Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  I head toward the conference room as a man in a security uniform approaches. He nods a greeting to the front desk but continues toward me.

  His long legs carry him across the floor in a quick and deliberate manner. He heads straight to me. The silver bar on his right breast pocket bears the name Bill Withers. “Ma’am, can you please come with me? We have some questions for you.”

  He’s stiff and formal, and my eyes focus on the gun in his holster. The gun is solid and dark, and if it’s fake, it is a quality reproduction. Am I in trouble? I want to ask him, but I feel like in TV shows, when people ask that question it’s a sure sign they are guilty, so I refrain. I watch a lot of crime TV.

  “Ma’am?”

  I pull my shoulders back to address him, puzzled as to why he has singled me out. “Yes, sir. I was just heading into the conference room. Are you joining us?”

  “No, ma’am. I need you to walk with me to my office.” He places his hand on my elbow. On reflex, I yank my arm away. What in the world?

  He ushers me to the elevator, and we ride down to the third floor. From there, he directs me to a room with a rectangular table and four chairs. One wall holds a window that looks into the hall. There is a long mirror on the opposite wall. I can’t help but wonder if people are watching on the other side. But then I dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Way too many crime dramas.

  He points to a chair on one side of the table. “Please sit.”

  I do as he instructs. I know I haven’t done anything wrong. My brow wrinkles, as confusion ripples through me. In Prague, I learned to be more vocal and to present myself as a leader, but here, I’m an intern and am unsure. I’d prefer not to lose this internship on day one. I exhale and lower myself into the chair then cross my legs and arms to await more information.

  “What brings you to this office, Ms. Grayson?”

  Okay. So, Bill knows my name. “I have an internship here.”

  He pulls out his phone and starts reading. “This says you applied two months ago online. And you had an in-person interview two weeks ago.”

  “Yes, that is correct.” This guy can’t be HR. He has a gun in a holster around his waist.

  “Why did you decide to interview at this company?” The man is steel, expressionless and formal.

  I rub my forehead to alleviate the mild tension headache forming. “Is this part of the interviewing process? I was offered an internship here, and I already accepted it?” My statement comes out sounding like a question.

  “Ms. Grayson, I need you to answer my questions. No, this is not part of the interview process. I’m part of the security team, and you have come to our attention as a potential security risk.”

  “A security risk? What kind of security risk?” I sit straighter in my chair, alert. Annoyance and anger simmer, and my grip tightens on the edge of my seat.

  “Please answer my questions. We’ll go through this process much more quickly if you do.” He leans back in his chair. He has coal-black eyes and a chiseled jaw. His broad shoulders swallow the back of the chair, and his forearms relax on the armrests. His fingers flex ever so slightly, as if he’s ensuring he can reach his holster in a nanosecond.

  I breathe deeply to clear my head and focus, then clarify, “Why did I interview here? Is that the question?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Esprit Transactions is a relatively new company. Less than ten years old, with explosive growth. The merger and acquisition division in particular appeals to me. I’m hoping to work at a venture capital firm after I graduate from business school. The experience here will be invaluable.”

  “Did you apply for internships anywhere else?”

  “Yes.” My knee bounces below the desk, but my hands and fingers remain still while I look my interrogator in the eye.

  “Where?”

  “Several other VC firms I identified through the Columbia University internship program.”

  “Why did you choose this internship?”

  I pause and glance around the room as I formulate my answer. This is not an interview. This is not HR. He’s assessing risk. This guy isn’t here for bullshit. I decide to play it straight. “I didn’t get the VC internships. I only applied for three, total. I was living in Prague and didn’t have time to focus on finding an internship. Columbia University had a link to the job posting for this position.”

  “You returned from Prague recently.” His matter-of-fact voice makes a statement. He isn’t accusing me of anything, but his attitude is antagonistic. A simmering blend of annoyance and anger continues to rise within me, approaching a boiling point. Nothing riles me more than to be accused of something. But he hasn’t accused me of anything, so I inhale deeply to calm myself.

