Possessed By You (Overworld Underground Book 1) Page 13
Mr. Jones did a Hinkle impersonation, watching me with narrowed eyes. It felt as though everyone was watching me, like hot pokers prodding me in the back. I broke out into cold perspiration and left the room with as much speed and dignity as I could muster. Sandra emerged from Mr. Jameson's office, her face a cool mask as her eyes met mine.
"I certainly hope you didn't run the office like this while I was out," she said. "The people around here expect and deserve a high level of service."
I glanced back at Jameson's office and wondered just what level of service she provided him. "Usually I have more notice about these meetings, or this wouldn't have happened." I almost went on about how smoothly things had gone during her absence—aside from nearly sleeping with the good Mr. Jones.
Sandra sighed. "I knew we should have hired someone with more experience."
Heat rushed into my cheeks and it was all I could do not to shout, "Experience at making coffee and bagels, you bitch?" Instead, I held my breath and went down the hall to the bathroom. I was so angry, so frustrated, my hands were shaking. I took a paper towel and dabbed at my forehead to remove the perspiration. Even my boobs felt sweaty. Thankfully, I didn't plaster on makeup like Sandra, otherwise it would be turning into a mudslide at this very moment. My job sucked. My man situation sucked. This was a Monday straight from Hell.
"Took my donuts!" said an angry female voice from outside the bathroom door.
Someone said something back, though it was too muffled to make out through the door.
My skin went cold as I realized the first voice belonged to Janet, and the voices were coming closer. I locked myself in the last stall and wondered if I should climb onto the toilet seat, or sit down and pretend to be doing my business.
"Yeah, she stole them when I got up to use the bathroom this morning," Janet said as she and someone else entered the bathroom.
I left my feet down and held my breath.
"Are you sure it was the intern?" said the other woman whose voice I didn't recognize.
"Hinkle told me she had a box of donuts that looked like the ones I usually get."
"What a little thief! What are you going to do about it?"
"Give her a piece of my mind."
The stall door next to me slammed shut, followed by another one. I peeked through the crack in my door and didn't see anyone, so I slipped out as Janet continued to rant about her donuts. When I got into the hallway, I dashed for the lift. Sandra didn't say a word as I punched the button and waited. It suddenly occurred to me there might be other items on the calendar for today. I calmly walked to her desk and, ignoring the gesticulations of her eyebrows, checked the agenda. Sure enough, there were two more meetings.
I took a sticky note and wrote down the number of people. The lift dinged. I casually walked toward it as though I had all the time in the world, though my ears were perked and ready to sound the alarm should I hear Janet coming my way.
Once the doors closed, I paced back and forth, barely able to contain my nervous energy. The lift hit the ground floor and the doors opened. I trotted through the lobby and outside, making my way toward the donut shop. It was absolutely freezing. In my haste, I'd forgotten my coat, and there was no way I was going back up for it. As if to add a twist to my misery, a light mist began to fall.
Monday. From. Hell.
Was this what my life had become? Was I destined to forever roam the streets in search of donuts and bagels to keep a cranky Mr. Jones happy?
By the time I returned to the building lobby, I was half frozen, and my hair was sticking to my head from the mist. My nipples were so hard from the cold I felt certain they could slice through steel. My arms hung like lead weights, numb with fatigue from carrying the bags full of donuts, bagels, and other treats for the despicable Mr. Jones. I shivered violently every few seconds and my teeth chattered.
A man riding up the lift with me gave me a sideways look, probably trying to decide if I were some homeless bag lady who'd somehow stolen her way past building security. He exited on the tenth floor, and I continued upward. The doors slid open to reveal several people gathered around Sandra's desk.
Janet, Hinkle, Stan, Mr. Jones, and Sandra regarded me with looks varying from cool disdain to stolen donut outrage.
I forced a smile, held up the bags of goodies while my tired arms screamed in pain, and said, "Pastries anyone?"
Nobody seemed amused.
