Power Surge (Anna Jennings Super Novel Book 1)

by E. J. Whitmer

  So focused was I on my destination, I didn’t bother to look up. I made it three feet out my office door before ramming into a courier. My nine dollar latte splashed down my chest and oozed down my ninety dollar cashmere sweater. “Fuck!” The floor went silent as everyone stared in shock. My chest was on fire and the courier was in a full-out panic mode.

  “Oh God!” He squeaked as he stepped toward me. “I am so sorry! Please! Let me help you!”

  Two hands shout out from behind me and caught the courier’s frantic hands before he attempted to blot at my chest. I tilted my head up to see Blake giving the courier a look that had him shaking like a cold poodle.

  “What’s your name?” He asked quietly.

  “Cccarl, sir,” the courier stammered.

  “Carl, you’ll want to pull your hands back. You’ve already scalded Ms. Jennings. Do you want to add fondling to the list?”

  Carl turned a deep shade of red, took three steps backward and crashed into a cart.

  “Anna,” Eric looked down at me, “Cancel your eleven o’clock, change your clothes - with the door closed, for Christ’s sake - and stick a bar of soap in your mouth.”

  I managed a weak smile and turned back to my office. My slacks were salvageable but my brand new cream cashmere sweater was done for.

  “Ohhh honey!” Mae came bustling in. “Would you look at that. Ruined. Well, not to worry – I have your emergency clothes right here.” She handed me a sweater and turned to close my office door while I changed shirts.

  “Um … Anna?” Mae asked as she looked me over, her eyes pausing at my chest. “It’s not that they’re not lovely, but shouldn’t you wear a scarf or shawl or dickie or something?”

  I snorted about the dickie and looked down on a good three inches of cleavage. Nice.

  “Mae, weren’t there any camis in my emergency stash?” I asked as I tugged at the neckline and brushed my hair in front of my shoulders to hide my chest.

  “No. I’m sorry. I’ll add it to your ‘to do’ list,” she replied. “Buy … more … camis … to … cover … up … yabbos.”

  Oh God. “Yabbos? Mae. Really?”

  “What? Inappropriate? My grandson Connor said it the other day and I thought it was kinda neat! Hashtag, yabbos!”

  I rolled my eyes. At least this time he’d told her what the word really meant.

  “Just promise me you won’t say it in front of HR.” I gave her a tight hug and moved her to the door to get some privacy before my lunch meeting.

  I opened the door ahead of her, stopped short and looked down at a bouquet of daisies smashed into my chest. Attached to the bouquet was a hand. Attached to the hand was Carl, whose eyes were attached to my yabbos.

  “Dude,” he sighed, still not bringing his gaze up.

  “Yes. I have boobs.” I snapped. “And they’re still steaming from the coffee that somebody dumped all over them.”

  Carl squeaked out something incomprehensible and stepped back, holding the flowers out. “Daisies. For your boobs,” he stammered. Blushing a deep crimson, he turned and staggered off.

  “Anna, you really shouldn’t…”

  “Don’t.” I cut Mae off. “Just give me an hour for myself.”

  Mae’s eyes turned down and her cheeks colored a bit.

  “Please, Mae. I’m sorry. I just need some time to chill out.”

  She offered a meek smile, took my soiled sweater and left. I took the daisies, my scalded yabbos and what was left of my pride and shut myself in my office to brood.

  2

  Sometimes “rock bottom” plays an encore.

  By 11:45 I was feeling much better. I completed three of my red flags, straightened my desk and had to admit that the daisies certainly added more cheer to my office. I love daisies. Mae probably tipped Carl off that they are my favorite.

  After having a mini heart attack at realizing the time, I grabbed my coat and paged Blake to meet me in the lobby. He was already there waiting for me, clicking away on his BlackBerry.

  He glanced up, muttered, “Your car,” and headed out the door.

  We didn’t speak the entire way to the café. We never talk in the car. He just plays with the radio and smiles. It’s creepy. He always asks me to drive and all he does is sit there and smile. It’s like he’s in on a hilarious secret that I’m not privy to. But he has excellent taste in music and never whines over the gas and mileage I put on my expense reports, so I don’t mind. Although, I come close to stroking out when I can’t swear at the idiot drivers with whom I share the road.