  “Yes, about two weeks ago.” He flips through some pages in a folder, and I wonder if he’s double-checking my answer. Should I ask for a lawyer? But that would be absurd. He’s building security.

  He glances up from his folder and asks, “How long did you live there?”

  “Around eighteen months.” My gaze centers on him.

  “Why did you choose to move to Prague?”

  Because my ex fucked everything up, and I wanted to get the fuck away. I glare at Bill and exhale. “An excellent job opportunity. I also wanted the international experience.”

  “Why were you in Professor Longevite’s office this afternoon?”

  I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “How did you know I was there?” I sit up straighter and pull my shoulders back. Did someone follow me? What the ever-loving fuck?

  He repeats his question in a stern, commanding voice. “Why were you there?”

  I still my knee and grip the armrests. “He’s my professor. That has to make sense to you, because I’m in the M.B.A. program. What doesn’t make sense to me is why you know I was in his office this afternoon.” I can hear the anger in my tone, but at this point, I no longer care. It’s an internship. They can fucking fire me. This is insane.

  Mr. Security nods. He shifts in his seat and looks like he is recognizing that maybe he has overstepped, but maybe not, because he continues with his questions. “In Manhattanville Coffee, you were doing some research. Can you tell me what you were researching?”

  “You know I was in a coffee shop earlier today too?” This is beyond freaky. This is offensive. Intolerable. I slide my chair back away from the desk.

  At this point, the conference room door opens. Mr. Coffee Shop walks in. “Bill, it’s okay. She’s clear.”

  Mr. Security nods and stands, his lips a firm, straight line.

  Mr. Coffee Shop turns to me and extends his hand. “Sam Duke.”

  I squint and angle my head in a cloud of confusion. Anger courses through me, but some sense of professionalism forces my arm forward. “Olivia Grayson.” Sam Duke. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.

  He has a firm, warm grip, and his eyes meet mine. My palm is clammy, and I yank it back quickly. “What’s going on? I’m confused. Do you work here?”

  A smile crinkles his lips, and a soft, barely audible laugh escapes. “Yes, I work here. Sorry about the confusion, Ms. Grayson. We’ve had some security issues. I asked Bill’s team to check everything out. We’re good.” He turns to Bill. “Can you escort Ms. Grayson back to the orientation?”

  Bill nods in acquiescence. He still isn’t smiling.

  Coffee Shop man, a.k.a. Sam Duke, looks me in the eye as he says, “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Grayson.” He turns on his cowboy boot heel and lumbers down the hall out of my sight.

  I face Bill. “Can you please explain this?” Security issues? Me?

  “Mr. Duke saw you at the coffee shop reading an article on him. Later, he saw you at Columbia, then he saw you here and found out you were an intern. We’ve had some issues in the past, and in an abundance of caution, his personal security detail requested I talk to you.”

  “Personal security? What does he do?”

  The corners of Bill’s lips turn up into a slight s
mile. “He’s one of the founders of Esprit Transactions. He’s also the CEO.”

  Chapter 2

  Sam

  From the twenty-eighth floor, the boats floating by on the Hudson River look like toy ships. A lone sailboat catches my attention, and I watch as it swings to the right of a ferry. Needing to burn some energy, I grab a soft basketball from my shelf, give it squeeze, and aim for the goal that hangs on the back of my closed office door.

  I take a few shots to relieve the tension coursing through my muscles and to take my mind off what just happened. We grilled a young intern all because of some random coincidences. What the hell? Paranoia is eating away at me, and I don’t like it. Things have to change. I might be a programming geek—my brother’s words, not mine—but damn if I need to be scared of my own shadow.

  I open my door and catch Janet’s eye. “Can you call down to Bill Withers and ask him to come to my office?”

