Flashes of Me (3 page)

I look at Camille. She looks at me. I hustle out of my seat and we follow her, joining the fast-talking executive in midsentence.

“. . . have precedent. The buyout is important and we’re already understaffed.” Her words are clipped, her tone edged with irritation.

“I heard Volkov is a shrewd negotiator,” Camille pipes up. I say nothing. My uncle, the Volkov she’s likely referring to,
is
a shrewd negotiator. That’s the reason I ended up here.

“We don’t pay you to hear things, Green,” the woman snaps. “His spies are everywhere.” I’m suddenly glad my uncle insisted I use my mom’s maiden name on my application. “We’ve been working on the Volkov deal for years. If you open your big mouth and scuttle these negotiations, I’ll walk you out the front door myself.”

“Because Volkov Industries is important to Blaine Technologies,” I declare with pride. Volkov Industries, our family business, was founded by my father and his brother.

“I said that already, Purple.” Miss Yen turns into a row of dismal gray cubicles. “I don’t have time to repeat myself.” She stops in front of a desk. “This is your seat, Green. Purple, you’ll sit behind her.” The head of Blaine Technologies’ legal team studies Camille and then gazes at me.

“Have you ever worked a shredder, Purple?” she finally asks.

My smile spreads. “I have experience with shredding.” I shredded my father’s confidential documents. I also drafted most of his executive memos, managed his schedule, and sorted his incoming e-mails.

“You shredded paper and survived? There’s hope for you yet.” My new boss laughs. I wait patiently. I have blond hair and big breasts. I’ve heard all of the jokes before. “See that row of boxes?” She points to the wall of boxes blocking the windows and I nod. “All of that is to be shredded. The room is located down the hall, to your right.” She flings her hand in that direction. “And Purple?”

“Yes, Miss Yen?” I stand straighter.

“I don’t ever want to see that suit again.” She wrinkles her nose. “It might be acceptable at other offices, but not at Blaine Technologies.” My boss meets my gaze. I stare blankly back at her, playing the dumb blonde. She shakes her head. “Green, walk with me.”

They leave. I set my tote and orientation binder on my new desk, fix a smile on my face, and pick up a box, groaning under the weight. It takes all of my strength to heft the box to the shredding room.

I peel the files apart and slide the papers into the industrial machine. The constant hum of the shredder drowns out any noise coming from outside of the room. The scent of ink and dusty paper tickles my nose.

My big behemoth was right. I was chosen. I feed legal briefs and employment contracts into the machine. This isn’t my dream job, but it’ll give me formal work experience, and the next time I apply for a position, that section won’t be blank.

I stuff too many papers into the shredder and it jams, grinding, then stopping. Cursing softly under my breath, I yank out the papers, separate them, and feed them one at a time. Time passes. I retrieve more boxes. My thoughts return to my mysterious man.

I’ll see him again tomorrow. My toes curl in my pretty lavender heels as I think of my behemoth, of his broad shoulders, striking face, commanding gaze. Am I in his thoughts also?

I imagine he sits in an office somewhere, leaning back in his seat, remembering this morning. He hardens, his cock head pressing against the rich fabric of his black dress pants. Unable to deny his need for me, he closes the door, unzips his pants, and releases his big cock. He wraps his fingers around his shaft, his skin hot and firm against his scarred palms. While he strokes himself, he envisions his shaft sliding in and out, in and out, of the valley between my breasts.

A hand grasps my shoulder and I jump, pulling the paper away from the machine. The shredder stops and the room grows quiet.

“Are you daydreaming on the job, Purple?” Camille grins. “It’s lunchtime and we scored.” She holds out two white slips of paper. “The dragon lady gave us vouchers for the cafeteria. We can have all of the bland tasteless food we can stuff into our ignorant pie holes.”

“You make it sound so delicious.” I leave the box of files by the shredder and we wander down the hallway. “I’ve eaten in quite a few cafeterias.” I’ve eaten in hospital cafeterias, but I assume they’re similar to office cafeterias. “Let me guess. They’ll have French fries, chicken fingers, and Jell-O.” My ears ring and my skin feels grimy, a layer of white dust covering me. “Red Jell-O.”

“Ohhh . . . good calls,” Camille cheers a bit too loudly. A gray-haired middle-aged guy in a black suit shakes his head as he passes us. “I’d amend that to green Jell-O.”

“Slime,” we say together and laugh. A short serious woman wearing thick glasses hisses at us.

