by Naomi West
“I know I've been keeping her from you guys,” Zed said with a laugh, “but it's just tough to let this little beauty go.”
Jackie laughed, a broad smile on her face. She glanced at Abby and raised her eyebrows appreciatively.
Abby smiled and stepped back a little from Zed's grip. “You know, Jackie's probably right, babe. I should go into the office and at least check in. Especially if I want to, I don't know, keep my job. Why don't you stick around here for a little while, and I’ll just run in for the afternoon and get caught up with some of what's on my desk?”
All three of them laughed.
“Tell you what,” Zed said, his smile still wide, “why don't you just run in and leave Jackie here with me? It'll give us a chance to get to know each other, and I can show her around the garden you and I've been working on. What do you think, Jackie?”
Jackie smiled uneasily and gave Abby a confused look. “Uh, sure?” she asked, her laugh uncertain. “Is that okay with you, boss?”
Abby glanced up at Zed and could tell from the slight curl in his lip and the glint in his eyes that it had better be okay with her. “Why wouldn't it be?” Abby asked, like she knew she was supposed to, smiling widely. “Let me go get some shoes on and put on a change of clothes, and I'll head right out.” She disengaged herself and headed back to her bedroom, her palms clammy with sweat.
“Why don't you have a seat in the living room?” Zed asked Jackie, as Abby turned the corner and headed down the hallway.
That look in his eyes had been unsettling—almost terrifying. What could she do, though? Abby trusted him not to hurt Jackie, as long as Abby kept her end of the deal, but what if something happened to her on the way?
“Hey, babe?” Zed called down the hallway, as he went to catch up with her. “Hold up a second.”
Abby turned as he came down the hallway. “What?” she hissed quietly.
“Two hours,” he said, his voice low and menacing as he snatched her arm and pulled her close. He leaned down, his face barely an inch from hers as his eyes stabbed her through like knives and held her attention. “That's all you get. You bring me the back-up files, you keep the cops out of it, or you know what happens to Jackie. You know I'm capable of it, too.”
Two hours? That was it? Abby swallowed and shook her head. “What if I get into a car accident? Or something happens to the file?”
“Guess you're going to have to pray for good luck,” he growled softly, then pulled her in and gave her a cruel kiss.
She grunted, but kept herself steady, feeling that familiar warmth within her growing between her legs. He was such a terrifying bastard, but there was still something about him that really got her engine going. Her legs even began to wobble as he reached down, grabbed her ass hard, and pulled her into him.
He pulled away, breaking the kiss. Her lips still stung with his heat. “Two hours,” he reminded her.
She nodded, her knees still weak. “Two hours,” she whispered back, as he released her from his hold.
Chapter Sixteen
Abby
She stormed into Mark Letterman's office and slammed the door behind her.
She was livid. Not only had this man betrayed the trust of thousands of first responders by forcing a drug on them that didn't work, but his actions had also gotten her and Jackie wrapped up in the middle of this whole thing with Zed. Responsibility rested squarely on Mark's shoulders, and she knew it.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Mark said, getting up from his desk, hands out in front of him, a stark look of surprise on his face. “Don't shoot, Abby, I come in peace.”
“Shut the fuck up, Mark,” she snarled, as she planted her fists on his desk and glared right at him.
“Hey,” Mark said, taking a step back as he made a disgusted face, “I don't need to take that shit from you.”
“You don't need to take that from me, huh?” she spat. “You, the lying bastard who got Dimalerax through approval, when you knew it was a faulty drug?”
Mark's face went carefully neutral, and he simply shrugged, then gave a little grin as he sat back down in his chair, like none of this was anything major. “What of it? Of course, I got it through approval. That's part of what we do. We sell drugs, and we make money. This is America, Abby.”
“But our drugs didn't work,” she hissed. “There are people who took it, hoping to end their suffering, and it wasn't any better than a goddamn sugar pill.”
“But they made us a lot of money,” he retorted.
“I should have you fired for this,” she growled, channeling a little bit of Zed.
Mark looked levelly at her, his eyes searching. “Oh,” he said, smirking. “You're serious, aren't you?” He cackled, actually cackled, a sound as annoying as broken glass and nails on chalkboards. “You think I managed to swing this on my own?” he asked, laughing again.
“When the board hears about—”
“The board?” he asked, cutting her off, then sputtering out more demeaning laughter. “The board, Abby? Do you know who helped me do all this?”
They actually helped him? They were in on it the whole time, and maybe directed him to commit fraud like this? Was this a wholesale conspiracy on an institutional level? She straightened up and took a step away.
