Greg, her daily reports had been on the dull side.
So, Greg Tynes had uncovered something dreadfully illegal that would shut down the company. If that was true, it did nothing to exonerate Stan Mayall. In fact, it gave him a stronger motive for the murder.
She couldn’t help that.
What if Stan really was guilty? Jillian had only Daniel’s word that the man, an old friend of his father’s, was innocent. And much as she wanted to trust Daniel’s instincts, his own chef had turned out to be a murderer, so Daniel wasn’t infallible.
No, she had to believe Daniel was right. Stan Mayall wasn’t stupid enough to kill someone and leave the body in his own car. It was an obvious frame job.
Jillian dropped the reporter off two blocks from the office—she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing her fraternizing with the press. She headed straight for the cafeteria and grabbed herself a tuna sandwich and an apple, intending to dive right into Conner’s office, a task sh
e actually relished. But Letitia caught her eye and waved for her to come sit at her table.
“You’re still here!” Letitia observed with something akin to awe.
“I told you Mr. Blake couldn’t scare me off.”
“When I didn’t spot you all day yesterday, I thought for sure I’d seen the last of you.”
“So who stands a chance of winning the pool so far?”
“Well, if you quit today, Iris wins.”
Jillian wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like Iris, the admin who’d given her such a cold reception her first day. “Iris won’t win. Mr. Blake’s out of the office all day today, so he couldn’t possibly drive me to quit until Monday,” she said with a grin.
“If you last until next Wednesday, I win. But if you make it until Friday, Ellen from Purchasing and Juan from Public Relations split the pot.”
“Who guessed I’d be here the longest?” Jillian wanted to know.
Letitia consulted a list she’d put in her pocket. “Oh. That would be Mr. Blake himself. Normally the directors don’t get involved in our little games, but he got wind of this one somehow.”
“And how long does he think I’ll last?” Jillian found herself actually holding her breath, curious to know what he really thought of his new admin.
“He gave you three whole weeks.”
“Well, that’s some vote of confidence,” she muttered.
“It’s longer than any of the other ones have lasted,” Letitia said, doing her best to give Conner’s guess a positive spin.
She’d last three weeks and more, even if it killed her.
Jillian wolfed down her sandwich, bade Letitia goodbye and headed upstairs to Conner’s office, feeling less exuberant about cleaning up his desk than she had a few minutes ago. She set her things down in her own cubbyhole, locked her purse in her desk drawer, then used the key Conner had given her to unlock his office door.
“Oh! Excuse me—” Jillian’s heart skipped a beat in surprise as she walked in on Isaac Cuddy. What was he doing rummaging around on Conner’s desk? He’d flashed a decidedly guilty look before masking the emotion.
“I thought Conner would be out until Monday.”
“He is, but he sent me back early.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Cuddy said with a nasty tone.
Jillian stiffened her backbone and put a frost in her tone. “Can I help you with something?”
“I don’t know how anyone could find anything in this pigsty Blake calls a desk. I’m looking for an invoice for some European boxwood that was felled last month. I can’t do budget forecasts without accurate numbers. I tried calling Blake, but he’s not answering.”
Sounded like a reasonable excuse for Cuddy to be looking for something, but why had he locked the door? Did it lock automatically?
“I think I remember seeing something about that recently. If you give me a few minutes, perhaps I can find it for you.” She opened the door wider, an obvious invitation for him to leave the rummaging to her.
“It’s essential I have concrete numbers. Mr. Payne is waiting on those forecasts.”
“Yes, Mr. Cuddy. I’ll make it a priority. If I can’t find it today, I’ll get word to him.”
Although he did head for the door, he narrowed his eyes and treated her to an up-and-down assessment that gave her the creeps. “How come you’re still here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just curious who you slept with to get…or keep…this job.”
Jillian’s temper flared, and she felt the urge to tear Cuddy a new one. No one spoke to her like that! But for her to lose her cool was exactly what he wanted. He was trying to find some way to get her fired. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her around. Was it because, twice now, she’d caught him doing something furtive?
So she dug deep and found her composure. “Mr. Cuddy. That comment was highly inappropriate and grounds for sexual harassment. I suggest in the future you keep such comments to yourself.”
He rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the office. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jillian turned on Conner’s computer and checked his email, which was now part of her job. She had seen correspondence about the European boxwood. Luckily for her, she had a near photographic memory, and within five minutes she found the letter and the attached invoice. She forwarded it to Cuddy along with a terse note: “This, Mr. Cuddy, is why I’m still here.”
What was that guy up to? Her first thought was that he was stealing office supplies, but then she wondered if his actions might indicate something more sinister. Could he be a spy for a competing lumber company? Was that the secret Greg Tynes had died for?