  “Certainly.” She smiles. The thin silver metal piece from her headset reflects the overhead light as she shifts her head and immediately dials. I used to tease her about looking like a telephone operator, but appearances aren’t something she seems to care too much about. She’s a few decades older than I am and the most on-the-ball assistant a guy could ever ask for. She wears her auburn hair in a neat chin-length bob, but it wouldn’t shock me at all if one day she walked in sporting a grandma-like poodle perm. Something about her reminds me of my Aunt Dottie.

  I return to my desk, open my laptop, and start going through emails. There’s a light tap on my doorframe. Bill Withers stands in the doorway.

  “You asked to see me, sir?”

  “Yeah. Come have a seat.” I gesture to the two open chairs across from my desk. He sits down, back flagpole erect. Between his posture and his buzz cut, he’s classic military. He’s wearing a suit, but he looks like he should be in uniform. A well-decorated uniform with brass pins of all types along the pockets and arms.

  We both sit as I begin the conversation we need to have. “I don’t want what happened today to happen again.”

  “I don’t follow, sir.”

  “We interrogated an intern. A goddamn intern, Bill.” I run my fingers through my hair, partially out of habit. Partially to emphasize my point to the stone wall in front of me.

  “Sir, we cannot be too cautious. It was highly unusual for you to run into her three times. You know that.”

  “Bill, this whole situation is making me paranoid, and I don’t like it. First, I’m running a business here. I can’t be pulling people into an interrogation room because they run into me a few times. That intern is in my buddy’s class. I was right near the school. It really wasn’t that odd that we’d run into each other on campus. If you guys had done your homework, today would not have happened. You could’ve checked her resume and application and seen she wasn’t a threat. If your team wants to be on the lookout for risks, that’s fine. But I need you to do your research thoroughly before pulling this kind of thing again. Got it?”

  “Sir, my first concern is your safety. I can’t do my job if you try to place parameters around how I do my job. She entered the building. We took necessary precautions.”

  “All right, all right, all right. Look, I get it. I know you take your job very seriously. And I appreciate it. I do. There’s been some weird shit, and I know you’re doing your job. I’m asking that you take a moment before interacting with any suspects.” I put air quotes around the word, hoping it makes him realize how ridiculous this whole thing is. Something tells me that nuance is lost on Bill. “Because, Bill, chances are any suspect in this building is an employee. I’d like to believe our employees are emotionally stable. I’d like to trust that security and HR can work together to weed out psychopaths. Comprende?”

  “Mr. Duke, you brought her to our attention. As you should have. Her activities were unusual and warranted additional investigation. We needed to meet with her, given she was already in the building.”

  I huff. He’s right. That’s the part that burns me up. His security detail has me on edge. They stay well away from me, but I know they are there. If they aren’t, then there’s a camera nearby. I’m at the point now where I can’t enter a restaurant or even a blasted deli without searching for security cameras. Locating the camera or the security guy is becoming my obsession. I twist in my chair. “I didn’t know you’d go and interrogate her. I wanted to make you aware so you could do a background check. Look into her. I mean, did you see her? She’s remarkable. Dark hair. She’s…she stands out, so I noticed her. But you should have—” I halt, realizing I’m spending too much time on this. I flatten my palms on the desk and look Bill in the eye. “My expectations are that you will proceed with caution before interacting with employees.”

  I return my attention to my laptop. Message delivered.

  I hear Bill respond with a military, “Yes, sir.” Then he drops a manila folder on my desk. “Here’s the information on Ms. Grayson, sir. I assure you we will take more care with Esprit employees moving forward.” He starts to walk away then pivots on his foot. “Sir, please remember. You cannot be too cautious. Your safety is our top priority, and it is a matter of grave concern for the board.”

  “Thank you, Bill.” I nod and give what I hope is a warm smile. I don’t like to question Bill’s expertise. But what kind of business interrogates interns? Jesus. Bill’s good at his job. I don’t doubt our business is secure. The man has done time in Iraq. He’s Blackwater elite. He knows what he’s doing. The man’s a human equivalent of a German shepherd attack dog. Unfortunately, he’s a bit like a German shepherd that’s still going through training.