“I think we’re on the quiet floor,” I observe. No one else is talking.

Camille’s walk is defiant. “We’ll change that.” She pauses in front of the stairwell. “Stairs?”

“Ummm . . .” I thought the human resources lady said something about the stairwells being for emergency use only, but I hadn’t been paying close attention to her monotonous spiel. I was too worried about not being chosen. “Sure.”

We clomp down the stairs, our heels ringing against the concrete. The supremely clean and brightly lit stairwell smells of stinky socks, the stale air making me dizzy. Camille appears unaffected by the stench. As we descend, she sings happily, her song choices being a collection of increasingly vulgar hip-hop songs.

We reach the second floor and Camille tugs on the door. It doesn’t open. She scans her passcard over a small black security box. The light remains red. “Shit on a stick.” She scans it again. Nothing happens. “Unbelievable,” she fumes.

“Let me try.” I wave my passcard over the sensor. The light remains red and Camille curses. Her vocabulary makes me blush and, as I’m a native New Yorker, that’s an impressive feat for her to accomplish. “We’ll try the ground floor,” I suggest.

We trudge down to the ground floor. This door is locked also. Camille tries her passcard. It doesn’t work, prompting another stream of colorful language from my new friend. I try my passcard. It’s as useless as Camille’s.

“We’re stuck.” I state the obvious, slapping the metal door, ignoring Camille’s ranting. “Do you have a phone?”

“Do I look like I have a phone?” Camille pivots in a circle, her arms outstretched. “Besides we’re in freakin’ Fort Knox.” She pats one of the walls. “These babies must be shielded to hell and back.”

“The doors are thick also.” I slap the metal door again, my palm stinging with the impact. “Hey.” I gaze upward. “They have cameras.” I point at the black lens positioned above us. “Security must be monitoring the stairwells.” I wave my arms at the camera. “They’ll send help.”

“If they’re real cameras, they’ll send help,” Camille scoffs. “Didn’t you hear about that girl in Westwood? She was trapped in a stairwell for four whole days. That stairwell had cameras too: fake cameras, installed to discourage thieves. She ate her fingernails down to bloody nubs.”

“Four days,” I repeat, staring up at the camera. It looks real, but I guess that’s the point. Fake-looking cameras wouldn’t fool thieves. “We could pull the fire alarm.”

“If we do that, we’ll get ourselves fired.” Camille shakes her head. “They’ll evacuate the building and we’ll look like dumb asses. Oh.” Her face becomes animated. “I could pick the lock.”

I stare at her. “Can you do that?”

“I’ve picked locks before.” She beams, acting as though this is a skill to be admired. “Let me have a look.” Camille shoves me out of the way. She examines the door, rattling the handle and poking her fingernail into the lock. “Do you have a piece of wire?”

The only piece of wire I have is attached to my bra. “Wait a second.” I unbutton my blazer for the second time today, unhook my bra, and pull it through the armholes. Jiggling the underwire, I try to poke it through the fabric. “I need scissors.”

“If we had scissors, I could jimmy the door open.” Camille eyes the lock. “And our problems would be solved.”

“You scare me.” I bite my bra, tearing the lace, and slide the wire out of the cup. “Here’s your pick, as I believe you criminals call it.”

“A few minor misdemeanors does not make one a criminal,” Camille mutters, taking the wire from me.

“Actually, I believe it does.” I sit down on the steps, the concrete cool under my ass.

“I freed information.” Camille straightens the wire and inserts the end into the lock. “This is America. Freeing information shouldn’t be a misdemeanor.”

“Sure, sure, tell it to the judge.” I watch her work, hoping to learn something.

Minutes pass. I don’t know anything about picking locks, but I do know how to read people and Camille is struggling with her assigned task, her curses growing louder and more colorful.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” I lean back on the stairs, spinning my bra around the tip of my right index finger. This is much more interesting than shredding paper.

“I’m not deliberately screwing the pooch,” Camille snaps. “This is a high-end lock.”

“Thank you,” a deep voice drawls, the low tones originating from behind me. “We try our best.”

I shriek, jump to my feet, and turn, dropping my bra. The behemoth from the park catches the lavender lace before it touches the floor, twisting the flimsy garment in his tanned fingers. Lightning flashes in his dark eyes. His square chin juts.

