Unfortunately, her arrival seemed to have had the desired effect of throwing a bucket of cold water over us. Roman was very cool about the whole thing, stepping back and nodding politely to Eleanor as though he wasn't half-naked and feeling up his newest personal assistant in the middle of his office, but I knew that my blush had doubled in intensity. This was so embarrassing.
Eleanor continued to stand in the doorway, her eyes cooly running over us. "Thank you, Eleanor," Roman finally said to her, the hint of his tone impossible to miss. "That is all we need for now."
Finally, finally the insufferable woman turned and left! But even with her gone, the energy of the room just wasn't the same. And as Roman bent down to pick up his shirt from the floor, I knew that he wasn't about to keep on dropping kisses down into my top as he peeled it from my ready and waiting body.
Instead, as the man turned to me, he seemed to be once again thinking with his upper brain, considering our next steps. "The police," he mused. "That probably isn't good news."
"Maybe they want to clear you?" I suggested hopefully. "Or maybe they're trying to find out who else could be a suspect, just like I was. All those women were gossiping about who's going to take your job next, and with you out of the way, well, wouldn't that make it easier for whoever actually did this?"
Roman gazed back at me for a moment, as he pulled his shirt back on, but then straightened up a little more. "Actually, though," he spoke up a moment later, "you do bring up a good idea."
Of course I did! I just didn't know what idea that had been, exactly. "What's that?" I ventured cautiously.
"The idea of motive!" Roman returned. He had turned, now, and ducked back behind his desk. He was bent over at his computer, typing away.
After a minute, he looked up and saw my blank expression. "I've been thinking of who else would have wanted Silvers to be dead, but perhaps I've been going about it all wrong!" he explained, not pausing in his typing. "Right now, I'm the prime suspect, which means that I'm being blamed. If we can figure out who would want to see me gone, we might have a way to find the real killer!"
That was what I had figured out! And I had realized that - it just hadn't been put together so clearly before. But Roman had seen the exact flow of my thought process and had distilled it down into a coherent idea. This must be why he was paid the big bucks. Smart as well as handsome. And I could still see his muscles bulging beneath that thin shirt he still wore...
My daydreaming was cut short when Roman straightened up, smiling at me. "I have another mission for you," he informed me.
Smiling, I lifted up my hand and saluted. It wasn't until the edge of my palm had thunked against my forehead that I realized how ridiculous I must look. Why was I acting like such an idiot? But the billionaire behind his desk didn't seem to notice. "What do you want me to do?" I asked quickly to cover up my little slip.
Roman turned his head, looking across his office at a small black box on a side shelf. A moment later, it whirred to life, spitting out a sheet of paper. "This is the address of Zinn's office," he told me, striding across the office to snatch the sheet of paper out of the printer's out tray. "I want you to go talk to him and see if he might know who would have a grudge against me."
Zinn. The name was familiar - I knew that I had heard it before, but I couldn't remember exactly why. Wasn't that the lawyer that had been at the party? "Zinn?" I repeated back in a questioning tone.
"Eddie Zinner," Roman elaborated. "Everyone just calls him Zinn, though - it's even on his ads. He's one of the top business and personal lawyers in the city, and I retain him as my private counsel. He's got all the files on any complaints lodged against me, and should be able to help you out."
I looked down at the paper being offered to me. The text looked like a short letter, and I could see the address of the law firm printed at the top. Zinner, Charleston and Howe was the name of the law firm to which I was headed.
"Will this be enough to get me in?" I asked, holding up the paper.
"Not quite yet." Roman reached out and took it from me. I felt his hand brush against mine as he retrieved it from my grasp. He set the paper down on the desk, pulled a pen from a drawer, and signed with a flourish. I had to stifle a giggle at the exaggerated gesture.
"There you go," he finished, passing the paper back to me. "Just show it to the receptionist, and she should show you straight up to Zinn's office."
I smiled back at the man as I accepted the signed letter from him. "You know, I could get kind of used to this," I said with a grin. "Getting into the executive dining room, having everyone respect me just because I work for you - it's so different!"
