Red Hourglass

by Scarlet Risqué

  “That’s great.” He smiled and gave me two thumbs up.

  Conan popped his head out of his office. “Christophe, have you emailed me the information on the new recruits that I asked you for yesterday?”

  “No sir. I’ll email it over right away.”

  “Make sure you do.” Conan stepped back into his office and closed the door.

  “I’ll be back later.” Christophe shuffled out of the department with a big grin on his lips.

  Conan stormed out of his office and tossed the white paper bag with his lunch on my desk. “This is all wrong!”

  Oh shit! My stomach dropped and the worker rats looked over their cubicles at me.

  “I wanted a tall black coffee and you got me a short white. And you should know by now that I DON’T LIKE TOMATOES. So why in the hell are there tomatoes on my sandwich?” He threw the bag into the trash can.

  How did I make such a stupid mistake? Couldn’t he simply remove the tomatoes? I’d throttle him with my heels if I wasn’t on a mission. I took a breath and composed myself.

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I said, trying to conceal my disgust.

  “If you want to keep your job, it certainly will not happen again.” He sneered down at me with his piercing gray eyes. “Now, Ms. Walters, I believe you have yet to get me my lunch.”

  “Yes sir.” I stood up and grabbed my handbag.

  “Be quick about it,” he said as he returned to his office and slammed the door.

  I took the elevator down to the lobby and sprinted across the street to the sandwich shop. No tomatoes, no tomatoes. No wonder everyone scrambles around when he issues orders, but I’m not here to be his bitch. I hate this stupid secretary job. It took me fifteen minutes to get back with his food.

  “Here’s your lunch.” My clammy hand trembled as I placed the food on his desk. I didn’t like making stupid mistakes, but I hated being yelled at and threatened. It reminded me of my stepfather. I wanted to cry—out of anger more than anything.

  Conan opened the paper bag, took out the cup, and drank a gulp of coffee. “So far so good,” he said as he glared at me with his wolf-like eyes.

  I had to look away from his penetrating gaze. He reached into the bag for his sandwich and peeled away the wrapper to examine its contents.

  “No tomatoes. Good girl.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  His praise was a relief. But it still felt like he was chewing me up, not the sandwich. I couldn’t care less what the picky jerk thought, but I had to please him if I wanted to keep the job and finish my mission.

  “Get to work.”

  “Yes sir.”

  * * *

  Christophe and I walked to a pizza place after work. There was a huge wood-fired oven in the middle of the restaurant. The cooks were using large wooden paddles to get the pizzas in and out of the oven.

  The smell of cheese, tomatoes, and garlic wafted through the restaurant. I couldn’t eat my lunch after what happened with Conan, but the delicious aromas restored my appetite.

  We sat down and ordered a large pepperoni pizza and two Cokes. The waiter was back with our drinks in no time.

  “How did you get into Wilmar?” I asked.

  “I won the Hackathon in New York two years ago. Wilmar recruited me after that,” he said, chewing on his straw.

  “Did you go to college?”

  “Nah. College is for losers. I’ve sort of hacked my way through life. How about you Scarlet? How did you end up in Wilmar?”

  “I saw the job on the website and applied. They didn’t come looking for me.”

  “Well I’m glad you’re with us now.” He smiled and lifted his glass. “Santé,” he said, lightly clinking his glass against mine. “Bottoms up.”

  “But the pizza isn’t here yet,” I said, looking down. I wondered what he’d think if he knew I wasn’t really with Wilmar.

  “They have free refills on Coke. Drink up.”

  “Oh … that’s a good deal.” I drank up.

  The waiter refilled our glasses and then delivered a huge, steaming pepperoni pizza straight from the oven to our table. I lifted a slice off the tray, pulling the strings of melted cheese up with my fingers. The pizza was delicious.

  “I think I could eat pizza and drink Coke every day,” I said.