"Leave the donuts with Sandra and come with me," Mr. Jones said. He looked at Hinkle. "Fred, why don't you come along too?"
Janet grabbed a bag from me and pulled out a box with an angry huff. "You shouldn't steal from people." Her gaze shifted to Sandra. "Don't people like this get flagged with a criminal background check?"
Oh yes, I'm a dangerous donut thief.
I set the other bags on the table, wiped a wet lock of hair from my face, and followed Mr. Jones and Hinkle without another word. Jones motioned toward a seat and closed the door behind me before settling into his leather chair. Hinkle took a stance near the door, his beady little eyes scouring me with scorn.
"I knew there was something off about you, Miss Glass, from the moment I first spoke with you." Jones leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "You not only disrupted an important sales meeting this morning, but resorted to thievery to cover for your poor planning skills."
"But—"
He held up a hand. "I'm not finished speaking, young lady."
I shut my mouth, pressing my fingers tight into the palm of my hand, and feeling the bite of fingernails against skin.
"You were unprepared with the coffee. Then you stole Janet's donuts and took Ted Grafton's bagels. I don't know how your parents raised you, but they obviously did a very poor job of it."
He paused, as if testing to see if I'd blurt something out again. I realized that anything I said probably wouldn't help, and I didn't want to get Jack in trouble. At the same time, I wanted to strangle Jack for not coming up with a better method than making off with Janet's donuts. Why hadn't he simply offered to buy them from her, or something reasonable?
"She's been disrupting operations in my department all morning," Hinkle said. "The coffee wasn't ready, and then she outright refused to give Stan any coffee."
"The coffee was ready!" I said, unable to keep my mouth shut. "And I needed the coffee for the meeting."
"Unprepared," Jones said, shaking his head. He looked up at Hinkle. "Anything else you want to add, Fred?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." The piggish little man crossed his arms and assumed a rather smug air. "She's also been making eyes at some of the male programmers. Flirting with them and causing them to shirk their duties to talk to her. I would say it's bordering dangerously close to sexual harassment."
I felt my eyelids fly wide open with outrage. A cold, icy feeling formed in the pit of my stomach, and my hands started to shake again. "I did not—"
"Thanks, Fred. I'll take it from here."
Hinkle nodded. Gave me one last disdainful glare, and left.
"I have not been flirting with anyone," I said. "When Sandra was sick I took over her duties and performed them exactly as asked. There hasn't been one complaint I know of. This meeting was rescheduled at the last minute, and she didn't tell me, nor did Kevin even know about it until I told him." I was so angry that hot tears pressed against my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of this bastard. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Frankly, I don't need to know anything else, Miss Glass." He pointed to a poster on the wall behind him. Beneath the image of a man with crossed arms and a stern look on his face were the words: A lack of planning on your part doesn't constitute an emergency on mine.
This bastard had things reversed. His lack of planning had caused an emergency. I eyed the stapler on his desk and wondered how many times I could hit him before security got to me.
Jones continued his stern lecture. "The fact that you stole from coworkers to make up for your own lack of planning is enough to settle
the matter. I want you to clear out of here in fifteen minutes. Gather your things. We'll mail your paycheck."
Chapter 15
Shock rolled through me, and I felt my mouth open as if to respond, but no words came out. With great effort, I stood, feeling like a ragamuffin with my still-damp hair and wet clothes, and proceeded from his office without another word.
Every positive feeling I'd had for Thomas twisted inside me, boiling into hatred for Mr. Jones. I wanted to slap the smug look off his face. Scream at him. But that would only make things worse. Sandra turned in her chair when I emerged from the hallway, one eyebrow arched, as if regarding a hangnail.
She sighed. "Well, I guess we'll need a new intern."
If she expected a response, I hoped to disappoint her by keeping my mouth clamped shut. What was I going to do? Where would I find another job? It was enough to make me want to run home to Daddy. Except Mum would be furious with me for not standing up for myself. But what else could I have done?
