Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  “Mr. King!” My voice almost cracks. Now Peterson and Walker are staring at me, open-mouthed. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s more what I can do for you, Miss Clark.” There’s an almost-smile in his voice. It’s tantalizing. “I was impressed with your originality and think we’d have good working chemistry together. In fact, you had me at painting the walls. The whiskey just sealed the deal. I’m rather a fan of Scotch myself.”

  “Right, me too, big, big Scotch fan,” I stammer. “Who isn’t?”

  “I could use a person with a spine and personality, Miss Clark. You think outside the box.”

  “And color outside the lines.”

  He chuckles, a low and rich sound that makes me feel good. “I often find that you creative types are a welcome and refreshing addition, a revitalizing square-peg in the round-hole corporate world. I’d like to extend you an official offer for the position of my Personal and Executive Assistant.”

  “Oh, wow, thank you sir. That was fast.”

  “I don’t like to waste time once I know what I want.”

  I check my watch. It’s only 9:15am. “I can see that.”

  “Miss Johnson has emailed you the paperwork detailing our financial contract and, most importantly, our confidentiality clause. Look them over in detail, please. If you can agree to the terms and would like to accept the position, please let us know within 24 hours. I’d like to start you Monday.”

  You can start me anytime, I think.

  I clear my throat and summon every ounce of professionalism I have. “Yes sir, I will absolutely take a good hard look and get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you very much for the offer, I very much appreciate it.”

  “Well done, Clark. Speak soon.”

  Click. He’s gone.

  I accidentally let out a “Whoop!” into the close confines of the elevator. But then I groan and bite my lip, thinking. Do I want this job? It all feels…fast—Odd.

  I nervously swipe through some buttons on my phone screen and see he wasn’t kidding; there’s already an email from Amanda Johnson. Shocked, I reach trembling fingers to massage my temples and open the attachments, briefly scanning over the massive confidentiality clause and chuckling to myself. It’s intimidating.

  This Mr. King guy sure is a sexy, thoroughly paranoid son of a gun.

  Part of my brain feels like taking a full-time job is giving up on music, and yet, the boss is hot and the money is so great. Besides, I am desperate. Those student loans won’t pay off themselves, and Rachel is right; I might like having a salary.

  Like a real person.

  I shove my phone back in my purse, brain whirring, and remember that I am in an elevator. Looking around, I see Peterson, Walker and the elevator attendant are staring at me. Peterson looks like she might cry.

  Yeah. Not awkward. Not awkward at all.

  Chapter Four

  On Monday I enter the lobby of 2211 Wall Street with my head held high. I’ve borrowed Rachel’s light gray Daine Von Fastenberg pantsuit and Cole Haan pumps. My hair is piled in a neat bun, and I even straightened my bangs. To celebrate the new job and placate my quirky artsy side, I’m wearing the bright teal J-Crew necklace I bought with my credit card, just for a pop of color in an otherwise monochrome world.

  I almost look like I belong here.

  Gerard is waiting to greet me next to the security station. I even catch a ghost of a grin on his thin freckled face.

  “Good morning, Miss Clark. Since we have received and filed your signed contract and confidentiality agreement, I can officially welcome you to Skollz Corp.”

  “Thank you and good morning, mister…?”

  “Jones. Gerard Jones, Administrative Coordinator.” We shake hands. “I will be overseeing your training today. We’ll try to make it as quick and painless as possible.”

  “That seems to be a theme.”

  He definitely smiles this time. “Yes. We always strive for efficiency in pursuit of change, creating the future. You’ll find we are a lean, mean corporate machine.”

  “My favorite kind.”

  “Mine too.”

  I follow him into the elevator bank, but this time we go down. The basement level is white and expansive, like an underground warehouse. I could see a high-fashion photo-shoot going on down here, or a black market. Gerard leads me to the far side of the wide, open space and swipes a security pass over an automated lock, opening a door to a short hallway. Inside, people wearing bluetooths and tasers are bustling between rooms packed with video monitors and radio noise.

