He gave me a skeptical look as he leaned back in his padded chair. "And you believe this will really get people talking to you?"
"Absolutely," I assured him.
"Okay, fine,” he sighed. “When shall we do this?"
"This afternoon would be good. We can't do it in the guest areas, so let's do it in the kitchens, maybe. The wait staff can spread the gossip."
Edward sighed. "I hope you're sure about this."
I returned for Edward mid-afternoon, with two large folders in my hands.
"What're those for?" he asked.
"Props," I said. "Where's the most obvious place to stage this? Where are we most likely to be overheard?"
"The staffroom. Most of the wait staff will take a short break now that lunch is over before they start getting ready for the early evening covers."
"Lead on."
I followed Edward as he navigated the corridors.
"What kind of car do you drive?" I asked as he held a door open for me to step through, the large folders becoming heavier in my arms.
"A Lexus, why?"
"Just wondered." I filed the mental note away.
"The staffroom is just through here. I guess I could be getting us coffee?" he suggested.
"That's the spirit. Just follow my lead, okay? Uh, you go through first and walk quickly, like you're cross. Try and look sour."
Edward nodded and his face settled into a heavy frown. "You got it. But I am uncomfortable about this."
"Whatever you say, I forgive you." I nodded to the doors, urging him, "Go!"
Edward strode through ahead of me and I shortened my stride, making it look like I was hurrying to catch up with him. I stumbled when he came to a stop, causing me to bump into him. It wasn't part of the plan, but the bumbling was.
"Lexi!" Edward snapped as I stepped back. With an audible squeak, I dropped the folders I was holding and Edward sucked in a breath, his jaw hardening.
"Sorry!" I inefficiently made a fuss at picking up the folders, except somehow, I “inadvertently” flipped open the metal rods inside, which held everything together and the papers spilled out. "Oh no!" I dropped to my hands and knees as I hurriedly gathered everything together, stuffing the papers into the folders every which way. "I'm so sorry, I'll clear this up, Mr. Killjoy. I promise," I wailed as I looked up in time to see him do an exaggerated shake of his head.
"You're such a klutz," he said loudly.
"I know. I'm really sorry! I am, honestly."
"Lexi, you have to get a grip. You're my executive assistant, not an intern. You need to act like one," he said, getting into the spirit of things as he stared down at me.
I took a furtive glance around, seeing the intrigued looks cast our way as I scrambled on the floor while Edward loomed over me with his arms crossed.
Edward continued, "You messed up my filing system. You don't get here on time every single day, and you have to be here on time! And don't think I don't know about that extra long lunch you took yesterday."
"It won’t happen again. I promise."
I got to my feet, the files clutched to my chest, and we both watched as a piece of white paper slipped free, floating back to the floor like a waving flag of surrender. I grimaced.
"I need the notes I gave you yesterday on my desk this afternoon. Not tomorrow, Lexi, this afternoon."
"Got it. Notes. This afternoon."
"And your report is late."
"It's almost finished!" My lower lip wobbled.
Edward ran a hand over his head, seemingly forgetting he didn't have any hair to ruffle. "I refuse to keep on staff who can't perform," he said, his voice a little louder than necessary. "You're either on the team, or you're out looking for a new job." And with that, he turned on his heel and left me. "Coffee, Lexi," he snapped over his shoulder.
The whole room was silent, everyone pretending not to look or hear, and privately, I gave Killjoy an A-plus for his performance.
"Here, let me help you with that." I looked around and spotted Louisa picking up the stray piece of paper from the floor. "Those folders look heavy. Why don't I take one?" she suggested, tugging one out of my arms. My shoulders sagged in relief, which wasn’t an act. I’d really over packed. I just hoped Louisa didn’t decide to open the one she grasped because inside, bar a few typed pages, was nothing but white paper, commandeered from the photocopy room.
"Thanks. I'm trying, I really am, but there's so much to do." My jaw shook as my voice edged to a higher pitch. "But I can carry them. I just wish I had enough hands to get Mr. Killjoy's coffee too!"