“You know,” he said smoothly. “If you keep pushing and pushing and pushing on this, Abby, I think you're going to find that the tables can turn on even the CEO of a company. You think they're going hang their head of sales and marketing out to dry? A man who's made billions for them? Or some upstart CEO who just got the position? In fact, as much as it's already hurt us to quietly remove Dimalerax from the market, you might be pushing them too far already.”
She thought she just might break down in tears right there. Not from sadness, or from hurt, but shear anger over how completely she was painted into a corner. Abby cleared her throat and took another step towards the office door.
“Oh,” Mark piped up. “One other thing. Some reporter, Kara Singh, with The New York Times, is sniffing around, putting her nose where it doesn't belong. Keep giving me trouble, and I might just serve you up as the scoop of the year.”
“You wouldn't dare,” Abby said. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Think anyone in the public gives a shit about that? You, with your good looks and your famous little pedigree? The press would latch onto you like a fat tick on a dog. They'd suck you dry and toss you aside before anyone knew the difference, swarming like sharks smelling chum.”
She shook her head slowly. “This is all your fault, though,” she said, almost disbelievingly.
Mark laughed. “You think anyone gives a flying fuck anymore? They just want to see someone tarred and feathered. They don't care who it is.”
Abby considered her options as she watched Mark recline in his chair like a mad dog that could strike at any moment. She could stay with Pharma-Vitae, but knowing what she knew now would certainly make her complicit in their crimes. Zed had been right about that part, at least. Or, the other option was to just leave. But, that still meant they could pin everything on her, and she'd have no way to see what was coming, or to be able to collect evidence for her own defense.
But, she realized, maybe there weren't just two options. Maybe there was a third way. “Fine, Mark, you win. You're probably right about my not being able to get rid of you.” Then, she turned, opened his office door, and stepped out into the eerily silent office floor.
Dozens and dozens of eyes were on the Ice Queen as she re-entered her realm for the first time in a week. Men and women alike scurried out of Abby's way as she stalked to her office, her heels like gavels on the office carpet.
Good. They needed to be afraid. Fear was a weapon, just like any other. And, maybe, if they feared her enough, that would give her some breathing room to do what she needed to. She entered her office and shut the door behind her. She flew to her desk and powered up her computer, her fingers drumming nervously on the chair's arms as she waited for it to g
o through its boot cycle.
She just hoped Mark didn't figure out what she was trying to do before she could manage to put it into action. She typed in her password on her computer, thanking her lucky stars Mark hadn't made a more overt move, like changing her credentials or password information. After her system logged in, she went to the files she'd found earlier, with Zed, and pulled them up.
Miss Kara Singh at the Times would have a field day with the amount of information Abby was about to cram down her throat. Abby just hoped she didn't choke when it mattered most.
She was just about to hit print on the files when Mark walked into her office without knocking.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he announced, as he made his way inside, that damn shit-eating grin of his on his face.
“Haven't you ever—”
“I just wanted to let you know the conference was a huge success,” he said, still as cocky as ever. He must have seen how intently she was focused on the screen, though, because his demeanor changed instantly. “What are you doing, anyway?”
“Just getting some paperwork together, about some of the things we discussed in the last meeting. Because of the, uh, car wreck, I haven't been able to work much. But the headaches are getting somewhat better.”
“Headaches, huh?” he asked, as he came around to the side of her desk.
She quickly canceled the print command and began to email the documents to her personal home email instead. She just hoped they would send quickly enough, and not set off any alarm bells in IT. “Yeah,” she said, standing up from her desk as the email went off, files attached, to begin its zipping trajectory through the internet, “I hit my head during the accident, and they start to come on at the weirdest times.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but Abby just shook her head.
“I should probably just work from home for the next few days,” she said. “Doctors said to take it easy, and I guess they were right for once.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, nodding in agreement. “Guess so.”
She turned and powered down her computer.
“So, about what we discussed earlier,” Mark said, as she grabbed her briefcase.
“Yes? What about it?”
“I think we should discuss how we're going to get Dimalerax back on the market. Before the board starts to worry about their revenue, of course.”
The audacity of this man! To think he could threaten her like this, and knowingly try to make her complicit with putting it back on the market! Eyes narrowed, Abby shot him a look as he finished speaking. “Give me a couple days to think about it, Mark. I'll get back with you.”
Then, without saying another word, she left her office and headed to the elevator. Her mind was swimming with all of the possible ways she could get screwed over all of this, and trying to formulate a way for her to get out of it with her integrity, and her career, in one piece.
# # #
Zed
Holding Jackie hostage was much easier than he'd thought it would be. He hadn't even needed the pistol, or any threats of violence. She seemed as interested in sticking around as he did with keeping her.
