Revenge(12)

“Yes,” I say solemnly.

He nods and slips out of character and back to himself. “Just remember to say yes if you ever get an opportunity to speak with her. You would think the president of the company is the most powerful person in the building, not the vice-president, but you’d be wrong. Nothing gets done without passing through Maggie’s hands first. Good or bad. Nothing.”

I shudder at his words. He’s getting ominous again.

The disk drive grinds away with a noise that sounds like it’s destroying the ancient disk. That must be normal, because the computer is pulling off the data anyway.

Why am I doing data entry? A high school dropout could do this job.

“I do have business management training,” I say to Nick.

He sneezes from the dust and grabs a tissue from a nearby box to blow his nose. “And I’m an executive here, with ten years at the company. I’m thirty-one. Last year when we got bonuses, I got a car.”

Nick’s facial expressions don’t vary much, so I can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You really got a car?” I ask.

“Yes. A bunch of us did.”

“And now you’re here in the basement? What did you do?”

“I said no to Maggie Clark.”

The telephone on the table next to him rings. The loud, shrill sound startles me into a muffled scream.

“Speak of the devil,” he says. He picks up the phone and holds his finger to his lips to shush me. “Maggie. My queen. What can I do for you?”

I pull out the disk and exchange it for the next one.

So much for finding treasure. These blue disks contain what appear to be casual photos from a Christmas party from at least a decade ago, or maybe two, by the look of the clothes. The resolution is really grainy by today’s standards. I can’t imagine photos of catered food being of value to anyone, which makes me wonder if we’re actually being punished, rather than put to work.

Nick is staring right at me. “Yes, brown hair, brown eyes. You think? Really? Pretty enough for Stephanie? Hang on. Hey, Jess?”

“What?”

“Did you get attacked yesterday?”

I blink over at him, wondering if this is some new first-day prank.

Who’s really on the phone? And how do they know about yesterday’s mugging?





Chapter 6


Nick holds his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

He repeats the question, “Did you get attacked yesterday?”

“I don’t know.”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Were you with your body all day?”

“I wasn’t attacked. I did have my wallet taken from me, and then I got it back. No big deal.”

He moves his hand off the mouthpiece and turns his back to me. He keeps talking to the person on the phone, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

I roll my eyes and decide I’m not falling for his joke.

Now I’m thinking about yesterday, and my brief yet memorable encounter with the sexy singer who teased me about my blue shoes.

I shouldn’t give him another thought, since he turned into such a jerk by the end. He went from offering to buy me a meal to giving me a rude gesture as he stormed off. Unless he hadn’t flashed me his middle finger. Maybe he was just in a hurry and waving goodbye.

Yeah, right, Jess. And maybe he’ll turn out to be Prince Charming. He’s just waiting to sweep you up in those muscular arms of his, with that bad-boy tattoo flexing over his bicep.

Ah, but it would be nice. Those dreamy arms. That gritty voice.

I’m startled from my daydream by a clatter. Nick noisily hangs up the phone. His call with the vice president has finished—if that was actually her on the line.

“Do you remember what I told you?” he asks me.

“Save the files to the local drive and then to the network.”

“No, about Maggie Clark. You’re going up there to meet with her.”

“You told me to always say yes.”

“Good girl. Now, let’s get you spiffed up. You can’t make a good first impression covered in dirt.”

I look down at my clothes and find streaks of gray dust all over my navy blue blazer and skirt. The dirty filing boxes have made a disaster of my best clothes. I didn’t think to bring a lint roller.

Nick is already on his feet, unrolling a length of packing tape. He wraps the tape around his hand, sticky-side out, and dives at my chest.

I squeal and twirl my chair so my back’s to him.

He groans. “Don’t be such a wuss when you get up to Maggie’s office.” He hands me the wad of sticky tape. “Here, pat yourself. I wasn’t trying to feel you up. You’re not my type. Honestly.”

Using the sticky tape to pull the light dust off my navy suit works surprisingly well. “Why are you helping me?” I ask Nick. “You don’t even know me.”