I found a small box and scooped my plushy pens into them, along with a picture of me and Dad and a few other knick-knacks I'd decorated my desk with. Just looking at the pens filled me with conflicting emotions. Thomas had given them to me before the blow to his head—or whatever had truly happened—turned him into Mr. Jones. I loved them. They were adorable. But they reminded me of something precious that I'd lost and would never have again, unless I wanted to risk murder and knock Jones on the noggin. If that would even work.
A part of me wanted to throw them away or burn them. Another part wanted to keep them because they were cute. A third part of me wanted to throw the box against the wall and scream at the top of my lungs.
Instead, I took a fourth option, and after putting my coat on over damp clothes, forced my head high and went to the lift. I didn't turn my head to look at Sandra as I waited. When the doors opened, I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby.
The minute the doors slid shut, my entire body trembled, and I sagged against the side of the carriage. A sob shook my shoulders and tears blurred my vision. I tried deep breaths, but nothing helped and the dam broke. By the time the lift hit the ground floor, I was a soggy mess. I searched my purse, but I'd used my last tissue some time ago. The mirrors on the lift walls showed how awful I looked—blotchy faced, tear streaked, and with a red runny nose.
The doors slid open. I put my head down to hide my awful complexion, rushed forward, and promptly rammed against a warm body.
Someone shouted in alarm.
My box fell, spilling its contents all over the floor, and something hot and wet ran down my hands.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," I said, looking up to see a young man with striking green eyes. I couldn't help but think how much they looked like Thomas's...before.
His gray suit looked as if it had been hand-tailored and fitted. It also looked drenched with coffee, from the jacket to the slacks. What was it with me, hot coffee, and men?
I started apologizing and blubbering like a lunatic, brushing his suit with my hands as though they could soak up the liquid. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning," I said as more tears blinded me.
"Oh man, you got hot coffee all over your hands," he said, and shouted something to someone else. A moment later, I felt a damp cloth pressing against my hands.
My hands felt fine, probably because they'd been so cold earlier, or possibly because my coat had soaked up most of the coffee before it had gotten on me. I wasn't exactly feeling on top of things at the moment.
Someone pressed a tissue into my hand. I wiped away tears and looked back at the man. He looked young, late twenties perhaps. He wore his dark hair combed to the side, exposing a chiseled face, square chin, and a strong nose. He was gorgeous in a manly way that pretty boy Stephen could never be. I, on the other hand, looked like some prostitute they'd rounded up off the street.
"Are you okay?" the man asked.
"I'm so sorry about your suit."
He smiled. "Don't worry. Coffee comes out." He knelt down, picking up my coffee soaked items from the floor and putting them into the box, which had somehow remained dry. "Why are you so sad, pretty lady?"
"I—I lost my job." Why I was telling this perfect stranger my business, I had no idea. At this point, I almost didn't care. I was beyond mortified.
His eyes went hard as diamonds. "You were fired?" His voice was calm. Cold as ice.
"Yes."
"Why don't you ride back up with me? Let me talk to your boss. Maybe I can help out."
I laughed through my tears. "I wish you could."
"I'm not joking. I'm really good at persuading people to do things."
"Not this fellow," I said. "He used to be such a great person, but then he hit his head and lost his mind. Now he's a right asshole." I had no idea why I was spilling my woes on this poor fellow. Perhaps he really was good at persuasion if he'd made me confess this so quickly.
He laughed and retrieved an attaché case from the floor. "I love challenges." Tucking my box under one arm, he held out his free hand, looking a bit silly with the coffee stains running down his clothes. "Trust me."
I didn't know why in the world I listened to him. Perhaps it was because he wore an expensive suit and looked like he knew what he was doing. Perhaps I was simply curious to see what in the world this man would do. Something about his eyes made me want to trust him. One thing was certain. I had nothing left to lose at this point, not even my dignity.
We stepped into the lift. He reached for the buttons, and seemed to stop his finger before pressing the button to the twentieth floor. "Which floor?"
"The twentieth."