  “Me too.” Christophe munched on his slice, splattering pizza sauce all over the table.

  Being around Christophe was easy. I was growing more comfortable with him and the conversation flowed. We talked about cool places to see in New York and cheap places to eat around the office.

  “Speaking of the office, you know not to use your work email for anything personal, right?” he said. His chin was covered in tomato sauce.

  “Yeah. Conan told me that my first day.” I dabbed my napkin to my mouth, hoping he’d get the hint.

  “I’m not talking about company policy,” he said as he wiped his chin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Wilmar has a record of everything you do on their computers. If you break the rules, they’ll eventually catch you.”

  “Can you actually read our emails?”

  “Of course. I can see every keystroke, every file, everything on every computer. And our security passes aren’t just about security. They tell the company when we get to work, when we go to lunch, when we get back, and when we knock off for the day. But don’t freak out, Wilmar isn’t a totally evil big brother corporation. The people in accounting monitor arrival and departure times for payroll, but the company has to suspect you of wrongdoing before they go digging around your computer.”

  “Well that’s a relief.” I was thinking of the article from the company magazine I’d scanned and saved. “Are the security passes used to track us around the building?”

  “No. They only have RFID chips, no GPS tracking,” he said. “But they can find you if you’re in one of the public areas where they have CCTV cameras … or by tracking your cell phone.”

  “What about other CCTV cameras around the city? Can you see what’s on those?”

  “Wilmar doesn’t ever officially ask me to do that sort of thing, but I haven’t met a network or system I couldn’t hack yet. So if it’s on a network, probably.”

  “Wow. What else can you do with your white hat genius skills?” I was impressed. Vanus was in charge of IT for the White Queen. I finally understood why the rest of the agents weren’t trained up in hacking—it made sense that the White Queen would only trust her daughter with those skills.

  “Well, I’ve built a lot of safeguards into the Wilmar system. So we’re pretty secure against cyberattacks and hacking. But that’s not what you asked.” Christophe finished his last bite of pizza and took a sip of Coke. “If a device is connected to a computer network I can take control of it. Like in our building, I could turn off all the electricity or plumbing anytime I wanted to.”

  “Eww, don’t do it!” I laughed. “Not being able to flush the toilets would be disgusting, and it would suck being stuck on the sixtieth floor with no electricity.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not about to get myself fired. But if I ever decide to quit, well now that’s a different story.” He playfully mussed my hair.

  “You’re such a joker.” I giggled as I swiped away his hand. I felt comfortable with him, but not comfortable enough for him to touch me. “So I can count on you for all my hacking needs in the future?”

  “You can count on me for anything anytime Scarlet. Will you let me escort you home after dessert … so I know you get there safely?”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you. Sure.”

  Christophe dropped me home in a taxi and I ran upstairs. I locked the door behind me and closed all the curtains.

  I hadn’t entered any information in the White Queen’s Wilmar database yet. I got my notebook and flash drive out of my handbag and sat down at my desk. I opened the laptop and pressed SHIFT+ALT+F3 to access the log in screen. Then I touched my right thumb to the fi
ngerprint reader and keyed in my security code. A question appeared on the screen: “How many swimming pools are at the Academy?” If an agent was being forced to access the database by someone else, we had to answer “01.” That would cause the laptop to pull up a fake database and send an SOS to the White Queen. I entered “3.” The system was satisfied and the real database appeared.

  I made entries for all the Wilmar people I’d met. I put as much information as I could in predefined fields—name, age, marital status, position, time with the company, outside affiliations—and there was an extra field for files and notes. I entered the information I had about Conan, along with a note about his unreasonable temper and the fear he instilled in others. Then I uploaded the article about him from the company magazine. I also added notes to the general Wilmar entry, based on what I’d learned from Christophe.

  Let the Games Begin

  Conan was waiting at my desk when I arrived for work.

  “Do you play poker?” he asked.