"Do I have to watch out for you?" Roman retorted with a raised eyebrow. "Now that you've gotten a taste of power, are you going to come gunning for my executive position?"
"Maybe just a position directly under you," I told him, the words falling out of my mouth before I even realized what I was saying.
I froze as my latest sentence finally made its way up to my ears. Oh god. Did I just really say that to him? I couldn't believe that I'd just said that. I could already feel a blush roaring up through my cheeks, heating them up until they practically glowed red.
And this little comment had most obviously not gone over the billionaire's head, either. He still had his mouth open to respond, but seemed to have gotten stuck. And even worse, his eyes were now rolling over me! I just knew that he was imagining this in his head, thinking about exactly what it sounded like I wanted to do to him. This was so embarrassing!
Of course, just because it was embarrassing didn't mean that it wasn't true. Not that I wanted to just leap across Roman's desk and tackle him to the ground, of course! Well, maybe even that wasn't true. But if our most recent kiss was any indication, the feeling was considerably mutual.
Focus, Melinda, I told myself. Let's take this in stride. Get the billionaire proved innocent first, and then hop aboard him and ride him like in your wildest fantasies. A good plan.
"Okay, well, I better get headed over to this office before it's the end of the day, huh?" I babbled as I backed away, holding the signed letter. "I'll talk to you later! Hopefully with good news! Maybe over dinner? Just kidding!"
Oh god, I was coming apart. Get out of there, now!
I turned and bolted out of the office, not wanting to look back and see what might be on Roman's face. Eleanor smirked at me as I passed her, but I shot back such a fierce glare that her expression withered on her face.
Just get through this, I kept on telling myself. Get to this lawyer's office, talk to Zinn. Prove that Roman didn't commit this murder. And then, only once that's done, can I let myself start thinking about what might come afterwards.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
As I headed over to the address of the letter Roman had given me, I tried my hardest to get my scattered thoughts in order. The plan, Melinda! I kept on repeating inside my head. Just stick to the plan!
Trouble was, it was very hard to choose thoughts of motive and murder over thoughts of Roman, totally naked and maybe with some light oil rubbed over his muscles, doing naughty things to me. I could see him standing over me, maybe in some romantic setting with candles and dim red lights, peeling off my clothes as he kissed me. I could see him helping me to strip off his own clothes, until we were both naked. And then he'd slowly sink down, tracing a line of kisses down my body, until his head ended between my legs, that tongue of his flicking out so delicately to touch on all those most intimate places...
I realized that, as I envisioned this, my own legs were twisting together, and I had let a couple little moans slip out of my mouth! The other passengers on the bus hadn't missed this fact, either. And most of them were staring at me, with varying looks of disgust and lecherous desire.
Oh god. This wasn't going well at all.
Fortunately, the shame lasted long enough for me to hear the bus driver call out my stop. I jumped up, nearly falling over with my haste to escape from this situation, an
d yanked on the stop cord. We skidded up to the bus stop, and I hastily made my exit.
The law offices of Zinner, Charleston, and Howe were on the top floor of a three-story brick building that looked as if it had been around for the last hundred years and would easily survive a hundred more. Even the ivy growing along the corners of the building, clinging to the bricks, looked respectable. And the whole place was immaculately clean, as if a horde of invisible janitors had just swept past the place. This was definitely a law firm exclusively for the rich.
And on the inside of the building, that feeling only grew stronger. The carpet was thick enough beneath my feet to totally muffle my footsteps, and the ceiling was that hammered brass sort of inlay where it looks like the whole thing has been carved out by some ridiculously talented sculptor. It really all came together well to project the message that I did not have enough money to even be standing here.
The receptionist behind the desk on the third floor was a young man, but aside from that minor detail, he might as well have been Eleanor's twin. He had the same super-expensive clothes labels, the same lazy posture, and the same long stare that told me just how badly I failed his judgement call. He also had the high cheekbones and lanky look of a model. Still, he didn't compare to Roman. He looked way too fragile, too flighty.