  It’s like the goddamn Matrix.

  In one of the rooms we pass I glimpse a pair of German Shepherds sniffing a large stack of boxes and can’t help smiling. I love dogs. One of them sees me and comes over, sniffing, and lets me pet its ears.

  Gerard notices. “They’re working dogs,” he explains. “Since 9/11 we’ve added twelve canine teams and the same x-ray technology you see at airports. Everyone who enters the building automatically receives a full-body scan at the door. Mr. King himself ordered the technology installed and sometimes personally reviews the image streams. He’s a bit of a security stickler.”

  “Sounds like it,” I say, self-consciously folding my arms over my chest. I try not to think about the fact that Mr. King has maybe seen through my clothes. “Quite impressive.”

  Gerard is all business as we settle into a small cubby-like room with a camera, desk, and a security guard who hands me a clipboard with a form and pen. “Please fill this out, and we’ll go ahead and take your picture and print your company identification and security pass.”

  The ID process is straightforward and pretty soon I am photographed, labeled, and ready to go. Gerard nods crisply at the security guards and escorts me back to the elevators.

  “The main thing for you to keep in mind is that you are here to be Mr. King’s right hand in and out of the office,” says Gerard. “You’ll want to familiarize yourself as quickly as possible with Skollz Corp policies and procedures, I’ll give you the manual. Remember, you always have the procedures and policies to fall back on when in doubt. The system can be your best friend if you know it well. With Mr. King you’ll never know what to expect. Change comes fast and furious here. You’ll need to be prepared for anything.”

  There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like Gerard is trying to warn me about something. I’m probably being silly, though. Chalk it up to first-day jitters.

  “Well, I’ve lived in New York for two years,” I say blithely. “If that hasn’t prepared me for anything, nothing will.”

  Gerard smiles again, an expression that crinkles the corners of his wide mouth but doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hope so.”

  Yikes. Something is definitely up. Or maybe this is normal in the corporate world, a shadowy place of intrigue and competition—right? That’s normal?

  “I know so.” My voice is confident, even if my gut is confused.

  Gerard falls silent.

  He mechanically shows me the café, gym floor, nap pods. They even have a lap pool and sauna—for crying out loud—to offset the long hours, I suppose. We go up and down every elevator bank, my vertigo building. In rapid succession I meet the Executive Director, Managing Director, Accounting Director, Finance Director, Chief Logistics Officer, Global Business Unit Manager, Marketing Coordinator, Executive Secretary, Public Relations Officer.

  Surprisingly, not all of them are redheads.

  Just as my brain is about to explode, Gerard takes me up to the sixty-sixth floor and sits me down in a quiet conference room with a giant book.

  “The Skollz Corp policy and procedures manual,” he announces. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Feel free to visit the café. After lunch we’ll join Mr. King.”

  The door clicks closed behind him and I am alone, staring at the giant book.

  It’s at least four inches thick.

  “That’s what she said,” I mutter in response to my own thoughts, lau
ghing at myself.

  “Something amusing, Miss Clark?”

  “Jesus!”

  I nearly jump out of my skin and spin around in my seat. I immediately recognize the voice but god damn it I hate surprises. Though room is still empty, I can hear the cackle of feedback in a speaker system. And then I notice the etched glass mirror behind me, shaped suspiciously like a door. It has to be a two-way.

  The CEO of Skollz Corp was spying on me?! Heart hammering, I squint directly past the reflection of my own face.

  “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic, Mr. King.” I inspect the edges of the mirror curiously, and think I see the ridge in the wall that it can slide into. “Was this another pet security project of yours? Isolate and inspect? I’d rather be sniffed by the dogs.”

  “You’re a fast thinker, Clark.”

  The glass slides into the wall, revealing a sprawling office on the other side. All of the walls of the office are windows offering a panoramic, panic-inducing view of the New York skyline. I forcefully pull my gaze away from the reminder of our precarious height and see a large white desk. Seated behind it in a throne-chair is Mr. Mysterious Multi-Millionaire himself.