"Don't worry about that. I'll make him one. Come on. Let's drop these folders off and then we'll get a coffee in the bar. You and me. My treat." Louisa grabbed a cup from the open shelving and hit a button on the machine, waiting for the hot liquid to gush out. She moved towards the exit opposite the one Killjoy had taken and I toddled behind her, the folder bouncing off my chest. If I weren't careful, I would drop it for real this time.
"Oh, I don't know about coffee," I chattered. "Mr. Killjoy was pretty angry about lunch yesterday."
"Edward is a lot of bark right now," said Louisa. "I don't see why you should be spoken to like that."
"Is that why his last assistant left?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Louisa shrugged. "I do know that I wouldn't let him speak to me like that. You have to stand up for yourself."
I heaved a breath and gave her my feeble face. "Do you think?"
"Absolutely." Louisa nudged my office door handle open with her elbow and bumped the door open with her hip. I slid past her and heaved the files onto my desk. "Wait here," she instructed as she walked towards Edward's office. I heard a few words exchanged, and when she came back, she was coffee free. "Our turn," Louisa said. "And I won't take no for an answer."
"Well, okay, if you're sure." Score one to me! I had definitely gotten Louisa’s sympathy vote.
"I'm sure." Louisa ushered me out, and I hurried along after her, having trouble keeping up with her purposeful strides.
"What if Mr. Killjoy gets mad at me? I've got that report to write and..." I trailed off, wondering if I’d laid it on too thick.
"Lexi, stop worrying. If he's cross, send him to me. If it gets that bad, write a complaint."
"Oh, I couldn't do that!"
"Of course, you can. If a boss oversteps the line, I need to be made aware of it."
"But he's your boss too."
"Technically, no. I work for the hotel group, not Edward."
"Oh."
Louisa led me to the coffee bar that flanked the conference center and found us a seat in the window. "Normally, I'd say let's get a coffee from the kitchen’s machine, but a change of scenery is nice, isn't it?"
"Yes, thanks. I guess I need to calm down."
"Of course, you do." Louisa patted my knee and signaled to the waiter, ordering two cappuccinos.
I wanted to say the coffee was a lot like my mood: bitter, despondent and lukewarm about the idea of success. But it was rich and creamy with just the right amount of chocolate sprinkles over softly whipped foam, so I decided to match my mood to it as I brightened.
"I'm serious about making a complaint," said Louisa before licking foam from her lip. "We can't have anyone of the staff spoken to like that. I will do everything I can to support you."
"I really don't think I need to make a complaint."
"It might escalate. I know you think Edward is under a lot of pressure, but it could get worse,” she said, slowly and seriously, her eyes widening with unelicited warning.
"I'm fine, really. It was nothing."
Louisa set her cup down. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"Right next door," I said, smiling.
"And my door is always open." Louisa patted my arm. "If you want to go home, I'll clear it with Edward."
"Really, Louisa, I'm okay. It's nothing. I'm sure it'll all blow over." I put on a brave face and made sure I didn’t smile. By morning, o
ur little tussle should be all over the hotel.
~
My notes told me Ted finished work at seven. By six thirty, I'd parked within eyeballing distance of the parking garage of Becker, Hughes and Whitman, and waited. If I was extra lucky, I might also get a glimpse of Donna Keegan, his mistress.
My stomach rumbled ominously, reminding me it had been five hours since I'd eaten a cheese sandwich and a sugared donut; and three hours since Amanda Michaels had appeared in my office doorway, bearing a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and a sympathetic smile. Gossip traveled fast.
I rooted through the glove compartment in search of snacks, and found four mints in a dog-eared wrapper. I sucked on them while I waited. It didn't solve the hunger issue, but I had great breath.