"Yes?" he finally said to me with a sigh as I approached the desk. Yes, like his browsing of Facebook was any more important than attending to real customers. Not that I was a customer, that is, but maybe I could be! Perhaps I was a billionaire myself, but preferred not to waste money on expensive clothes.
Who was I kidding? If I had a billion dollars, I'd be all up and down the shops every single day, buying way too many outfits to ever wear.
"Hi, I'm here on behalf of Mr. Wayland." This time, I made sure that my greeting was equally cool. I tried to think professional thoughts and keep my spine straight. "I'm here to speak to Zinn."
The man's eyes rolled over me. He did not look impressed. "For Zinn?" he repeated. He didn't sound very convinced. "From Mr. Wayland's office."
"Yes," I nodded. I tried to stick to my guns. "I'm his newest personal assistant. Mr. Wayland, that is. Roman. Not Zinn." I suddenly remembered the letter that I had been given, and pulled it out of my purse. I held it out to the man like a peace treaty, waiting uncomfortably as he took it from my fingers and examined it closely.
"Very well," he finally said, handing the paper back to me and looking slightly frustrated that I was managing to get past his defenses. "I'll go inform Mr. Zinner. Please have a seat and wait, and he should be with you... shortly."
That pause concerned me a little, but I was at least making progress. I took a seat in one of the chairs near the elevator as the man rose lithely up from his desk and strode into the back offices.
The chair was surprisingly uncomfortable for how much it surely cost, but I didn't have much time to reflect on this. It couldn't have been more than a minute before a man in a suit came bounding up towards me, all but hopping on the balls of his feet. "Ah, Mr. Wayland's newest assistant!" he cried out as he approached. "So good to have you visit!"
I rose up from the chair, holding out my hand. This must be Zinn, I guessed. And indeed, I remembered him from Roman's party. He still had his hair slicked back over his head, running down to curl around the nape of his neck, and although this suit was different from the one he'd been wearing that night, it looked no less expensive.
Zinn's grasp swallowed up my hand as he wrapped both of his around it. Going for the two-handed handshake? It was definitely bold, but I didn't quite know how to feel about it. And that sense of vague unease was a little bit more emphasized when he lifted my palm up to his lips for a little kiss.
"Welcome," Zinn repeated as he lowered my hand. "Shall we head back to my office? I'm sure that whatever you need to discuss deserves the utmost privacy." He beckoned, and I followed his waiting hand.
Zinn led me through a small warren of offices until we emerged into his. Just like Roman's office, it was quite large, and it practically screamed luxury. But that was where the similarities ended.
Roman's office was the picture of precision and cold focus, with lots of glass, modern touches on the chairs and designs, and colored in dark, neutral colors. It practically shouted out that this was a place for work, not for enjoyment. Everything inside of it was for a specific purpose, and while there was definitely hints of wealth, they were subtle and well hidden, only noticeable as a vague feeling.
Zinn's office, on the other hand, practically hit me over the head with a hammer as I walked inside. From the velvet red carpet to the Oriental rug carelessly spread atop it, to the grandfather clock with the gold face and hands, to the glass cases scattered about the room and filled with an eclectic assortment of artifacts, everything in this place shouted out, "look at me! Imagine how wealthy my owner must be!"
Once I was inside, Zinn closed the door, and walked around me to take a seat behind his desk (very heavy, made of dark wood with a ton of gold accents in the carvings here and there. I wouldn't be surprised if that was real gold leaf on it). I couldn't help comparing this to Roman's desk, little more than a glass slab upon which his computer and papers sat. Zinn plopped down into a leather chair behind his desk, interlaced his fingers, and then looked over them at me. "So," he announced. "What can I do for Mr. Wayland today?"
Ah yes. Back to business. "Roman- that is, Mr. Wayland - is doing a bit of digging to see who might have a grudge against him, or against Mr. Silvers," I said. "He thinks it might help him figure out who wants to frame him."
