Which finds me here, in my large corner office, sitting at my desk facing a window that allows the warm sunlight to filter in. The view is astounding when I find time to stare out the window, but I’m more concerned with the view inside the building. I breathe a sigh that is filled with more longing than I care to admit, forcing my eyes back onto the computer screen before me.
Idly tapping my nails on the top of the desk, I bite my lip as I try to wrangle the wild machine. My computer and I have been having our share of issues, but it’s likely because of the unfamiliar software installed on every computer in the building.
An unexpected perk of my new job is that I’m one of the few employees with permissions to add and delete files in Carson’s private network. Currently, I’m trying to find a specific file that my boss had instructed me to copy into his personal account, but he hadn’t been clear about which sub-section the file would be in. It seems like I’m going to have to scour the entire server to find this one tidbit of information.
I’ve only been through about twelve out of approximately one thousand sections, one for each employee. I’m frantically trying to locate the search feature on this particular server, but it’s like reading another language.
I’m not even entirely sure what I’m looking for. Apparently, it’s vaguely related to a Russian property deal that Carson is supposed to be finalizing in the coming days. I have no doubt that Carson can pull off the deal; he has a way with people that I could only hope to someday achieve.
Getting caught up in my infatuation with the CEO, however, won’t serve to locate this file I’m agonizingly searching for. I exhale an entirely unladylike snort through my nose, glancing towards the window for a moment. I idly click the button that will take me to the next directory, taking a moment to rest my chin in my hand.
As I move to draw my hand away from the mouse, I accidentally bump my keyboard. I jolt in surprise at the loud clacking sound, staring plaintively at the peripheral device for a moment before groaning and returning my attention to the monitor.
Wait…
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I find myself screeching, bordering on hysteria. As I watch helplessly, the computer chugs along, deleting over ten thousand files in the directory I’ve clicked over to.
I fumble with the keyboard, trying to find a way to reverse the action. It seems I’m helpless, however, as more and more files are wiped from the system. In a panic, I grab the phone on my desk, dialing for tech support.
“Tech support, how can I help you?” a bored voice mumbles, and I can hear the clack of a keyboard in the background. As calmly as I’m able, I try to think of an un-incriminating way of finding out if there’s a way to restore the files that still in the process of being deleted.
“Yes, just a quick question. I’m new to the cloud server system, and I accidentally deleted a file from…my personal directory. Is there a way to restore it?” I ask shakily, trying to keep my voice under control.
The man on the line breathes a weary sigh, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach.
“Well, sure. For your personal directory, it should be pretty easy to restore a file. You’d be out luck if it was one of the private directories, but good luck getting access to those,” he snickers.
I draw in a sharp breath, and hesitate for a moment before managing to find myself.
“Not that it’s of any relevance, uh, but…why wouldn’t we be able to recover a file from the private server?” I say with as much disinterest as I can muster.
The man chuckles, and I hear his keyboard beginning to clack again.
“For security reasons, Mr. Sharpe has insisted that files on the private system be utterly and completely purged upon deletion. He’s very picky about who gets access, so I guess he figures it’s safe enough to have such a precaution in place. Not entirely sure it’s wise, considering how finicky the system is, but try telling Carson Sharpe anything. Anyway, do you need me to walk you through recovering your file?” he asks disinterestedly.
My breath comes out in shuddering gasps, and I inhale a quaking breath before I can manage a reply.
“Actually, I think I figured it out. Thanks for your help,” I say in a rush, hanging up the phone with the intense fear that he can somehow trace the call. Of course, as far as anyone else knows, everything is just fine and dandy. If I can keep my head down, maybe this whole thing will blow over.
Ha, yeah right. I just deleted the entire directory related to the Russian real estate deal. I had been able to surmise that much as I watched the server systematically destroy the files, what with the hundreds of ‘IMPORTANT!!!’ headers. The file names had been clear about what was contained within each document, and it’s with a sense of bitter irony that I realize I had just so happened to find the right directory at the entirely wrong time.
Stricken by the desire to rush out of the office with an imaginary migraine, I sink into my office chair and groan loudly. Carson has billions of dollars at his disposal, and I have no doubt that this deal would have served to line his pockets even more comfortably. This is an offense beyond being fired. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue me for every penny I have, and then have me thrown in prison. With his cash, he’d have no problem paying off the police, lawyers, anyone…I’d rot in jail for the rest of my life.
Blind fear grips me as the severity of the situation crashes into me at full force. Rotting in jail forever might be a bit of an extreme reaction, but nevertheless, I don’t want to face him when he finds out what has happened. I pull my phone from my pocket, hesitating for a long moment as I try to come up with a reasonable excuse to step out for the day. Desperate as I am, I’m almost willing to play the explosive diarrhea card.
Before I can enter the message, however, my phone vibrates and a message pops up on my lock screen. I swear my heart stops when I see that it’s a message from Carson and, expecting the worst, I swipe my screen to read it. It’s an innocuous enough message, but the simplicity of it sends a jolt of fear down my spine. He’s saying he wants to see me in his office as soon as possible.
