A Billion Little Clues

by Westlake, Samantha

  "Ah, yes," the young man replied, and went scurrying away. And a few minutes later, my car came screeching up in front of me.

  Well, even if I had been going to tip the man before, I certainly wasn't after how he handled my car! Didn't he know that some cars were delicate and could break? But more than anything else, I was just happy to be headed home after the adventures of the night.

  When I walked into my apartment, Rachel was sitting on the couch across from the television. She couldn't have been too focused on the TV, however; there was a lanky man on the couch with her, his hands wrapped around her and his fingers no doubt slipped into several very private places. In fact, when I opened the door, I swear that I caught a flash as he yanked one hand free, and a soft moan that had been coming from the other side of my apartment door cut off abruptly as I turned the key in the lock.

  "Melinda!" Rachel exclaimed loudly as I entered. "How was your night!" I noticed that her skirt was bunched up around her upper thighs, and she was wiggling back and forth on top of the guy's lap as though something was uncomfortably poking her.

  "Ugh," I replied, tossing the little clutch off to one side. It landed heavily and I remembered with a slight note of guilt that it wasn't mine, and furthermore that my phone was still inside. "Terrible! I thought that I met a guy, and then he ends up getting arrested for murder!"

  Normally, this would have provoked a straight-up squeal of delight from my roommate. Tonight, however, she just nodded as if I had told her that there had been champagne at the party. "That sounds really engaging," she commented. The guy beneath her shifted a little, and Rachel briefly went cross-eyed.

  "Well, you're probably exhausted after that," she continued a moment later, sounding breathless. "Want to head right to bed? You can return my dress tomorrow."

  A yawn surfaced at just the mention of bed. "I think that sounds amazing," I said, reaching down to pick up the clutch from where it had landed. Still bent over, however, I glanced up - and froze.

  From my bent over position, I could see what was actually happening on the couch! Rachel still might be wearing her dress, but she was most definitely not wearing anything underneath - and her legs were spread wide over the lap of the guy beneath her! And his pants were down around his knees, along with his underwear...

  Which meant that the fleshy thing shoved into Rachel had to be-

  I shot upright, stammering as my mind figured out what was going on. "Yeah, let me get off to bed right now!" I almost shouted, spinning around on my heel. "Have a good night, you two!"

  As soon as I had gone around the corner, I heard the couch springs squeak, and Rachel let out another little groan of pleasure. Yes, I had definitely interrupted something very intimate. "Do you think she noticed?" the guy's voice rumbled quietly.

  "Nah, I'm sure she didn't," Rachel replied, her voice short and breathless again. "Now, are you going to just lay there and make me do all the work, or are you going to push back?"

  A second later, the squeaking of the couch springs doubled, and I began to hear little cries of feminine pleasure drifting around the corner. Feeling a little guilty at eavesdropping, I went into my room.

  Unfortunately, even with my door shut, I couldn't totally drown out the sounds of the sex going on outside. They must have switched to a position that rocked the entire couch, as I could feel the floorboards beneath my bed vibrating a little. I lay back in my bed, pulled a pillow over my head, and tried to go to sleep.

  The sounds of my roommate getting stuffed just outside my door made me think back to that kiss with Roman. There had just been a kiss, but there had been quite a lot of subtext involved in that kiss. And, now that I thought about it, quite a bit of related groping as well. I could still imagine the man's hands sliding over my curves, his rod growing from between his legs to push into the little fold of my dress between my own...

  Oh goodness. I was never going to fall asleep at this rate.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  The next morning, when I got into the office, I was still feeling sleepy and blinking my eyes at the world around me. My sleep the night before had been restless, plagued with dreams of big, strong male hands running all over my body, lips sliding into places that had gone far too long without attention from anyone but myself. When I awoke, I found that I had worked all of the covers off of me, and had a pillow clenched between my thighs in a very compromising position. I was just glad that Rachel didn't come in to get me up.

  And now, standing at my desk, I clutched my extra-large coffee cup. I really needed the help of caffeine right now. There was a sticky note pinned to my monitor.