  “It’s been a while.” My cheeks flushed as soon as I spoke. Damn it. I remembered my game of strip poker with Mr. Cheap Poker. “I know how to play … but I’m not very good,” I lied.

  “I like to play with everyone in my department,” he said as he glanced down at my short skirt.

  “What kind of poker?” I felt blood rushing through my legs. I sat down and began fiddling with papers on my desk.

  “Not strip poker, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He chuckled and let his eyes rest on my cleavage for a moment.

  “Of course not.” I blushed and squirmed in my chair. My little girl had a mind of her own.

  “Texas Hold’em will have to do you. I’ve booked a room at a private club tomorrow night. Make yourself available.”

  “Yes sir.” I smiled.

  “I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day. Call my security detail and tell them to meet me in the garage.”

  “Okay. Have a nice day,” I said as I picked up the phone.

  After I made the call I ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face. I leaned on the bathroom sink and stared at myself in the mirror. You’re on a mission. Yes he’s very hot, but it’s just business … not a kinky date. Control yourself!

  * * *

  Conan picked me up in a limo the next evening. The chrome handle glistened like a blade.

  “Is this yours?” I asked as he opened the door.

  “It’s one of Wilmar’s bulletproof limos,” he said proudly. “My guys are in the car behind us.”

  “I see.” I slid into the backseat and caressed the silky beige leather.

  Conan was wearing a black suit with a red tie, and there was a long strip of tiny buttons down the front of his white shirt. We arrived at the Tipping Club at eight on the dot.

  “Good Evening Mr. Casey,” said the bouncer, opening the door.

  Conan went to the reception desk and I stood behind him in the dark foyer.

  “I’ve reserved a private room,” he said as he signed in and showed his membership card.

  “Nice to see you again Mr. Casey.” The sexy blond smiled and handed him a key.

  She was wearing a black leather corset, a velvet choker, and black leather cuffs. I imagined her strung up like a marionette, controlled by an elusive puppet master hiding in the shadows. I shook my head to get the puppet image out of my mind.

  We walked down five stairs into the main room. The exclusive club had red velvet furniture and crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. People were sitting around card tables with green felt tops and tuxedoed croupiers. Waitresses in skimpy, skintight uniforms were serving cocktails.

  Conan led me to a private room. His bodyguards flanked the door as we went inside.

  The small card room was masculine and subdued, but it still had the feel of a stately European parlor. There was a round table with four leather armchairs, and the only light was from a tiny baroque lamp.

  I put my clutch bag on a chair and sat across from Conan, folding my arms. He took a leather briefcase out from under the table. It contained two decks of cards and red poker chips. He divvied out the chips and put the decks on the table. I unfolded my arms and placed my hands on top of each other on the table, like a cat.

  “Conan, if you don’t mind, can you remind how to play?”

  “It’s simple.” His deep voice filled the room. “Everyone gets two cards that stay face down. Those are the hole cards. We bet, and then three cards are placed face up on the table. Those are the community cards. We bet again and another card is laid on the table and so on until there are five community cards. You make your five-card hand using a combination of hole cards and community cards. Stronger hands win, weaker hands lose. If players fold, the last player in the game wins.”

  “Ah yes. It’s all coming back to me now.” When I was at the Academy we had to watch the James Bond film Casino Royale. I recalled a line from it: … in poker you never play your hand. You play the man across from you.

  “Let the games begin,” Conan said as he dealt the cards with his long, slender fingers.

  I was able to bluff my way to victory in a good few games and the chips were piling up in front of me. My Mr. Cheap Poker mission is serving me well.

  I was dealing a hand and the river left the possibility of a flush or a straight flush on the table. About a quarter of all the chips were in the pot, and I was close to winning everything.

  “Are you willing to risk it all to even things up?” I asked. I began playing with my tall stacks, lifting them and letting the chips fall onto each other one by one. I hoped the clicking would distract him.