By the time I spotted Ted leaving the office, wearing a pinstripe suit and carrying his coat over his arm, I was raring to go. As I watched, a woman teetered up to him in platform heels, sliding her arm through his, all the while keeping her back to me. I suppressed a smile as he shook her off, saying something sharp that made her take a step backwards. She darted a glance around her. I'd recognize her face anywhere, even though her blonde hair was swept up into the kind of chignon that I never had the patience to try. Donna Keegan. Ted strode off, leaving her rooted to the sidewalk, then she followed a few steps behind as he rounded the corner to the parking garage. Just as they got inside the structure, he grabbed her and kissed her furiously, his hands roaming downwards to grasp her butt as he pressed her against the wall. For a moment, I looked on, horrified.
“Shit! Where’s my camera?” I searched for it, sighing at its absence, and grabbed my cell phone. I plugged in the pin code and set it to camera mode, snapping some fuzzy shots of their saliva swapping. “Barf-o-meter rating: gross,” I mustered as I snapped again while they straightened up their suits and marched further inside the structure. A moment later, I caught sight of the woman heading in one direction, alone. Ted must have parked somewhere else.
What would they do now? The investigator in me hoped they were heading to a secret tryst. The good sister part of me hoped Ted's car was going to explode with him inside it. Then maybe Donna would try and rescue him, and her hair would all burn off. I shuddered. Apparently, I had a mean and nasty imagination.
Ted's Mercedes pulled out first, then Donna's Cruiser appeared right behind his, giving me a moment of indecision. Which one should I follow? Ted, to see where he went? Or Donna, to see where she went?
Fortunately, they made the decision for me by both heading in the same direction. I pulled out into the traffic a couple of cars behind, fully aware that Ted may be looking in his rearview mirror to see if Donna were following him, and if he was alert, he might spot me too. Donna, I was less worried about. I imagined she had her eyes firmly fastened on Ted, his almost new Mercedes, the new wardrobe, and all the longer hemlines she could finally afford if she snared him.
I shook my head in exasperation. I'd never been one to believe that mistresses couldn't help themselves. Nor that they just loved the wrong guy and fell for the line, “I don't have a real marriage; I love you, not her.” From what I could see, everyone was free to help himself. If you loved the wrong, and very married person, you did the decent thing and waited until they were free; or did yourself one better, by finding someone worthy. Of course, most of my matrimonial observations came from Daniel's divorce when his wife left him for her French tutor. I wondered if Donna was a calculating little bitch who had no problem sleeping with someone else's husband; or if she'd really fallen for the rubbish I could imagine Ted spouting to his gullible junior. Either way, I loathed them both.
I caught sight of them as they turned onto Century Street and cursed as they sped off. By the time the lights changed, neither car was anywhere in sight, so I crossed my fingers and headed in their direction, figuring I would follow whomever I spotted first.
Five minutes later, I got lucky and spotted both cars outside a small strip of bars and shops in a trendy new area that was known for attracting the most astute of the post work crowd. I pulled in opposite and scanned the area, wondering where they could be. There was a small Italian restaurant, Monty's, which I loved and did the best takeout pizza in the whole of Montgomery. The pizzeria had been there forever and Ted would have to be really stupid to take his bit on the side in there. To the right, there was a bank, now closed, a boutique that sold really cute purses, and beside that a shop, now shut down, its windows whitewashed against peepers. There was a Greek restaurant, advertising meze, and a sports bar with the biggest flat-screen television I'd ever seen. I couldn't work out where Ted and Donna were.
I turned to look behind me, and immediately ducked as Ted and Donna walked past my car and into the bar opposite.
Gah! I still hadn't any chance to get my good camera, and here they were, on another secret date. It was almost like they were taunting me. Setting my cell phone’s camera to “video,” I held it up to my car door window and sank further into my seat. Through the small LCD screen, I watched as Donna grabbed a booth by the window and Ted went to get their drinks, frowning when he saw where she was sitting. When his drinks were served, he walked over, said something, and Donna looked around, then got up, scowling, and followed Ted towards the back, where the tall counter cut off my view. Clearly, Donna had less of a problem being seen than Ted did. Maybe he told her he was separated. Maybe she didn’t care.
"Damn," I muttered as they edged out of the shot.