Glancing towards the window in my office, I briefly lament the fact that I’m not desperate enough to throw myself out of it. I could, however, just escape the premises and not stop until I’m home in Colfax, sobbing on my mother’s kitchen floor. It seems to go against everything I’ve worked so hard for, but hell, everything seemed to be in the shitter at this point.
A lump rises in my throat as my phone vibrates again. Another message from Carson. Apparently this meeting he wants to arrange is urgent.
God, please strike me down now.
Irrationally, I find myself cursing the fact that I won’t be able to get the billionaire in my bed once I’m fired.
Bracing myself, I decide to face the music and deal with Carson in whatever way I am able. I have no doubt that as soon as I step into his office he’ll tear me limb from limb, but at this rate, I’m only delaying the inevitable. I stand up from my office chair, my legs feeling like jelly as I walk towards the door. A funeral march plays in my head, and it’s all I can do to not burst into tears.
The walk to Mr. Sharpe’s office seems both agonizingly long and far too short. There’s silence on the upper floor, and I realize that most of the other employees on this level have departed for their lunch break. Thoughts of him having me right there and then creep up on me unexpectedly, and I laugh almost hysterically at how inappropriate they are.
“Quit being ridiculous, Aimee,” I whisper to myself, pausing outside the door to Carson’s office. The door seems to loom over me, large and imposing. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m walking to my doom, but I’m borderline hysterical at this point. Scratch the borderline part—I’m entirely hysterical, and internally lamenting the fact that if I had just kept my mouth shut in that first meeting, I wouldn’t be in this position.
In another lifetime, I could be in my simple marketing internship, happy as a clam to have the chance of a lifetime. Now, in one fell swoop (or more
precisely, with the tap of a single button) I’ve thrown my entire future into the garbage.
I can only hope that Mr. Sharpe will find enough kindness in his heart to let me down gently. He holds the power in his hands to see that I never land another job in real estate, marketing, or the entire Seattle area. God only knows how far his reach extends. I would have to move back to Colfax. Everything would be over.
Swallowing my fear, I knock lightly on the door, then grip the doorknob and step inside.
Chapter Six
Carson
Wondering what has my sweet little Aimee looking so melancholy as she steps into my office, I offer her a warm smile that she nervously returns. I gesture towards the chair directly in front of my desk, looking away from the computer screen to study her face. She quakes slightly, and now that I can see her closely, I can see that she looks vaguely ill. I can only guess what has her so troubled, but it’s of little consequence for the time being.
“Aimee, I’m glad you could come and see me,” I say warmly. She laughs, and it’s an awkward sound, but an endearing one.
My eyes follow her every move, every quake of her body, the slight pout of her lips. She sits in the chair I’d gestured to, and it strikes me all at once how dearly I’d missed this young woman over the past week. I had been wrapped up so tightly in work that I’d had little time to indulge in our game.
The desire to toy with her is strikingly absent as I take in her nervous movements. Am I the source of her anxiety? Have I been pushing her too far? I can only hope that my peace offering will soothe her, though it hadn’t been intended as such.
“Sorry I took so long to reply to your message. I was, um, swept up in work,” she quietly explains, seeming to have no idea what to do with her hands as they fidget on the top of my desk. I can’t help observing her with a small smile, which she seems all too aware of. “What is it that you need, Mr. Sharpe?” she inquires, almost too softly to hear.
I reach out across the desk to rest my hand atop one of hers in what I hope is a comforting gesture. She starts at first, but relaxes into the touch and smiles sincerely for the first time since she entered my office.
“It’s perfectly fine. I actually had a small inquiry, in regards to the work you’ve been doing,” I begin, and her smile falters. I quickly move to reassure her. “You’ve been working very hard; that much is obvious. I think a vacation of sorts would serve you well.” I pause, gauging her reaction. She appears troubled and confused, so I tighten my grip on her hand.
“A vacation?” she repeats with uncertainty in her voice.
“I was hoping you could join me on a business trip. I know it’s not what most would consider a vacation, but—” I begin, cut short by a squeal of delight. Aimee turns those wide and soulful eyes upon me, and my heart begins to pound in my chest.
“I’d love to join you, Carson,” she replies with a broad smile, holding her hand to her chest. I make a valiant attempt to keep my eyes focused on her face.
When I force my eyes back up, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s considering me with a hard-to-read look, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Seems I’ve been caught in the act, but she doesn’t appear to be too bothered by the fact that I’m ogling her. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact.
“Wonderful. I’ll be closing a deal in Russia, and if everything goes as planned, my employees can plan to see a substantial raise,” I announce grandly, and she looks briefly hesitant, her lips parting as if to speak. However, she simply snaps her mouth closed and smiles.
“That’s amazing. I’ve never been to Russia before. I have to say I’m excited, even though this is probably just another day in the office for you,” she giggles.
My heart swells, and I rest my elbows on top of my desk, leaning in to speak softly.
