Pierced(21)
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I need to make a call. My checking account has been screwed up.”
Rose gives me a hurt look and walks over to the answering machine we keep for our regular phone. Rose’s parents insist we have it in case there is an emergency and both our cell phones are dead. A little paranoid on their part, but they pay the bill, so we don’t complain. It is also my contact number for school and work. “Lia, it’s Carrie at Date Night. I received your email about your new job at Quinn Software. I’m so sorry to lose you, but congratulations, and give me a call if you ever need a job again.”
Suddenly, everything becomes blindingly clear. I would bet my last dollar that my bank account balance is no mistake; Lucian promised to take care of things and he has. I am his new woman—whore—and he’s paying for the privilege. Rose looks at me in confusion as I literally growl in anger. I run back out the door and to my car. As I start the engine, I realize I have no idea where to find him. I could call or text, but I am spoiling for a fight, and I want it to be in person. I quickly Google his company and find the website for Quinn Software. Bingo, there on the contact page is the address I need.
My anger abates little as I drive entirely too fast to the downtown Asheville area. A parking space in front of the building is empty so I pull in. Quinn Software is an older building that has been carefully restored. I’m surprised; I would have expected all glass and steel. I step into a sleek, modern lobby with shining marble floors. I resist the urge to stomp my feet on the company name etched in the marble floor. I only make it a few steps before I’m forced to stop at the reception desk. Shit, I should have known I wouldn’t be able to reach Lucian without going through his people first; the element of surprise will certainly be lost now.
A perky redhead I estimate to be around thirty asks politely, “May I help you?”
“I need to see Lucian Quinn.” Her eyes widen in surprise as they pass over me. Apparently, Lucian doesn’t receive too many visitors dressed in old t-shirts and cut-off jean shorts. She probably thinks I’m a homeless person looking for money. If she hands me a dollar, I’m going to choke her.
Showing a great deal of restraint, she simply asks, “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Quinn?”
“No,” I snap, “I don’t.” I can see the refusal hovering on her lips, so I quickly add, “Could you please just tell him Lia is here.”
“Miss Adams, I thought that was you.” I whirl around to find Lucian’s driver, Sam, standing behind me with a genuine smile on his lips. The perky redhead looks surprised that Sam seems to recognize me. I resist the desire to stick my tongue out at her.
“Hey, Sam, it’s good to see you again. I, er…need to see Lucian. Is he here?”
Sam nods before saying, “He is. Does he know you are dropping by?” By this point, the receptionist is shamelessly listening to our conversation. I take Sam’s arm and pull him away from the desk so we can have a little privacy. I release a breath and decide the truth is the only way to go here.
“No, he doesn’t. Honestly, I’m completely pissed off at your boss, and I came here to tell him all about it. I didn’t really think things through, though.”
Instead of looking worried, Sam looks amused. “So, the boss is in trouble with you. That sure didn’t take long. He’s a good kid, so take it easy while you point out the error of his ways.”
I laugh despite myself; hearing Lucian referred to as a “kid” is somehow hilarious. Nodding my head toward the still-staring receptionist, I say, “It doesn’t look like I’ll get to him, anyway.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam says thoughtfully. “I was just going to chat with my friend Cindy…Lucian’s secretary. I would be happy to have some company on the trip up if you have some free time.”
It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in. Sam is offering me a way of reaching Lucian’s office without actually coming out and saying it. He probably doesn’t want to be fired for helping me past the lobby. I look at my watch then back at him. “Sure, I’ve got some free time. I would love to meet your friend.” Sam puts a hand in the small of my back and leads me past the receptionist to a bank of elevators. He slides a key card into a slot, and we are on our way up to the tenth floor. This floor looks similar to the lobby with more marble bearing the company name; no expense has been spared. Sam leads me by another smiling but curious receptionist before coming to a middle-aged woman whom I suspect guards the double doors behind her desk.