My passenger side door was wrenched open at that moment, and I swung around in time, dropping my phone, a scream frozen in my throat, to see Solomon slide into the empty seat, as he moved my purse to the backseat. The scream slipped out as a squeal.
"Hello." Solomon stretched his long legs out as he shut the door. He turned chocolate eyes on me and looked over my suit, though whether it was appreciative or not was anyone’s guess.
My heart thumped. "Hi."
"What are you doing?"
I stuck my hand down the side of the seat, flailing around until my fingers connected with the phone. Drawing it up, I stopped the video and slipped my cell phone into my pocket. "Nothing," I lied.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"You're doing nothing? Here? At seven twenty?" Solomon raised his eyebrows.
"Thinking about getting coffee. I ran out." I raised my own eyebrows and waited for Solomon to get out. He didn't.
Instead, he asked, "Thought about going to the grocery store?"
"Good idea. Didn't think of that. Thanks for the tip."
"How are things going at the hotel?"
"I got Killjoy to pick a fight with me. Now everyone feels sorry for me and they're starting to talk. Plus, they bring me cookies when they feel sorry for me." I thought about offering one from the paper baggie in my purse, and thought better of it. Served him right for dropping in unannounced.
Solomon nodded approvingly. "Good thinking. I like a ruse that works."
I held my breath, waiting for him to say “unlike this one,” but he didn't. I suspected he wasn't entirely sure what I was doing. Then again, he probably knew exactly what I was doing and was waiting to see what I would say.
Silently, I waited a moment for him to demand to know exactly what I was doing, parked (apparently) randomly on the side of the road. Then, I could answer, truthfully, I wasn't working on anything that he told me not to. But for a long time, he didn't say anything, and I was starting to feel like I would confess any moment under his scrutiny. Instead, I asked the obvious, "How did you find me here?"
"Saw you as I drove past."
“Huh.” I looked over his clothes. Today, he wore black pants, a black shirt, and a navy tie with the most subtle stripes, edged in a single thread of silver, that only showed when the light hit. He was gorgeous… and far too smart for an early evening mid-week. Suspicion hit me. "Going anywhere nice?" I asked.
"No." Solomon wasn't much of a conversation starter, or participant either, and he clearl
y favored flat monosyllables that couldn't get him into trouble. I wondered if he was going on a date. If he even dated. And then I tried to imagine what kind of women he dated. I bet they were tall and smart, with glossy hair and genius level IQs. He probably dated shady, but beautiful, government types who wore their sexuality like a weapon. They probably wore spike heels that doubled as stiletto knives and Solomon probably just looked at them and made them melt. Conversation would be furtive signals, subtle words, and smokin' body language. It definitely wouldn’t be pillow fight ruses.
"Sometimes I wonder what is going on in your head."
"Huh?"
"Your eyes flicker when you think hard."
That sounded really unappealing. "Lazy eye," I lied.
"Or a very active imagination."
Definitely that, not that I would share. I gave a little humph and tried not to let my eyes stray over to the bar I was staking out. Instead, I fixed my eyes on Solomon, which wasn’t so good for my heart rate either. Suddenly, the VW seemed very small and I could smell his freshly showered scent, and the aroma of rich dark spices from his aftershave filling the air. I breathed him in and hoped my eyes weren’t dilated.
"Anything else to report?" he asked, smiling now.
"Not a thing yet."
"Lucas tells me he's working on the hotel's computer system."
I explained my theory about someone from the outside hacking in, and Solomon nodded. "It's a possibility. Lucas can hack anything. If there's anything to find, he'll find it."
"Where did you meet Lucas?"
"That's his story to tell."
I brightened. "Sounds juicy."
"Not particularly."
I tried not to huff a sigh. "Any luck with the stolen property? Lucas said Delgado was asking around."
"He did. Nothing came up."
"Isn't that odd? A lot of stuff went missing."
Solomon nodded, but I wasn't sure which bit he was agreeing too. Then he slid a hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small bundle, holding it out to me before depositing it in my hand, and folding my fingers over the top with his very digits.
I peeked straightaway because I love gifts. "What is this?"
Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 14