“Oh, even I’m not as fortunate to close a deal of this magnitude very often. And the fact that you’ll be there makes the trip all the more exciting,” I say with a cheeky smile. She titters, burying her face in her hands in an attempt to mask her embarrassment. “So, to celebrate the deal and your first trip to Russia, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner this evening?” I ask casually.
Aimee draws her face out of her hands, watching me with a shy smile.
“Sounds like a plan,” she readily agrees.
“It’s a date, then,” I begin, pausing to glance at the time. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry to have kept you from your lunch break. Finish up what you were taking care of in your office, and take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you this evening,” I say with a grin.
That slightly worried expression crosses her face once more, but she nods and rises to her feet. She pauses, considering me fondly.
“See you this evening, Carson,” she murmurs, turning her back on me and slipping out of my office.
Shaking off thoughts of the possibilities, I return my attention to my computer, searching for the number of my favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Placing a call and making a reservation for the best table in the exclusive venue, I tuck my phone back in my pocket.
A smile tugs at my lips as I lean back in my office chair. I expect tonight to be one of the best nights I’ve had in some time.
* * *
After an uneventful afternoon, I leave my office as the clock strikes six thirty, giving myself a bit of extra time to change before picking up my date.
At least, I’d like to consider her my date for the evening. At the same time, I feel a bit of guilt at the idea of taking advantage of the young intern. However, when she so clearly wants me, it seems difficult to think of it as taking advantage.
In my previous experience, dating employees has never ended well. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, though. Her desire for me may be obvious, but it’s less clear whether Aimee sees me as anything more than a conquest. I’m not one to have self-doubt often, but Aimee brings out a new side of me, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
Pulling into the lot, I walk briskly towards the elevator to my penthouse apartment. I keep an eye on my watch as the elevator moves up through the numerous floors. I’ll have to move quickly if I plan to pick Aimee up on time, and I have no intention of standing her up. As soon as the elevator reaches the correct floor, I stride into my apartment.
Taking a brief moment to sift through my wardrobe, I grab something refined yet more casual than my work attire. I then walk into the bathroom, spraying on some cologne and swiftly changing clothes. As I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I realize I look more excited than I have in…hell, possibly years.
Checking my watch a final time, I rush back to the elevator and to the parking lot. I bypass my everyday car, moving to where my black sports car sits in its usual spot. I reserve this car for special occasions, and if this isn’t a special occasion, I’m not sure what is.
The trip to Aimee’s apartment is a short one, especially traveling at twenty miles over the speed limit. Pulling in front of the apartment complex, I text Aimee to let her know I’ve arrived. I step out of the car, circling around to wait for her.
When she steps out of the building, my breath catches in my throat. She’s dressed in a simple black cocktail dress, and though it’s not an extravagant garment, I’m certain that I’ve never seen anyone so attractive in my life.
“I didn’t know what was appropriate—is this okay?” she inquires shyly. I nod fervently, unable to find my voice for a long moment.
“You look beautiful. I’ve made reservations at Luigi’s,” I say, feeling bizarrely nervous. Her eyes widen, and she wrings her hands nervously.
“Isn’t that the super expensive place downtown? I’m not sure I can afford…” She trails off as I bark out a laugh, pulling open the passenger-side door for her.
“It’s on me tonight,” I say resolutely. Aimee looks as if she might argue, but she simply steps forward to grab me in a tight embrace before sliding into the car. I try to ignore the reddening of my cheeks, hoping it’s not as obvious as it feels
.
Luigi’s is packed to the gills as usual, but we’re taken to our table in short order. Aimee is looking around the place with a sense of wonderment in her gaze, and my heart swells.
“I feel so out of place, here. Everyone is so well-dressed,” she chuckles, smiling sweetly as I pull out her chair. I pause, leaning in closer to her.
“Well, I think we make quite the pair ourselves, don’t you?” I breathe into her ear. She reddens, and I circle around to my seat, waving down a waiter to order a bottle of wine.
I pretend not to see how wide Aimee’s eyes grow when she sees the price list, and I waste no time ordering the finest vintage they have available. I plan to make this evening as enjoyable as I can.
“I certainly don’t fit in here. You’re the most handsome man in this place by far, but little old me?” She smiles coyly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Oh, please, Aimee. You’re absolutely gorgeous. Everyone is probably wondering what you’re doing with a geezer like me,” I retort. She looks taken aback before letting out a laugh that is decidedly loud and unladylike, and I find myself even further enamored with her.
“You’re ridiculous. You’ve just got experience under your belt; no woman in her right mind would complain about that,” she teases. The waiter pours our wine, leaving the bottle and taking our dinner order. “I certainly don’t mind,” Aimee continues as he walks off.
I’m unable to smother the smug little grin that curls over my lips, and she looks adorably pleased with herself.
“Well, experience does go a long way in the real estate world,” I say, playing oblivious to her true meaning. She hums softly in acknowledgement, sipping her wine.
For the first time, she seems entirely at ease in my company. What I would give to have her look so happy every time we’re together.
His Surprise Baby Page 50