  Sticky notes were never good. Sticky notes were a sign that someone had come over to find me and, upon realizing that I wasn't there, had felt that whatever he or she had to say to me was so important that it couldn't wait for the next time we happened to connect. Sticky notes were the "urgent" of the pen and paper world, the sign that I had most definitely dropped the ball somewhere.

  I was fairly used to seeing sticky notes from Keith. It was under Keith's sticky note policy that I had formulated my own ideas about the danger of sticky notes. But Keith used bright orange notes. I was pretty sure he chose that color on purpose to inflict as much pain on the eyes as possible.

  This sticky note was green.

  I slowly sank down into my chair, forcing myself to not read the note. I deliberately took my purse off of my shoulder, setting it in my empty outbox basket. I raised my coffee cup to my lips and took a long, slow sip. Only after the warm liquid had slid down my throat towards my stomach did I reach forward and peel the note off of my monitor.

  "Melinda," I read off from the note. Well, that was a good start. Keith tended to start his notes with "Hey screw-up," as if this was my official job title. Slightly emboldened, I continued reading down the green sticky note.

  "Melinda, effective immediately, you are being transferred to the Head Office. Please gather your things and move up to floor twenty-eight. The receptionist there will show you to your new desk. -R"

  I flipped the note over, hoping for a bit more of an explanation, but there was nothing to be found. I sat back in my chair and took another sip of coffee. Who was R? Why was I being transferred? What in the world was on floor twenty-eight?

  For a minute, I sat there, half lost in thought and half just enjoying my coffee and not thinking about having to move or work or any of those other pestersome obligations that always insist on poking their noses in on my quiet time. It wasn't until I heard a set of footsteps clicking towards me that I looked up. I knew that self-important walk.

  Sure enough, Keith was bearing down on me. I looked up at him as he glared at me from behind his rectangular, frameless glasses. Those things were like eye shields, probably the only reason that his angry stares didn't melt me down into a pile of scorched little pebbles.

  "Melinda!" he barked at me, and I felt my spine attempt to straighten up as much as it could. Unfortunately, this jerk upright also made my coffee cup shoot upright as well - which wasn't good for the liquid inside.

  "Um, sorry," I apologized, as I grabbed for a napkin to dab at my blouse. Why in the world had I chosen to wear a light-colored blouse? I kept a stack of napkins at my desk for just this purpose, but I could still see the discoloration spreading. This was not going to help me make an impressive entrance on floor twenty-eight.

  When I raised my eyes from damage control on my blouse back up to my boss, he was shaking his head, as if he was ashamed of even having to breathe the same air as such a screw-up as me. "Look, everyone's all abuzz about the party last night," he said, clearly attempting to ignore my little mishap. "What happened? What did I miss?"

  I considered where to begin. "Well, the party was very fancy," I began. I wanted to make sure that I didn't leave out any important details. "I mean, people driving fancy cars, there were flamingos in the fountain, and even the swords were really made of metal!" I wished that I had held onto my little martini skewer to demonst
rate.

  There was a soft growl leaking out of Keith's throat, so I hastily pressed forward. "Anyway, the chief financial guy, Geoffrey Silvers, ended up somehow hurting himself and dying, and the police arrested Roman for it," I wrapped up quickly. "After that, the party pretty much ended. Hey, I have to go report to the twenty-eighth floor right now - I got a sticky note about it. I'm sure that I'll be back later for any other questions."

  I felt that I had just done a great job of summarizing the party. Clearly, Keith was speechless, his mouth opening and closing as he tried in vain to recover his ability to speak. I just gave him a little smile as I grabbed my purse, a few extra napkins, and my coffee. He could thank me later.

  I breezed past my boss, but somewhere around getting into the elevator, I felt my spurt of motivation fade just as suddenly as it had appeared. I still didn't know who was summoning me, or for what.