Cuddy would certainly be at the top of her list of suspects.
After organizing the visible surfaces, she moved on to the desk drawers. The first one she opened held a jumble of supplies. Liquid Paper? Who used that anymore? The bottle was all dried out anyway, so she tossed it, along with several obsolete or nonworking tools.
“Hello, what’s this?” She extracted a string of plastic packets containing condoms in the most lurid colors imaginable. Might this have something to do with the assistants who didn’t stay very long? Did he nail them, then fire them?
Ugh, she didn’t want to think why he had condoms at the office. She stuffed them to the back of the drawer and tried to forget she saw them.
She’d had enough organizing for one day, anyway. Maybe this would be a good time to retrieve whatever recordings her listening device had caught. She could see if Isaac Cuddy’s ugly remarks had been preserved; it would be nice to have evidence of his harassing accusation should their conflict escalate.
Jillian retrieved the recording device from her credenza and extracted the flash memory card. Celeste had explained that it was simple enough to listen to the recordings. Just pop the memory card into her computer, put on her headphones, and open each audio file. Since the device was voice-activated, each conversation would be in a separate file.
The first conversation was between Conner and his ex-wife. She’d been trying to weasel money out of him…for a butt lift? Good Lord, Chandra couldn’t be older than her early thirties. Jillian felt a little sorry for her; a woman that dependent on her youth and beauty was in for a boatload of disappointment someday.
At least Conner didn’t fall for her story about a leaky roof.
Jillian squirmed in her chair when the talk got more personal. She shouldn’t be listening to such an intimate conversation. She really didn’t want to know what Conner thought of his ex-wife’s butt.
Iris walked by, and Jillian quickly put her hands on the computer keyboard and pretended to be typing from a Dictaphone. But her fellow admin didn’t even look her way. Jillian was invisible.
She didn’t like being invisible; it reminded her way too much of high school.
Jillian was relieved when Chandra departed. But the audio file continued with a conversation between Conner and Hamilton Payne.
“How’s the new secretary working out?” Payne asked. “Is she as useless as she looks?”
Jillian gasped, stung by his dismissive tone. He’d been so warm when he’d welcomed her to the company. In fact, he’d reminded her of Kermit the Frog. She should know by now not to trust what was on the surface.
But what Conner said next was like a slap in the face. “…what I don’t understand is why Joyce keeps pitching these pretty bits of empty-headed fluff at me, expecting things to work out.”
Empty-headed fluff? That’s what he thought of her?
“What was her name? Hilary, Julia…” Payne again.
“Something like that…” God, Conner hadn’t bothered to even learn his own admin’s name. “I could tell with one look she’s never worked a hard day in her life.”
Payne replied, “You need someone with brains and maturity.”
Neither of which they thought Jillian possessed, apparently. She hadn’t felt this edge of humiliation since…since…well, since the last time she’d b
een the butt of a terrible joke, streaking across a football field in nothing but a pair of panties.
Conner was speaking again. “…I just have a low tolerance for stupidity.”
Her eyes blurring with tears, she longed to close the offensive audio file. But she had a job to do. She gritted her teeth and kept listening. But then the file cut off on its own; it sounded as if Conner and Mr. Payne had walked away from Conner’s desk.
CHAPTER SIX
AS CONNER ARRIVED AT the office early on Monday morning, he felt better than he had in months. Spending a long weekend camping out, just him and the trees, had done much to restore his spirits.
Spending a few hours with his new assistant hadn’t hurt anything, either. His body’s involuntary physical response to her had reminded him that he was a man, one who’d been in a bitter, post-divorce funk for two years, and that was too long.
He stopped at Jillian’s workstation on the way to his office. She’d arrived before him, as she had every day last week, and was already hard at work behind her computer.
“Good morning, Jillian,” he said cheerfully.
Her gaze flickered up at him. “Good morning. I just put the coffee on, it’ll be a few minutes.”
“Ah…don’t worry about the coffee. I’ll get my own.” On her first day he’d ordered her to bring him coffee, and she’d done so every day they’d been in the office since. But that was when he’d thought she wouldn’t be around long. He needed to treat her as a professional, rather than a lackey.
“Okay,” she said. But there was something a little off about her instant agreement. And her stony expression. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was furious with him. But he’d done nothing to her. Not recently.
“Are you okay?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Yes, I’m fine. Did you finish the job in Stirrup Creek?”
“All done. And I have something to show you.” He could have emailed her the photos, but he wanted to see her reaction. She’d loaned him her digital camera so he could take pictures of his snag resurrection project. But it was the images he’d captured yesterday that he thought she might like. He called up the first picture onto the camera’s screen and handed it to her.