  “All in,” he said as he pushed his remaining chips to the middle of the table.

  It was my turn to call or fold. His bold move excited me and my little girl started screaming for attention … his attention. I shifted in my seat and slightly shook my head. I looked at him, searching for a tell, but all I could see were his chiseled features. He focused his gray eyes on mine without changing his expression. I couldn’t read his handsome poker face.

  “Are you willing to bet that I’m bluffing?” he asked.

  “Perhaps.” I tilted my head and smiled as I traced the scar on my abdomen with my left index finger. My little girl was trying to take control. Or was he in control of her? Pay attention to the game.

  “Scarlet, are you trying to entice me?” he asked, looking at my neck.

  “Are you enticed?” I played with a lock of my hair. “If you’re bluffing, you’re a very nasty boy.” I wanted to rip the tiny buttons off his white shirt and strip him bare.

  “I may be a nasty boy, but I never bluff.” He put a long, slender finger to his lips and eyed me.

  “You win.” I pushed my cards toward him face down. Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?

  “I usually do.” Conan grinned as he swept up the pot and counted his chips.

  He shuffled the deck and I put my hands on the table, palms down. This man was causing me to make stupid decisions. I hated losing and I wanted to teach him a lesson. A vision of my stepfather’s bloody corpse flashed through my mind.

  “Do you play poker with other women?” I asked.

  “No, only the boys at work. My last secretary didn’t know how to play.”

  “Why didn’t you teach her?”

  “She wasn’t interested. Bet.”

  I threw a big blind into the pot, hoping for an easy steal. Conan dealt the cards and I raised my bet every time. He matched me until the turn. I smiled to myself when he folded. I haven’t lost my touch.

  “Why don’t we raise the stakes?” he suggested. “Triple blind to start?”

  “Fine.”

  Conan put out a triple blind and I dealt. I got two black aces, the strongest pair. He raised on the preflop and so did I. The flop left a pair of kings and a queen on the table. Conan raised again and I knew he had a strong hand. If he’s holding a king and queen he has a full house. That beats two pairs
. There were still two more chances for me to win and I matched his bet.

  I dealt the turn and it was a useless six. He raised and I was beginning to doubt my odds. I’d usually fold if I knew I had a weaker hand, but I didn’t want to give in to him.

  “Check,” I said.

  “No bet? Getting twitchy are we?” He smirked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” If he only has a queen I still have a chance to win.

  “I’ll know soon enough. Deal.”

  An ace of hearts appeared on the river. Bingo! The community cards were a pair of kings, a queen, a six, and the ace. There’s my full house, three aces and two kings. Conan was watching me intently, looking for a tell. I was feeling pretty confident, but I remained still and kept my poker face.

  “Are you leaving it to chance?” I entwined my fingers. Please let him fold.

  “I never leave anything to chance. I decide the outcome.” He glanced at his cards again. “All in.” He pushed all his chips to the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair. “Now Ms. Walters, are you happy to let chance dictate your fate?”

  The only chips not in the pot were mine. I had to go all in or fold.

  “I try to control my destiny, but I accept fate for what it is. All in. Showdown,” I said, nudging my stacks forward.

  “Don’t make me wait to see those cards.”

  “Full house,” I said, laying my cards on the table.

  “My dear lady, I told you I don’t leave anything to chance. Four of a kind,” he said as he slowly placed his two kings with the pair of kings on the table. “Not only is this a winning combination, it’s a rare one.”

  I gasped. I never suspected that he had two kings. I’d miscalculated and lost everything. I was vexed. I can’t be falling into his trap instead of him falling into mine.

  L’Atelier

  “Bonjour Scarlet,” said Christophe as he walked up to my desk.

  “Bonjour,” I said. “You look sort of … stressed. Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure. Conan just told me to see him immediately.”

  “Oh. I’ll let him know you’re here.” I pressed the intercom button on the phone. “Conan, Christophe’s here.”