  “Half my victims never find the door,” he says. His voice is heavy and sultry. “Come on in. Don’t be shy.”

  Collecting my things I approach, feeling like Dorothy in Oz. The glass panel slides back in place behind me. Not scary or sexy. Not scary or sexy at all.

  I know there’s no way back to Kansas.

  “Have a seat Miss Clark.”

  I do, and can’t help but notice that Mr. King looks devastating in his tailored gray suit and open collar.

  “Aw, we’re twins today, sir,” I say before I can stop myself.

  He blinks at me in mild confusion, then looks down at his suit and laughs. “Indeed. I knew there was some sort of connection between us.”

  “Ginger telepathy, maybe.”

  “I’ll take it as a good omen.” He leans back in his chair watching me with an almost playful expression, exposing his relaxed but chiseled chest. There’s a little bit of hair peeking between the buttons of his collar. I try not to stare. “How are you faring so far? Not overwhelmed by the tour? I wanted you to have a good understanding of the scale of your position.”

  Swallowing, I paint on my best confident smile and force myself to look up. Eyes up here. “So far so good, thank you sir. Hopefully I’ll remember everyone’s names by Friday.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he says. Those blue eyes twinkle, full of trouble.

  He looks me up and down. Silence draws out and I feel my cheeks grow hot under his frank perusal.

  “I’m not going to break you in gentle, Miss Clark, but I think you can take it. I want you to keep your evening clear on Friday for a private event. Next Tuesday, you’ll accompany me to Australia. Some negotiations over a merger require my presence, and I’ll benefit from an extra pair of freckled hands.”

  “I don’t have freckles,” I point out, holding up my hands. I am trying but failing to downplay my excitement over the mention of Australia, and I can feel my smile widening. “You’re on your own there. But I have seen Crocodile Dundee, so I’m ready to go.”

  “That ‘a girl.” He stands, and I automatically mimic him. “Come on, Clark. Let’s get some lunch. Then I’m sending you on a very important clandestine mission, operation: dry cleaning run. After that, I’ll chain you to a pile of correspondence that needs response. Mostly fan-mail and invitations which we will decline, with the occasional angry hippy protest letter, which we will ignore.”

  That isn’t all I want him to chain me to.

  Yikes. Down, girl.

  “Boy,” I say with a dash of sarcasm, “You high-power types sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  He laughs, and some butterflies swirl in my belly. “Welcome to the glamorous world of Mr. King. Non-stop fun for everyone.”

  “If you say so, sir. You’re the boss.”

  “Yes, I am, aren’t I?”

  Our eyes lock a little longer than necessary before he moves a hand to the small of my back to guide me to the elevators. His touch makes me hot all over.

  That smile. Those eyes. The paycheck. Australia?!

  Uh oh. It’s only day one and I definitely have a crush on the boss, on the new lifestyle, on everything.

  Be cool, Ava. Be cool.

  Chapter Five

  Friday night rolls around faster than makes any sense.

  Since Mr. King has insisted on picking me up at my apartment, Rachel is chewing gum and helping me curl my hair. She’s already done herself up, ready to head to the east side scene with her finance crew as soon as I leave. The bathroom is hot and I am sweating away most of my makeup already.

  It almost feels like high school, when she forced me to go to prom with her. I smile, remembering the awkward night. She didn’t know I had a huge crush on her date, Chip Williams, the star quarterback of Huron High. Rachel just couldn’t fathom anyone skipping prom, wanted to protect me from “making a huge mistake” she knew I’d “regret for the rest of my life.”

  She’d begged and pleaded and, when that failed, set up a date for me with my band nerd friend Andy McKnight behind my back. So I finally caved, let her dress me up, rode along in the limo and watched her and Chip make out all night.

  And that is our relationship. I’m still humoring her. She’s still doing my hair and egging me on out of my comfort zone. Nothing has changed…except the world around us.

  “You seem to be transitioning well,” Rachel says, jolting me out of my daydreams. “Accompanying him to a private event in the first week? He must like you.”

  “Hm? Yeah. We’re getting along ok.”