  A sudden icy hand of fear gripped me. What if they knew that I wasn't supposed to be at the party the other night? Or what if someone had found out about that kiss with Roman? Wasn't it against the rules to fraternize with other people at work? And given as how he was the CEO of the entire company, I doubted that human resources would choose to fire him instead of me. Even though he had totally been the one to initiate things. I hadn't even given off any hints that I wanted to be kissed. I wondered if this would make a good argument, but I suspected that, with my word against Roman's, I wouldn't fare too well.

  Even with all my worrying, however, there really wasn't any other option. I had to go up to floor twenty-eight and face my fear. By this point, a few other businesspeople had filtered into the elevator, and I let them push whatever floors they needed.

  Floor twenty-eight still wasn't lit. I stepped forward, took a deep breath, and pushed the button.

  The doors of the elevator closed. We started to rise smoothly upwards.

  #

  Floor twenty-eight wasn't quite what I had been expecting.

  Before I arrived, I wasn't sure quite how tall our building was. I knew that Panther Worldwide had a lease on the entire building, and that the top floors were reserved for the bigwigs, the guys who were at the party last night. But I had expected floor twenty-eight to look a lot like my own floor, with a small open area and receptionist in front of another giant maze of cubicles.

  Instead, my first thought upon exiting the elevator was that construction hadn't quite finished building our building, and I had come out on the top floor. Glass, glass everywhere. The elevator was towards the center of the building, but I swore that so many walls of this floor were glass, I could see all the way to the outer windows in all four directions. There was a receptionist's desk, yes, but it was huge, a giant circle with one of those super fancy, super thin flat screen computers sitting behind it. And the woman at the computer who glanced up at me as I stepped out of the elevator had her disinterested glare down to an art.

  "Can I help you?" she asked, as if the very idea of helping me with anything was the most arduous concept in the entire world.

  I wasn't quite sure how to respond for a second. "Um, I was called up here?" I asked, hating how hesitant my voice sounded. I knew that I didn't belong up here, in this world of massive executive offices with their floor-to-ceiling glass windows instead of real walls! Weren't they afraid of the glass breaking, of falling out and dropping all the way down to the tiny street below?

  The woman behind the receptionist's desk just blinked at me, a single, very slow blink of her astoundingly thick eyelashes. I couldn't help sweeping my eyes over her, feeling more and more ashamed of myself with every inch I covered. She looked like a damn model! My arms were thicker than her thighs! And yet she still somehow had just as much cleavage as me - and her very stylish blouse didn't have any coffee stains marring it.

  After a few seconds of silence, I remembered the green sticky note. "I got this," I tried, holding the sticky note up.

  The woman darted forward, faster than I believed possible, and snatched the green slip of paper from my fingers. She held it up to her face, glaring down at it, and then passed it back. "You're Melinda," she said, her tone sounding as if she doubted I could even manage to do this much.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  With a long sigh, the woman rose up from her seat, stepping out from behind the desk. "Follow me," she murmured to me, and then stalked off down the hallway between the giant glass offices without looking back to see if I was following.

  I was, feeling worse about myself by the second. She even walked like a runway model! And her skirt was tight enough to reveal that there was most definitely not anything underneath. Was I going to have to dress this way for work? I would very quickly run out of flattering outfits. I'd have to start paying Rachel for all the things I borrowed from her.

  The woman reached the office at the end of the corridor and opened up the glass door, rapping her knuckles lightly against it as she did so. "Mister Wayland, your nine o'clock is here," she called in.

  Still standing just outside the office, I froze. Wayland? As in Roman Wayland? As in the possible murderer that I had kissed last night and had been unable to keep out of my head ever since?

  Yes, it was. I forced my feet to shuffle forward through the doorway, and saw him as he rose up from behind a massive glass-topped (seriously, did we own a division that just made glass?) desk. For a moment, my heart leapt up into my throat.

  When I had met him out on the terrace, it had been quite dark, and I had only dimly been able to make out his features. Now, in the balanced lighting of his office, I could scrutinize him more closely. And he was no less impressive.

  Tall. I remembered that from last night. And if this suit wasn't the same one as last night, it could have been an identical copy. It was tight around his legs, showing off his sturdy but not oversized calves and thighs, and fanning out to cover his broad shoulders. His hair was swept back, a deep chestnut brown in color, but still slightly mussy. He must not even realize when he ran his hands through it, I thought faintly to myself.