  Traffic was horrible that day, so by the time we reached the café, my knuckles were stark white and puffs of smoke were pluming out of my ears. I slammed the car into park and took a deep breath before glancing at Eric. He was grinning at me and failing miserably to hold in his laughter. He ruffled my hair and got out of the car. Weird.

  The maître de led us to a table and offered to take our coats. I shrugged mine off and handed it to him, noticing his eyes glued to my chest. I turned to Eric to pass his coat along and winced at the daggers his eyes were shooting at me.

  He took a breath, opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a loud cat call from a table of men beside us. Awesome. I tugged at my collar and sat.

  “If you weren’t blushing the entire way down your inappropriate neckline, I would send you back to the office right now,” Eric snapped. “Honestly, Anna, you’re better than this.”

  The embarrassed flush turned to a red wave of rage. Just as I opened my big mouth to deliver a truly heinous retort, Eric’s eyes shifted up and he flashed his polite business smile.

  “Our guests have arrived. Save your temper tantrum for later,” he murmured before standing. “John, nice to see you again. I don’t believe I’ve met your associate.”

  I turned to greet John Graham, Senior Marketing Executive for M. M. Gear and had to squelch back a shriek as Brock, my Friday night date, stood smiling next to John.

  “Eric, Anna, always a pleasure,” John said and shook each of our hands. “Eric Blake, this is Brock Coyle, the face of M. M. Gear.” He slanted a look at me and smiled. “Anna, from what I hear, you and Brock are already acquainted.”

  “Yes. Nice to see you again, Brock. I didn’t realize you would be attending lunch with us,” I said, adding a slight warning tone.

  “I wasn’t,” he answered easily, flipping his strangely perfect blonde hair. “Until I found out you would be here. Why not mix a little pleasure with business?”

  “Yes, why not?” Eric said as he reached out to shake Brock’s hand. I could hear the amusement in his voice and shot him his own warning look.

  We sat down, gave our drink orders and bullshitted about sports while we perused the menu. John owed me fifty bucks thanks to a Lakers win I called. I owed Eric twenty-five dollars on a Celtics loss. We ordered our lunch and started with the business talk.

  While John was talking about target audience, Brock was not so subtly undressing me with his eyes. I tried to ignore it and was successful until I felt a large hand slide up to my thigh. I choked on my water and flung my fork ten feet in the air. Conversation throughout the café came to a halt and eyes turned in my direction.

  “Excuse me. Choked on an ice cube.” I smiled and turned back to my group. Conversation resumed and I bent to pick up my fork. Brock’s hand, still on my thigh, gave a little squeeze. I shot him a look but it was lost on him as his eyes were clearly glued to my chest. Slowly and subtly, I reached under the tablecloth to remove his hand. At least it was supposed to be subtle.

  Brock grabbed my hand, turned it palm up to link fingers, and wiggled his eyebrows at me. The man had a death grip going on. My fingers were beginning to lose circulation as I struggled to free myself. Finally, with a strength I didn’t know I had, I wrenched my hand free, flying backward with the force and elbowing our waitress, who sent a cacophony of lettuce, French fries and rice pilaf sailing over our heads.

  I shut my eyes, praying when I opened them the
food would have magically landed back on the plates instead of falling like flakes in a snow globe onto our most important client’s head. Not so much. I opened my eyes to see John’s jaw on the floor, Eric’s eyes bulging out of his head and Brock smiling coolly as he continued to play footsy.

  “Excuse me one moment please.” I stood and walked briskly to the women’s room.

  I was about to shut the door when a hand stopped it. A man’s hand. Are you kidding me? I thought. This guy is relentless! “Look Brock, I don’t know who the hell you think you are but …” I was cut off as Eric walked through the door.

  “Oh I know who I am. Do you?” he spat. “I am your boss. I am your superior. I am the one who hired you to pull together a struggling magazine because you were my best friend’s kid sister who happened to have a decent reputation in the business. And now in one day, hell, one morning, you’ve embarrassed yourself multiple times as well as embarrassed me and the company.”