"Ah." He hit it.
The doors slid open a moment later. Sandra was talking on the phone. "It was pathetic. I almost felt sorry—" She saw me. "Oh. What are you doing here?"
The man left the lift. "She's back for her job," he said, smiling.
A slightly dazed look came over Sandra's eyes. "Hello."
I waited for her to continue, but she simply looked at him, a slight flush entering her sickly cheeks. I could hardly blame her. He was a pleasure to stare at.
"Who do I need to speak with?" the man said.
"His name is Thomas Jones," I replied.
"I'd like to talk with Mr. Jones," he said, turning back to Sandra.
She gave her head a quick shake, as if waking up and said, "He's in a meeting. I can make an appointment if you'd like."
"Interrupt his meeting."
"Sir, I can't do that."
"Tell him Mr. Rock is here to see him."
Her eyes went a bit wide. "Yes, of course, sir."
With that, Sandra actually got up from her desk and hurried down the hallway rather than using her phone to buzz Mr. Jones.
"Your last name is Rock?" I said.
He held out a hand. "Tyler Rock. Nice to meet you Miss..."
"Emily Glass," I said, taking his hand.
He squeezed my hand in his very warm grip and gave me a smile that almost made my panties melt.
Oh dear.
I caught myself staring and looked away before I lost myself in those eyes.
"What do you do here?" he asked.
"A bit of this, a bit of that. I'm just an intern."
"Everyone is important." Tyler gave me a lopsided grin. "So don't give me that 'just an intern' garbage."
A little smiled crept onto my face despite how icky I felt. A warm, embarrassed flush quickly followed when I thought back to how awful I looked right now. And in front of this man. But why should I even care? True, he was quite yummy looking, but he probably used his looks to get a lot of women in bed.
Pretty plays around.
It was true. A desirable man had no shortage of women willing to sleep with him. Then again, I looked horrid. There was no way this man wanted to bed me. He quite likely felt truly sorry for the ragged little intern girl. For some reason, this made me laugh out loud.
Tyler gave me an amused look. "What's so funny, Miss Glass?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I do believe I'm going mental."
He burst into a loud laugh. "I like a woman who can admit she's crazy."
A comfortable flush filled me. My flustered senses slowly returned, and with them, a distinct tingling from my radar.
Before I could get a feel for the vibe emanating from Tyler, Sandra appeared with a grumbling Mr. Jones in tow.
Mr. Jones looked Tyler's stained suit up and down with a grimace. "Can I help you Mr. Rock?" The tone of his voice sounded like he wanted to do anything but help him.
"Yes, you can." I noticed Tyler didn't hold out a hand to shake the other man's. "Miss Glass here informed me that you just let her go."
"She's a thief and a slacker."
Tyler pursed his lips. "Perhaps you can explain the situation."
Mr. Jones scowled and he looked even more annoyed than usual. "Just because you're in negotiations with Mr. Jameson doesn't mean you can—"
"The negotiations are over, Mr. Jones. Hadn't you heard?"
"Negotiations?" I said, feeling completely lost.
Sandra dropped like a stone into her chair, eyes wide.
"No, I have not heard," Mr. Jones said. "And Burt would tell me before making a decision."
"Ah, well, maybe he hasn't had time." Tyler gave Mr. Jones a wolfish grin, baring his teeth like a predator that had just cornered his prey. "My lawyer will be here in a few minutes with the final paperwork."
"Mr. Jameson is at lunch," Sandra said. "But he'll be back in fifteen minutes."
"Paperwork?" I said.
"So, given that, Mr. Jones, I'd like you to explain your decision to fire Miss Glass." Tyler crossed his arms and regarded the shorter man.
Just looking at the two of them, I wondered how in the world I'd felt any sort of physical attraction for Thomas. Tyler was a good head taller, somewhere over six feet, and Mr. Jones's plain features paled like a candle before the sun compared to Tyler. Then again, it hadn't been physical with Thomas. It had been something else. Something deeper.