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Jeanie
My life is over if Malcolm Strafford catches me going through his desk.
It’s a huge risk. I mean, Malcolm is not the kind of man to suffer minor slights, let alone his employees entering his office and rifling through his drawers. My hands sweat as I sit down behind the massive wooden monstrosity and wiggle my ass on his enormous leather chair. For one moment, I look out at the glass-and-wood crystal palace he calls an office and wonder what it must feel like to run one of the most powerful real estate investment firms in the world.
It must feel great, because Malcolm walks around like he owns the sun itself.
I rip open the top right drawer and start going through it. Pens, pencils, crap like that. I move on to the next one, find a bunch of worthless documents and receipts, and move on, going down until I reach the bottom. I kneel and dig around, searching for anything worthwhile—bank statements, handwritten notes, anything that might reveal a weakness—but there’s nothing.
My heart’s pounding and my hands are shaking. Sweat beads down my back. The office is quiet today because most people took off early or opted to work from home. Summer Fridays have a much more flexible attendance policy. I can’t imagine that was cooked up in Malcolm’s brain—he’s the kind of man that would rather whip his employees, work them until they bleed, and leave their corpses strewn across the desert. The idea of work-life balance must sound like a foreign concept to his ear.
“Nothing,” I whisper to myself and curse as I get up and turn to the filing cabinet on my right. The top is locked, but the next drawer slides out easily. I page through and recognize a few names. This must be where he keeps the papers related to his various current investment projects. I’m only the mail girl, but my job comes with some perks. I get to snoop without much oversight and I can move around the office without anyone noticing. I’m unimportant, which means I’m invisible and nobody thinks twice about handing over firm-sensitive documents.
But it hasn’t been enough and I’m out of patience.
A sound outside makes me pause. I frown, straining to hear anything. Malcolm and his crony Benedict are both in today, but there’s a big meeting happening one floor down, and I thought they’d be in there all afternoon. The executive level is a ghost town, all the offices empty, and I figured it would be the perfect moment to find something I can use against the bastard Malcolm Strafford.
Maybe it’s the cleaning staff. I frown and keep going despite my shaking hands. I came this far and I’ve got nothing to show for it after months working here. I’m not about to leave this office until I make this trip worth the risk.
Nothing interesting leaps out, nothing I can use to hurt Malcolm, and the documents I have in mind are nowhere in sight. As I reach down to yank open the next drawer, I hear another sound—
The door handle turning.
I freeze, completely unable to move my arms or my legs, and stare with a throat-pounding heart as the door swings open. I’m about to explain—I’m looking for something, I’m delivering something, oh, god, please don’t hurt me—when a man steps into the room.
I don’t recognize him, and he doesn’t notice me at first. He silently shuts the door behind him, waits a beat, makes sure the blinds are closed, and finally turns.
He pauses, startled, and I stare back at him. Neither of us moves. He’s tall, over six feet, and his muscular body is stuffed into a sleek black suit. He’s got gray on the fringes of his perfectly styled hair, and his dark eyes stare into mine like they’re trying to break through my skull. He’s handsome, shockingly handsome, almost beautiful. I’d guess he’s in his forties, but he’s got the body of a man ten years younger and the face of a supermodel.
Those full lips tug into a smile and his head tilts to the side as he steps into the room.
“You don’t belong here,” he says casually, his voice low and melodic. There’s a smile in that voice, like he knows he’s caught me doing something naughty and he’s ready to tease me for it.
Fear knifes down my spine, but I have to keep it together. I don’t know this guy, and if I’m doing something wrong then he is too.
“Are you lost?” I ask as casually as I can. My voice comes out squeakier than I’d like but at least it’s not trembling like my knees are. “Did Mr. Strafford send you to pick up the files?”
His smile broadens. “Nice try, but I saw the mail cart out front and I spotted you earlier when I came in. You’re not his secretary.”
I glare at him, racking my brain, and he’s right. I remember him walking past me, flanked by Benedict. He gave me a single glance, a quick once-over, and ignored me after that.
“You’re the one Mr. Strafford is meeting with.”
“That’s right.” He strolls into the room and leans against one of the chairs. “What’s the mail girl doing paging through the big boss’s filing cabinet, I wonder? Seems like something that would be frowned upon in this illustrious organization.”
“It’s none of your business.” I shove the drawers shut. “I was asked to find something.”
“None of my business, and yet you seem quick to make excuses.” He laughs gently. “Look, I don’t give a shit what you’re up to, so long as you understand that you never saw me.” He walks over and rips open one of the drawers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
I stare at him in blatant shock. He winks at me and starts humming softly to himself as he goes through the files. His handsome lips remain locked in a smile but there’s an intense concentration in his eyes like he’s searching for something in particular. The man’s got a presence to him and part of me is screaming out for me to run, to get the heck out of here before this gets worse, but I can’t seem to make myself walk away.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” I say stupidly as if I weren’t doing the same thing a second ago.
“And you shouldn’t still be here.” He glances up. “Why haven’t you left yet?”
“You’re going through Mr. Strafford’s stuff.”
“No kidding.” He sucks in a breath and pulls out a file. “And apparently, I’m a lucky bastard.” He flips it open and I lean forward to read the tab.