  All I could do was stare at him. Eric Blake was a tough boss, but he had never raised his voice at me like this. He snapped occasionally and had always been firm, but never outright irate.

  Blake held up a hand as I started to speak. “Please. Clean yourself up. Come back to lunch. Finish the deal.” He turned to leave. “And knock off the grab-ass for twenty minutes,” he added as the door shut behind him.

  I thought about crying. I thought about throwing a monster fit. I thought about my chocolate drawer back in my office. Instead, I sucked up the tears, flicked rice pilaf out of my hair and went back to the table.

  Eric had switched me chairs so I was directly across from Brock. I wasn’t sure if it was to help me or if he genuinely thought I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, but it was nice anyway.

  The rest of the lunch was awkward, yet productive. I managed to shoo away Brock’s wandering feet with subtlety and had contracts signed and dated within an hour.

  The car ride back to the office was silent. I was trying my best to be professional and not pout. I knew from Blake’s point of view, the situation with Brock was my personal life affecting my work life. But honestly, he knew me well enough to know that that kind of behavior is completely unlike me. I kept wondering if I should broach the subject and explain my side of things. The tension in the car was palpable. Finally, as we pulled up to the parking garage, Blake sighed and turned to me.

  “I’m sorry I was so harsh on you. I know Brock was the instigator. I was embarrassed and I lashed out. I apologize.”

  I let out a sigh of relief and nodded before getting out of my car. We stood there in the parking garage for an awkward second, each of us gauging the other’s mood. Should I hug him? I wondered. I feel all sentimental. I feel like a hug is appropriate.

  Blake’s eyes bulged and he took a large step backward. Apparently my eyes gave away my plan.

  Blake cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s head up, shall we?”

  We didn’t speak as we took the elevator to our floor and parted ways to our offices. Mae followed me to my office, gave me my messages and hugged me before leaving.

  The hug did it. I shut my door, sat at my desk and cried. After ten minutes of contemplating chocolate and feeling sorry for myself, I administered a mental kick in the ass and got back to work.

  The next few hours were quiet. I edited a few ads, checked in on a few photo shoots, discussed layouts with my team and knocked off half of my task list. By six o’clock I was exhausted. I packed up and logged out. Eric was in a Senior Management meeting, so avoiding him on the way out wasn’t an issue. Five minutes later, I hopped in my Mini, blasted out some AC/DC and peeled out of the parking garage.

  My unbelievably shitty day was finally over. It couldn’t possibly get any worse. I took a deep, calming breath and decided to reward myself with sushi, wine and trashy TV. As I reached for my cell to dial Rio Sushi, I noticed a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. Of course, it was Eric’s keys in my cup holder. Are you fucking kidding me? I cut off a taxi and pulled onto the shoulder to have a personal moment.

  I am the self-proclaimed queen of tantrums and even I outdid myself. Five minutes later, my voice was hoarse and my forehead sported a lump the size of an ostrich egg from being bashed against the steering wheel. I took a deep breath and pulled an illegal U-turn to head back to the office.

  The building was dark when I arrived and the hair on the back of my neck automatically stood at full alert. After using Eric’s key fob to let myself into the building, I gathered my courage and hustled inside. The night guard wasn’t at his desk and I was doing my very best to reassure myself that he was just taking a leak, not down the hall lying in a pool of his own blood. Our building is generally safe but it’d be my luck to be in the building at the same time as a psycho cannibalistic murderer clown who wanted to skin me alive. I spend a lot of money on my moisturizers. I really do have the best skin for a human skin suit, even if it is a bit pale.

  Goosebumps scattered down my arms as I crossed the lobby toward the elevator. I was five feet from freedom when I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, followed by a loud crash. With a high pitched yelped, I spun around to find Carl, the courier, sprawled on the lobby floor, papers scattered in a halo around his motionless body.

  “Carl – what the hell?! It’s seven o’clock. The building is dark. You are a part-time worker with no security access. What are you doing here?” I walked over and gave him a nudge with my boot. He grunted, farted and blushed before answering.