  I flip through the file after he leaves. Ms. Grayson is twenty-eight years old. Back in that coffee shop, I would have pegged her for younger than that. Her breeze-tousled dark hair caught my attention the moment I opened the door. She sat poised, in a crisp white shirt with a magazine draped over some sort of encyclopedia. As I walked by, she glanced up, and those eyes…the cobalt-blue a stark contrast to the dark. Like an exotic minx. If I’d known she wasn’t in undergrad, I might’ve actually talked to her when she was staring me down. Her suspected youth held me back. That, and the fact she was reading a magazine I knew I was in. Even so, I still chose to plant my ass in the club chair across from her. I slide the folder into my briefcase to take it home and read later.

  I pick up my phone to glance through my texts before folks start coming into my office for my next meeting.

  Jason Longevite: What happened? Thought you were stopping by?

  Crap. I type in a quick response.

  Me: Stopped by after my meeting, but you had a student in your office. Want to grab dinner tonight?

  Jason Longevite: Yeah. Sounds good. Text me where.

  I pick up my phone. “Janet, can you find a place for me and Jason to get dinner? And once it’s scheduled, send a car to pick him up? Coordinate with him. Thanks.”

  Ted, the director of my pet project, our VC group, walks into the office. I signal to him to walk over to the round conference table at the corner of my office. He’s got a few thick files. He’s going to update me on some of the small businesses we’ve decided to back. This, right here, is the best part of my day.

  Now that we’re the leaders in our field, our core business doesn’t get my blood pumping like it used to. I miss the thrill of growing a start-up. Picking out small companies starting to make a go of it interests me. Helping them along, figuring out the best business plan, that’s my passion.

  Ted passes me a folder. Dark shadows color the skin below his bloodshot eyes, dark enough to make me take a second glance to make sure he’s not sporting injuries from a fistfight. “You doing okay, there?”

  He sighs. “Yeah. Just tired. Which, actually, before we start going through the folders,” he taps the table lightly with his knuckles, “I saw the conference room filled with interns here for orientation. Have they all been assigned? Can I get one or two?”

  I pull at my chin,
taking in his haggard appearance. I could suggest we hire some more staff, but one of the things I like about our little VC group is that it’s small. Streamlined. Efficient. I have no idea if all the interns are assigned, but I can definitely request one. A certain dark-haired beauty comes to mind.

  I walk back over to my desk and press the intercom for Janet. “Yes, sir?” her voice rings out into the air.

  “Janet, can you please have an intern assigned to the VC group? Actually, have two interns assigned to Ted. And then have Olivia Grayson assigned to me. She can help Ted and me in the VC group, but I have a project I could use some extra help on.”

  Ted’s eyebrows raise in response to my request. Yeah, so what? I’m the CEO. I can pick my intern. After what we did to her this afternoon, treating her like a potential criminal, she should get to work with the CEO. Makes sense to me.

  He hasn’t seen Olivia yet. There’s no reason for him to be suspicious. Of course, Ted’s wife works in the marketing department. It’s possible I deserve a raised eyebrow. The man might know more about where I’m coming from than I do.

  Chapter 3

  Olivia

  I push open the door to White Horse Tavern. Almost all the wooden booths are full, and several patrons hover around the bar area, as expected on a Friday evening. Delilah waves above the crowd of heads to catch my attention. Her signature blonde bun bounces a bit on the top of her head. I head straight over.

  “Hey, there, lady!” She bounds over, wraps me in a warm hug, and smiles as she leads the way back to our table.

  I sit across from her and scan the tavern for a waitress. Any waitress will do, but after the day I’ve had, I want a drink, stat.

  “Hi, girlie. What are you doing? I’m right here.” Her hands float in the air, gesticulating as she speaks.

  “Looking for a waitress. Maybe I should just walk up to the bar?”