  His face... he had the same strong features that I remembered seeing outlined by shadows. There was a fairly deep tan on his face, as if he had spent a good amount of time hiking in the brush. Briefly, I imagined him out in a jungle somewhere, his bare arms exposed up to the shoulder, his muscles shifting as he hefted a machete, grinning with those broad white teeth as he discovered a long-lost species of something. His jawline and cheekbones looked as though they'd been chiseled out of a block of granite. The only thing ruining him was a slight frown that he currently wore across his face. It pulled his eyebrows together a little and made him look as if he was about to bite through a piece of steel.

  "Thank you, Eleanor," he said as he stood up, looking past me at the receptionist. "Give me some time with Melinda, please."

  The receptionist let out another little snort, so soft that only I could hear it, but she turned on her heel and stalked back towards her desk. I stared after her for a moment, my emotions torn between envy and disdain. Eleanor? She even had the name of a model! Some people were just born with all the advantages.

  But in a few seconds, Eleanor had disappeared out of sight, and the door had swung shut. I was alone now. It was just Roman and me, in his massive office. His gaze had shifted over to me, and I felt as though I was on a stage with a spotlight blasting out at me. What in the world was I supposed to do?

  Roman had stepped forward, around his desk, to stand on the same side as me. He hadn't come any further forward, however, and I hesitantly took a step towards him. I had no idea what I was doing here!

  "Melinda," Roman greeted me, and I nodded. I couldn't even get any clue from his voice. He didn't sound angry, but there was still that little hint of a frown dancing about on his face. He gestured to one of two chairs sitting in front of his desk. "Would you mind taking a seat? I have a few things to discuss."

  Discuss. I knew it. That was executive-speak for getting fired. He had just called me up here to let me down easy. Altho
ugh why hadn't he just delegated this to HR? In any case, I stepped forward and sat down in one of the chairs, my purse on my lap and holding my cup of coffee in both hands on top of my purse.

  For just a moment, Roman smiled down at me, the frown vanishing from his face. "Relax, would you?" he said, his tone suddenly sounding much less formal. "You aren't in trouble!"

  Dammit, but that smile was strong! I couldn't help smiling back. "Sorry," I apologized. "I'm just kind of nervous."

  With a sigh, Roman flopped down in the other chair in front of his desk, turning it a bit so that it faced me. "You're nervous?" he repeated. One of his hands rose up to rub at his temple, further mussing up his hair. "You're not the one who's being accused of committing murder!"

  I couldn't hold back a gasp at this. Roman was still being accused? But he was free! I had assumed that the police must have dropped the charges, or else how would he be out of prison?

  "I'm out on bail," he said after a second, his eyes still on my face, and I felt myself blush a little. Were my thoughts this easy to read? I hoped not all of them! "And it wasn't cheap, either. Thank goodness for Zinn. Whatever his personal attitude, his skill in law is worth its weight in gold."

  A moment later, Roman's eyes returned to me. "But that's the reason that I've called you here," he said, leaning forward and staring into my eyes intently. "I need your help."

  There were a lot of thoughts rushing through my head. The first thought, one that had been nagging at me ever since I sat down, was that these seats Roman had were extraordinarily uncomfortable. I felt as though I was sitting in an alligator's jaws as it attempted to swallow me. I could feel my ass slowly sliding back into the crack of the chair, while metal rods in the back burrowed deep into my spine. How in the world was anyone supposed to sit in a seat like this for any length of time without needing to see a chiropractor afterwards?

  The second thought in my mind, much more recent but also much more powerful, was how sexy the man in front of me looked as he leaned in towards me. My scumbag brain wouldn't stop replaying the kiss that we had shared the night previously, how he had pulled me in to press against his body. I remembered how his hands had slid all over me, how they had expertly managed to burrow in beneath my little dress and find all the right points to transform me into a mindless bundle of desire. I wanted him to do that again, only this time for us not to be interrupted by someone getting murdered.