Opening my email, I decide to shoot a message to the man himself.
To: Graham Morgan
From: Alison Kirby
Graham,
Clive has already set himself up in the office you designated for me. Is there another space for me to work?
Thanks,
Alison Kirby
By the time I’m on the street, I’ve already gotten a reply.
To: Alison Kirby
From: Graham Morgan
I’ll take care of it. You’ll use the original office space.
G.M.
I sigh because I’m glad that’s handled.
Making my way down the street to the subway, I feel a sense of relief. I need this job. Badly. Starting my own consultancy last year was a risk and one that wasn’t paying off until Graham Morgan contacted me. This job will be a make-or-break for me.
Chapter Six
Ben
Well, that was awkward.
She barely stepped foot into my office and I sensed her unease from my spot at my desk. It’s sad, really. I mean, the woman is beautiful. No, more than that—she’s stunning. When I looked up from my spot doing push-ups and found her standing there, I swear my heartbeat doubled when I saw, up close, just how pretty she was.
On the street, I caught only a glimpse of her face, and in the auditorium, she was thirty feet away. This time, however, at less than five away, I finally saw her. She looks soft: soft skin, soft lips, soft hair, soft curves. Everything I love in a woman.
From my vantage point, I noticed her eye color for the first time. I’m not surprised they were a bright blue, but I was still taken by them. They weren’t your typical blue eyes; they were brighter, more intense. Her eyes told more about her than anything else. That’s how I could tell she was wary of me, and that bothered me. There’s no reason for her to fear me. I’d never do anything to harm her. So I will absolutely make it clear that whatever she needs to do to feel safe is fine with me.
I only hope nobody at work finds out it was her who blacked my eye. That would be embarrassing, and something that will only add to the pile of whatever bullshit Clive wrote about in his file.
God, I’d love to get my hands on that file.
Leaning back in my chair, I hear voices through my wall. The one I share with Clive. It’s only a couple of feet from my own desk, so I stand and move closer, leaning my ear against it. I hear Clive and Alison Kirby.
Interesting.
Pressing my head against the wall, I’m able to make out some of what Clive is saying, though it’s more of a mumble, but I can hear her clearly. “I think I’m supposed to work in here.”
She’s supposed to have the office next door? A small smile grows on my face. If that’s the case, that means Clive did all that redecorating for nothing.
I get the gist of his response. He’s surprised. Louder, he says, “There’s no room for another desk.”
I roll my eyes. Hard. There’s a shit-ton of space in that office. But why would he assume they’d share that space? I’ve never been a consultant before, but something tells me she expects to have a private area. Just a guess, though.
I press closer just as she says, “Let’s figure this out tomorrow.” Just as I’m about to pull away from the wall, she adds, “Whose office was this?”
I know that office used to belong to the former head of Marketing. It’s the nicest office on the floor, but for some reason, Sam wanted a smaller office on the other side of the building.
I press in, wanting to hear the rest. I listen as Alison asks him how long the space had been vacant. I know the answer to that—about a year and a half.
“Why didn’t Ben Schilling move into this space?”
When I hear my name, I hold my breath.
Clive’s voice is clear as day when he replies, “He never asked.”
That’s a fucking bald-faced lie. I did ask about it. Actually, I asked Clive to find out about moving into that office. The asshole said he’d checked and that I couldn’t have it. They were saving it.
I pull away from the wall, having heard enough. Sitting back down, I feel my head start to pound. What’s been going on around here? Why did I ever trust that guy? What else has he lied to me about? What has he told other people about me?
And more importantly, why?
These are all questions I can’t answer. Not yet, anyway.
I decided to call one of the few people in my department I can trust. It just so happens that Sam Ford, our department head, is that person. I point to the chair opposite me. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“I’m glad you called.” Sam sits just as a waitress approaches our table. He orders first. “Bud.”
I nod to the server, “Same.” Our love of domestic beers aside, we also both graduated from Big Ten schools—Sam went to Wisconsin and I attended Northwestern. Granted, he’s about ten years older than me, but it’s still something that bonded us from the beginning.
As soon as the beer is served, I decide to cut to the chase. “What the fuck is going on?”
Sam shakes his head. “No idea. This consultant was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
“You do realize Clive’s got something to do with this, right?”
Sam nods. “Green folder.”
“An inch thick.” My guess is half of that is about me, but I’ll keep that to myself. “I overheard him tell the consultant something that wasn’t true, so now I’m curious what other shit he’s lied about.”
“What’d he say?”
I tell him what I overheard, and he shakes his head. “Clive never mentioned that office space, and honestly, I was surprised you never asked about it.”
“The office space isn’t my concern. I’m worried—”
“About what’s in that folder?” Sam’s head shakes from side to side. “What’s he up to?”
“That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.” It feels that way to me too. “I know he hates my guts.”
“When did that start? Because I swear the guy used to look at you like you hung the moon.”
I wince at his expression. “Hung the moon?” I chuckle. “I wouldn’t use those words, but yeah, he used to look up to me.” When did that stop? I close my eyes in an attempt to recollect the change in Clive. It was around the last time we went out for drinks to celebrate the end of a big project. I still considered him an ally, at least. “Eleven or twelve months ago.” It was gradual, the shift from friends to enemies, so I can’t give an exact date. I drink the last of the beer from my glass. “We’d just finished up the new website and social media campaign.” It was also around the time Sky came into my life and when everything outside of work started happening. But I’m not about to tell Sam about my secret life as a superhero. He wouldn’t understand.
“We need to get our hands on that damn folder.”
He’s right. “The consultant has it.” And I’ll never be close enough to Alison Kirby to get it. I suddenly feel sad, and I’m not sure why.