  “Maybe it’s a date.”

  I roll my eyes. “Rachel. He’s my boss. Besides, I am not looking for anything with anyone right now. Gotta get my shit in order. Last thing I need is a guy.”

  She says in a sing-song voice. “Bean and King-King, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-”

  “Grow up Rach.”

  “Know how I know you’ve got it bad for the boss man? You haven’t even been singing or playing. And you’re blushing.”

  I sigh as she unwinds the curling iron, fanning my face for brief relief from the heat. She’s right. I haven’t done any music all week.

  “It’s just a timing thing,” I say, frowning, hoping I’m right. “Been too tired to practice. Not used to the hours yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

  “You always do. But yeah, he’s working you hard.” She says hard with a guttural groan, gyrating her hips. “So hard and rough and—”

  “God, shut up!” We both giggle. “It’s not really hard, just…long.” That makes us giggle more. “Shut up! Oh my god, we’re twelve.” I force my face straight. “Tonight should be fun, though. Then, off to Australia!”

  Rachel nods, dousing me with hairspray and standing back for a final inspection. “What club is it again?”

  “He didn’t say. Something members only.”

  The buzzer rings. “Must be him,” Rachel says, unplugging the curling iron. I help her sweep the makeup and hair stuff back into its Tupperware container.

  “Whew, I’m a little nervous.”

  “You look hot. Behave yourself.” She gives me a sweaty hug. “Guess I’ll see you later. Or not. I mean, if he invites you to his penthouse, you know what to do.”

  I playfully punch her arm, grab my purse, and bolt out the door.

  Gerard is standing by the sleek Lincoln town car idling at the curb. I’m a little surprised to see that he is the one driving us. It seems rather out of the line of an Administrative Coordinator’s usual duties.

  I smile at him. “Hello Mr. Jones,” I say brightly.

  He nods but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Miss Clark, good evening.”

  His eyes are hooded and his expression blank. Obviously he’s not excited about a working Friday night, but he dispatches with the formalities flawlessly. With a flourish,
he opens the passenger side door in the back and I scoot in, finding myself up close and personal with Mr. King.

  “Welcome, Miss Clark,” says Mr. King, his iceberg eyes flitting over my sister-approved outfit. It’s fitted black from head to foot, and I am assured it’s both corporate and club appropriate. Not that I would know. “You look lovely this evening.”

  Gerard slams the door behind me.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I hope you’ll excuse my secrecy about tonight,” says Mr. King. As he speaks, Gerard hops in the driver’s seat and we glide onto 125th street. “You see, this is rather an elite members-only club where the most powerful men in the world go to unwind. Tonight I have some delicate, personal business to transact, and it’s imperative that I have another set of sharp eyes with me. A beautiful lady doesn’t hurt my cause, either. You’re my good luck charm.”

  He takes my hand and kisses it and I feel my whole body flush with even more heat, and also a little pleasure. There’s definitely attraction, and I know he can sense it too. Even in the dim lighting, I can see that Mr. King notices me blushing. Be cool, Ava. I take back my hand and turn to face the front, stoically.

  “Gerard,” says Mr. King, “Will you increase the A/C in the back for us please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sudden whoosh of cool air makes goose bumps flare over my exposed arms.

  “Thank you,” I say, clutching my arms protectively around myself.

  “You’re welcome,” Mr. King and Gerard chime at the same time. They catch each other’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. I stifle a giggle.

  “Here are the documents you asked me to prepare,” I say, pulling a folder out of my purse. “Can’t say that I understood them, but they’re ready. Just as you specified.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Mr. King rifles through the papers, speed-reading the odd gibberish he had asked me to type up. Gerard turns onto FDR drive and directs us south. Finally Mr. King returns the papers to me. “Hold on to these. We’re in for an interesting night, Miss Clark.”

  I smile and look out the window. It’s dorky, but living in Manhattan I rarely ride in a car anymore and it feels like a treat. I watch the dense lights of the city swirl past, reflected on the East River like phosphorescence over ink.