Zinn's face furrowed for an instant, and then smoothed out again. "Ah, the whole issue of the murder," he said. "Very unfortunate matter, that is. However, I've told Mr. Wayland not to worry - there's no way the police will be able to build a case against him." The man temporarily unlaced his fingers to stroke his suit lapels. "That is why he employs me, you know. For issues such as these."
The guy certainly didn't bother to contain his ego much, did he? My eyes dropped momentarily to his desk, and I noticed that one of the photos turned towards me showed Zinn standing on the deck of a large sailboat. And he certainly didn't bother to conceal his wealth, either. "Mr. Wayland understands this, and is super grateful for your service," I said, trying to sound gracious.
Zinn was still not looking convinced, so I lowered my voice a little, leaning in. "Still, he feels that this could be something to address moving forward. For the health of the company. I'm sure you understand." I wasn't quite sure what I meant by this, but it sounded like something that high-powered businessmen would say. I hoped that it would work.
And after a second, Zinn sat back, nodding. I was elated. I had pulled that phrase out of my ass, and it had worked! "Of course," he said, turning to his computer and hitting a couple of keys. "Let me see what I can find."
After a moment, the man made a little noise of announcement. "Actually, I believe I have a complaint that may be of interest," he said, looking up at me. For a moment, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed to lose his train of thought. "Hold on - I know you from somewhere, don't I?"
Was he thinking of Roman's party? "I don't think so," I politely replied. "I don't think we've met before this. I'm very new." At least to working with Roman. I didn't think it worth mentioning that I'd been with Panther Worldwide in a much lower role before a day ago.
But Zinn wasn't convinced, shaking his head back and forth. "Anyway, here's the complaint I was mentioning previously," he said after a long minute, nodding to his screen. "It seems that Mr. Silvers had a recent confrontation with Panther's CTO. There was some heated shouting, and the CTO filed a formal complaint."
The acronym meant nothing to me. "The CTO, yes," I said, pretending that I knew what I was talking about.
Zinn glanced up at me. "Yes, Carrie Matthew, the chief technology officer," he said. "She's the head of IT and a lot of the technological development behind Panther's continuing brand success. She recently had her budget cut, a
nd insisted that Silvers refused to recognize IT's continued budgetary needs."
I still wasn't clear on what this meant, but at least now I had another name! Carrie Matthew. And she had been fighting with Silvers. Perhaps it was that simple - at the party, she had gotten drunk on too much champagne or fancy martinis and decided to take out her anger on him with a hit to the head!
I was distracted from this thought by Zinn snapping his fingers and pointing at me. "Wait a minute!" he cried out. "I know where I saw you before! You were at Mr. Wayland's party, weren't you? That's it!"
Um. Did I try to lie? I couldn't think of anything that would be convincing, so I decided to fall back on the truth. "Yes," I said, nodding. "You must have seen me there."
Zinn was still nodding, but he had now risen up out of his seat and was circling around his desk towards me. There was a rather predatory glint in his eyes. "And you were in a very sexy dress, as I recall," he went on. His eyes ducked down to run over my current outfit. "If that party hadn't come to such an unfortunate end, I would have offered to buy you a drink."
"The drinks were free," I pointed out.
The lawyer tossed back his head and laughed, as if I'd just told a hilariously funny joke. "Then perhaps I would have offered you a spin in my car," he countered. "It's a Lamborghini, you know. Cost me over a quarter million dollars."
I know that I was supposed to be impressed with this man. And if he'd approached me a week earlier, I probably would have been. He was most definitely well off, and when I forced myself to consider it, he wasn't terrible looking. His hair was a little greasy, but he was young, and kind of attractive, and definitely well off.
But compared to Roman, he just couldn't compete. Something about Zinn, about the way he acted, just left me feeling a little dirty, as though I'd just had to fish something out of the garbage. Roman was just so much more... sincere! When Roman said something, I just implicitly knew that it was true, that he wasn't playing a game with me. WIth Zinn, on the other hand, I got the idea that everything was a game to him.
A Billion Little Clues Page 9
