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Not liking that second idea at all, I stare out the window. The sun has long since gone down, and the sky is black with sparkles of white stars, but the real light show is closer. Americana Land is alive beneath me, people walking around hand in hand, rides whirling, children screaming in delight. All of it’s lit up in LEDs and neon, almost every color of the rainbow.
It’s home to me, a home I dedicated myself to years ago. A home I won’t let down.
I turn back to my computer, trying to focus on the day’s work I missed while plotting and planning with Jayme. I thought I’d get a lot done tonight with a quiet office, but the truth is, I’ve gotten exactly two things accomplished . . . Jack and Shit. And Jack left the office an hour ago.
Okay, I’ve read my emails, approved a few expense reports, and made notes on some proposals. But that’s all rubber stamp stuff, nothing that my assistant couldn’t do if I were out of the office. It’s nothing in the big scheme of things, especially compared to what I want to finish.
I’m excited by Jayme’s idea of a fresh, new take on our summer concert series, and I can’t wait to really bring it to life. It’s brilliant in its simplicity, and I should’ve come up with it on my own. But more interestingly, I’m excited by her.
She’s calm, cool, and collected but went toe to toe with me in a flash. Her mind is sexy and quick, challenging me to up my game. And her confidence makes me question my own worthiness. She’s a fucking queen.
And I’m a king.
A king who’s not going to get any more work done tonight while my brain is filled with obsessive thoughts of Jayme.
I push back from my desk, striding across the room to lock my office door. Not to do anything scandalous, but so I can change clothes without being interrupted. Though it’s not likely anyone else is still here, I won’t take a chance at being caught by a janitor in my underwear in the office. That’d definitely go against the ‘good guy’ image Jayme has in mind for me.
I hang up my slacks and shirt, making a mental note to send them to the dry cleaners, and trade them for black jeans and a long-sleeved gray Henley and my leather jacket. I swap my Oxfords for short but sturdy cap-toed boots and grab my helmet.
I’m ready to go.
There’s just one problem. I don’t know where Jayme lives.
We talked about a lot last night, but she didn’t tell me her home address.
A secret smile curls my lips as I realize that she tracked me down at Verdux, and I’ll do the same to her. I just have to use my big brain and not so much my little brain. Not that anything on me could be described as little, of course.
In the elevator going downstairs, I figure out how I’m going to work this magic. As soon as I emerge, I put my plan into action.
“Hey, Ellie!” I say to the night security guard.
She jumps in surprise, looking up from the bank of monitor screens in front of her with one hand pressed to her chest and one on her hip where her Taser sits. “Oh, my gracious! Mr. Steen! I didn’t realize you were still here. Your floor’s been quiet for hours.”
I smile warmly, especially when she relaxes her hands and is no longer considering shocking me with ten thousand plus volts of electric piss-yourself juice. “No worries. I’ve been locked up in my office all day. Didn’t even get out for lunch. Had to watch all the fun below through my window.”
“Poor, poor you,” she banters back in a scolding tone, which makes me laugh. “Off for a late-night ride?” She gestures to my helmet, which I’ve set on the counter.
“You know me too well,” I answer. “I do have a question before I head out, though.”
“Yeah, of course. What can I do for you?” Ellie looks eager to help. I hope that’s still the case after she hears what I want.
“When visitors come in, they have to sign in with security, correct?”
Her nod is slow as her brows draw together. “Yeah.”
“And you make a copy of their driver’s license for your records?” She doesn’t answer this time, but her brows have basically become one united unibrow of suspicion above her glasses. “I need to see Jayme Rice’s driver’s license. She’s the new PR consultant we’re working with.” The words rush out in the hope that she won’t examine them too closely.
Ellie gives me a wary look, leaning back in her ergonomic chair with her arms crossed over her chest. “And why would I do that? No offense, Mr. Steen, but this sounds like the sort of thing that ends up with me talking to police and looking like a damn fool. I’ve seen it happen on Law & Order. I believe they call that an accomplice, and I ain’t one of those for no one. Not even you.”