He’s big and sexy and impossible to resist so I don’t even try. I fling myself against his massive body, wrap my arms around his waist, and bury my face in his black cotton shirt. “You’re here. You somehow knew we needed help and you came to our rescue.” He’s warm, his body heat engulfing me, and he smells good, his lemon-and-cedar cologne filling my nostrils.

My mystery man stiffens, not moving for three agonizing heartbeats, and then he stuffs my bra into the front right pocket of his pants and hooks his arms around me. “I’ve got you, kitten,” he says softly, the words rolling up his chest, his body hard, not an ounce of give on his big physique. “You’re safe.” He rubs my back, his stroking reviving the passion I thought sated.

“You knew where to find me.” I snuggle deeper into his enormous form. “It’s as though we’re connected.” My parents have this same connection and their relationship lasted. Will our relationship last also? I tilt my head back and meet my stranger’s gaze. His eyes are the darkest brown, almost black. “How did you know where I was? Did you feel it in your heart?” I place one of my palms over that area on his chest.

“No.” His lips flatten. “I saw you on the security cameras.” He turns his attention to Camille. She’s staring at us as though we’re two mythical beings. “As should have been explained to you during your orientation session, every inch of this building is monitored by
functioning
cameras.” She swallows hard. “We monitor the stairwells, the hallways, the parking garages, your cubicles, even the rooms with the paper shredders.” He squeezes my right shoulder. “When you find yourselves in trouble again, signal to the cameras and someone will be sent to retrieve you.”

“Mr. Henley.” Camille’s voice drips with awe, her demeanor extremely professional and respectful. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. The advancements you’ve made in cybersecurity are legendary.”

Red streaks across my behemoth’s broad cheeks.

“You’re Henley,” I murmur, stunned. Henley is one of the top executives at Blaine Technologies. He’s a man no one messes with, a man even my tough-as-nails uncle is wary of crossing. “My father admires you. He says you protect not only Blaine Technologies’ cyberassets but its physical assets and people too.”

“
Does
he say that?” Henley curls one of my blond tendrils around his index finger.

“Yep, he does. You’re a badass.” I smile up at him. “And I showed you my breasts.” This should bother me, but it doesn’t. I like that he’s seen my breasts.

Henley’s eyes glimmer. “You showed everyone your breasts.” He steps back and slowly fastens the buttons on my blazer. I stiffen, vividly aware of his thick fingers, the silver scars on his knuckles, his bare skin so close to mine. “Breathe, kitten,” he murmurs.

I inhale deeply, count to five, and exhale, my chest aching, my heart pounding, my head spinning. “But—”

“We’ll talk later.” He glances up at the camera. His gaze then lowers to Camille. She’s watching us with wide eyes. “I have to mention this to your manager.”

“I take total responsibility,” I volunteer. Camille opens her mouth. “You can get the next one,” I assure her. “My father says no one ever gets fired for one mistake. We can take turns.”

“There will be no need to take turns.” Henley strides toward the door, his tread soundless, his movements smooth and graceful. “Because this won’t happen again.” He waves his passcard in front of the black box, the light turns green, and metal clicks against metal. “In the future, you’ll use the elevators.” He holds the door open for us. Camille exits first, leaving us alone.

“You’re very sexy when you talk tough.” I linger in the stairwell, gazing up at him. Will he touch me now?

Henley leans forward, his breath wafting on my lips. “I doubt you’ll think I’m sexy once I’m done talking tough.” He places his hand on my back, I feel the contact through the layer of fabric, and he pushes me forward.

Camille waits for us over the threshold, her face remaining pale, her gaze fixed on Henley. She looks at him as though he’s a god and this irks me. He’s
my
behemoth, not hers.

“We’ll have lunch in the boardroom on the fourth floor,” Henley informs us. “Katalina and I have to discuss some matters first.” I blink. He knows my name. “Camille, relay our meal orders to Stan in the cafeteria and then join us. Ask him for my usual.”

“We’re having lunch in the legendary Fortress.” Camille appears dazed. “What do you want, Purple?”

“You can choose.” I shrug. I have no food allergies.

“French fries, chicken fingers, and green Jell-O it is, then.” She grins. I grin back at her and she stomps down the hallway.

Henley sighs. “She went the wrong way.” I meet his gaze and my grin widens. He shakes his head. “You two are impossible.” He opens a door. “In here.” He ushers me into a small meeting room. “This should be sufficient for our needs.” He locks the door and pulls the blinds, creating complete privacy, his presence filling the space.