Her phone’s beep announced yet another text from her mother. She glanced at the screen. Her mother had forwarded her an advertisement for a Taser. In the picture, a white-haired grandmother posed like Rambo. Personal Protection Guaranteed, the ad promised in giant type.
Stacy didn’t reply. It was the fourth similarly themed text in the last few days: pepper spray, guard dogs, even a gun safety class. This had all started after her mother read an article about a rash of purse snatchings in Fairfield. In spite of Stacy’s insistence that her new home was in a quiet bedroom community, her mother still worried.
“Stacy.” A man’s deep, slightly irritated voice broke the silence.
Startled, Stacy jumped out of her chair, banging her knee on the desk drawer in the process. So she wasn’t alone after all.
“Do you have a second?” her boss called out.
She peered over the cubicles toward his office. “Yes.” She tried to smile instead of wince. “Do you need something, Mr. Chambers?”
Leland Chambers, director of finance, stepped out of his posh corner office. Like a boorish customer flagging down a waitress, he summoned her over. “Come here. I need to speak with you.”
Scrambling, Stacy jammed her feet back into her shoes and rushed down the corridor of the empty office, her hurried response fueled by her need for this job.
“Here.” Leland dumped a stack of folders into her arms, then sat down in his high-backed leather chair behind his wide mahogany desk. “I’m taking a long weekend on the Vineyard. I’ll need those done by Wednesday.”
“Yes. Certainly, Mr. Chambers.”
“Call me Leland.”
Stacy nodded, but she had no intention of honoring the request. Leland Chambers was upper management and she was a worker bee. At H.T. Wells, the haves and have-nots didn’t mix—if they wanted to keep their jobs.
Stacy Shaw was a mid-level financial analyst. Everything about her dress matched her position—plain and practical. She wore a gray silk blouse, classic black pants, a narrow leather belt, and simple black heels to compensate for her diminutive stature. Her makeup was light and natural, her blond hair neat, and her only jewelry was a pair of pearl stud earrings. All compliant with HR’s dress code.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I had planned to work late tonight.”
“Won’t your husband be upset?”
“He’s out of town on business.” Stacy self-consciously held the pile of papers to her chest.
Mr. Chambers swiveled slightly in his chair and sized her up. “I’m surprised he leaves your side.”
Stacy pretended to read the top folder in an attempt to hide her disgust at the shallow come-on. “He has to for his job.”
Mr. Chambers snapped his fingers. “That’s who you look like. I’ve been trying to nail it down since you came on board.”
“Who?” she asked, but then immediately regretted doing so, fearing who she was about to be compared to.
“Jennifer Lawrence. A lot shorter, but your smile is spot on.”
Stacy lowered her eyes as her hand tucked an errant strand of naturally blond hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and made a hasty exit from his office.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Mr. Chambers jumped up and followed after her. “I’m heading down to O’Flaherty’s.” He pulled his office door closed and strode over to her cubicle. “Accounting just wrapped up the end of the quarter, and they’re celebrating.”
Mr. Chambers stopped with one foot inside her cubicle and angled his shoulders. There was something different about his stance; Stacy couldn’t put her finger on what it was until the words “strike a pose” jumped to mind. From his tasseled leather loafers and pleated khakis to his fitted white shirt and perfectly groomed goatee, Mr. Chambers’ style seemed carefully lifted from a GQ magazine. Even his fingernails were expertly manicured.
His gaze surveyed the empty office before it settled on her. “Would you care to join me?”
Stacy shook her head. “Thank you, but I want to finish up a couple of things.” She sat down.
“That works out well for me.” A confident smile spread across his broad face. “I’m going for a quick run around Hamilton Park first, while it’s still light out. It’s a beautiful park—during the day.” He twirled the keyring to his Porsche Carrera 911 around his long finger. “That gives you an hour. By that time, Accounting will have had enough drinks in them that they won’t be so stiff. Is that enough time for you?”
“Actually…”
“You’ve already done enough time in the mine for one day. Besides, the buck stops with me. I’ll adjust your time card.” He gave her an over-the-top, slow-motion wink.