“So, you two just hit it off, then?” Jackie asked, smiling delightedly and waggling her eyebrows as she sipped her wine.
Zed laughed. “You could say that. It's certainly been a fresh experience, that's for sure.”
“She's definitely a fresh experience,” Jackie agreed, laughing with him.
“Oh, she's a spitfire all right,” he admitted. “And pretty hardheaded. But I like that about her. I really do.”
“Come on!” Jackie replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Abby, hardheaded? Never!”
They both laughed as Zed leaned forward with the wine bottle and topped off her glass without asking. Her having a glass or two of wine in her had definitely helped with his little charade, that was for sure.
“What have you guys been doing this whole time?”
“Just, you know,” he said, with a shrug, “relationship stuff. Working in the garden and cooking dinner together. That kind of thing.”
“Abby cooks?” Jackie asked, grinning. “I didn't know that!”
“Well,” he admitted, as he poured a touch more wine into his own glass. “We're both still learning. We've been talking a lot, too. We’re getting to know each other. She's a very remarkable woman, unlike anyone I've ever met.”
He meant it, too, he realized. She was perfect. Hardheaded, spirited, beautiful, and intelligent. One look from her could cut a man down to size, or lift him up to the heavens. She was everything he'd ever sought in a woman.
“What about you?” Jackie asked. “I mean, I know all about her history, kind of, but what about you, Zed?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, you don't want to hear about me. I'm boring.”
She grinned. “If you stole Abby's heart this way, I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're definitely not boring.”
He laughed. “Well, I was in the military for a while. In the Air Force.”
“A fly boy, huh?” Jackie said, leaning forward with her chin resting on one hand, a devilish gleam in her eyes. “Tell me more.”
For the next little while, Zed talked about his life and his time overseas. He steered clear of any talk about Kai, only telling Jackie that he didn't get to see his brother as much as he wanted.
He took another sip of wine. “What about you?” he asked. “What do you do at Pharma-Vitae?”
“Oh, I don't know. I'm just Abbs' assistant. My job's pretty boring. Nothing like being a fighter pilot.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I don't think so. Come on, we're sharing here.”
Jackie smiled a little. She was much more excited to talk about her job than he was to discuss his past. He carefully teased out more and more information from her, plumbing her for information about the massive corporation and how it worked. There were some useful nuggets here and there, but nothing too earth-shattering. Clearly, she wasn't very close to the action. Which would make sense, of course. She might be the CEO's assistant, but, at the end of the day, she was still an assistant.
When recent developments came up, though, she definitely piqued Zed's interests. “And now some reporter has been calling, trying to get Abby to give some on-the-record response to a story she wants to write. I've been having to push her off, though. She won't speak to our press department, or take a boilerplate form.”
“A reporter, huh?” Zed asked, as he scooted forward in his seat. “Sounds juicy.”
Jackie laughed and brushed off the comment. “God, I wish. Nothing interesting ever happens at Pharma. Which, honestly,” she said, as she raised an eyebrow over her wineglass, “is probably a blessing in disguise.”
He laughed. “Take it from personal experience—‘nothing interesting’ is a good thing. Believe me.”
“But, yeah, this reporter, Kara Singh, keeps calling from the Times, and I might as well get a saddle fitted, for how hard Mark, that asshole who’s head of sales, has been riding me over the whole thing,” she said with a smirk.
Zed didn't laugh at the joke, though. How could he? He recognized the name. It was the reporter he'd been in contact with about Kai's case. She'd turned down his case before, but maybe something had changed. Had she gotten another line on some information, or was her interest up because Pharma had been stonewalling on her questions? Either way, it was good news for him and Kai. Definitely good news. Once he got the files in his possession, he could turn around and funnel them right to Kara.
“Get it?” Jackie asked after a minute. “A saddle, because he's been on my ass?” She put a finger to her chin and stared off into the distance. “Hmm, guess I could've made a joke about lube, too.”
Yeah, he figured. This could work. This might be the miracle he'd been hoping for when he jumped into this whole mess.
“Honestly, though, I just really hope Abby will make this reporter disappear somehow, just so she'll give my ear a rest
. I mean, some of those allegations she was making, just with her questions, weren't exactly great for our image. And, you know, what's good for the company . . .”
He smiled. Yeah, what was good for the company—that was how lives were ruined. People just blissfully passed through life, thinking they were somehow shielded from their misdeeds, just because they were following orders. The truth was, though, that the people at the bottom were the ones who faced the legal penalties most of the time. When auto-makers dodged government emissions tests, it was the engineers who took one for the team, not the executives. Banks who fiddled with interest rates blamed everything on the guy on the phone, doing the trades.