  “Well … I … I misplaced a very important CD. The only hard copy of the photos from this afternoon’s photo shoot with Froofi Handbags. Regina Blake said if I left the building before the disk was found, she would … She would feed my balls to her dog. Something about it being her best work yet.”

  I rolled my eyes. Every photo shoot was Regina’s best work yet.

  “Carl, the Blakes don’t have a dog. Regina wears animals. She doesn’t feed them. Did you find the CD?” I asked, brushing dust off of his shoulders.

  “Yes. I threw it away with my burger wrappers after my mid-afternoon snack. I was just about to bring it upstairs.”

  I shoved him toward the elevator. “Come on. I’m going up too.”

  I looked over at him as the doors closed. He was kind of cute in an obnoxious little brother way. He was tall, blonde and awkwardly skinny with ears that stuck out like a car with its two front doors open. His big hazel eyes were wide and anxious.

  “Listen, Carl, I’m sorry I was rough on you today. I’ve just had a truly rotten day. Thank you for the flowers.”

  He smiled and shrugged.

  Resisting the urge to squeeze him, I reached forward to use Eric’s key fob to beam us up to the 28th floor. Before I could hit the button, Carl inhaled sharply and pointed toward the control panel.

  “The 29th floor is lit,” he whispered.

  Sure enough, the button to access the 29th floor was lit. That button was never lit. Nobody had access to that floor. Rumors around the office claimed it was the CEO’s personal penthouse to diddle his mistresses. (An idea I found laughable as our CEO resembled Santa and had a tendency to chuckle and fart at the same time.) Another rumor claimed it was home to a family under the Witness Protection Agency.

  Carl and I looked at each other, looked at the button and looked back to each other. “I heard they house aliens on the 29th floor,” Carl whispered.

  “That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows it’s not aliens. It’s a rogue pack of werewolves.” I laughed at his alarmed expression and patted him on the back. “Relax, Carl. It’s probably just meeting rooms or another gymnasium or something. But … the building’s quiet. Wanna check it out?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

  I didn’t wait for Carl’s answer. I reached forward and hit the button.

  My eyes soon widened to match Carl’s as a soothing voice crooned from the overhead speakers. “Good evening, Mr. Blake. Please remember to turn off all electronic devices before exiting to the 29th floor. Thank
you.”

  My heartbeat accelerated as the elevator began to rise. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Is there a Cancel button? Oh God …The elevator stopped. Carl stepped behind me as the doors slid open.

  I still can’t tell you exactly what I saw. It was a blur. There were flashes of light, swirling winds, shouts, screams, laughs, flying objects and the faint smell of gun powder. I stood there, my mouth hanging open, eyes bulging out, as Vance Publishing’s Senior Management Team performed some sort of supernatural battle against each other. My body must have been in shock. For the life of me, I couldn’t move my appendages. Fireballs flew past the elevator doors and hurricane-force winds blew my hair into a massive auburn tornado.

  Carl peeked out over my shoulder, gasped and immediately fainted. As his body hit the floor for the second time that night, the chaos came to an abrupt halt. Slowly, everyone turned to stare at me and the lifeless body on the floor of the elevator. Nobody spoke. Everyone just stared.

  “Um. Hi,” I said. “Mr. Blake, you left your keys in my car. I was just returning them.” I tossed his keys across the room, hit the Close button on the elevator and tried to act casual as the doors slowly closed on a dozen shocked and silent faces.

  3

  Nothing cures a bad day like wine and whining.

  “OH GOD. OH SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!” I did a little panic dance in the elevator on the descent to my floor. Carl was regaining consciousness and making gurgling sounds. After what felt like a lifetime, the elevator dinged and opened to the familiar 28th floor. I left Carl to his gurgles in the elevator and sprinted to my office.

  I was within ten feet of my office door when I heard the door to the stairwell open. I whirled around to look, and in one of my less graceful moments, spun into the fax machine and toppled over. I heard my pants rip and hissed as the corner of the console ripped into my knee. Ignoring the pain, I scrambled up and half-ran, half-crawled into my office. I closed the door, sat at my desk and held my head in my hands.