Armed With Steele (25 page)

Everywhere I looked were warm earth tones—the walls, the floor, the light fixtures. Even the artwork mounted on the walls surrounding us were simplistic and earthy. But the interior design scheme likely intended to promote a calming effect did nothing for me—I was wary as a doe in an open meadow on the first day of hunting season.

“Nervous?” said Vanessa.

My head whipped back around. “A little.”

“Don’t be,” she said, her smile soothing. “Michael’s about the nicest boss out there. Take good notes, do what he asks, and you two will get along just fine.”

I nodded, trying to commit her advice to memory. Though I didn’t stress about it too much. If I forgot something she told me, I was covered—a certain high-tech, audio-recording barrette was among my chosen accessories. That, and a beautiful silver necklace I had to keep reminding myself not to touch. The last thing I needed was to send Nate and Charlie a false alarm on my first day.

The elevator arrived after another moment with two male passengers. We stepped inside, and Vanessa reached over to press the button for floor two. I made a quick glance at the panel, and noted there were three floors above ground level and one below.

“You’ll be up on the second floor with me and the rest of the marketing group.” The other elevator occupants, who both appeared to be in their forties and were wearing nearly identical, nondescript navy suits, stopped talking and looked from Vanessa to me. She smiled at them and waved a hand in my direction. “Ted, Frank, meet Jessica. She’s Michael’s new AA.”

“Welcome aboard,” said the closer of the two. The other mumbled a greeting as well.

“Thank you.” An awkward silence followed as I debated whether or not to say more. Thankfully, the elevator arrived at the second floor and spared me. “Well, have a good day!” I said, and hurried after Vanessa and her thoroughbred legs.

“Don’t let those two intimidate you,” she said in a hushed voice once I’d caught up. “They’re reasonably harmless.”

Reasonably? “Good to know.”

She grinned. “Trust me, I’ve been here forever. If you need the skinny on anyone, Jessica, you come see me.”

I felt like someone had just handed me a winning lottery ticket. “Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.”

Vanessa led me through a set of opaque double-doors, which rendered the light and images on the other side muted and blurry. A placard beside the doors, made of the same brushed-copper material as the elevator doors, indicated we were entering the Marketing division. I felt a shiver run down my spine as we entered the bowels of the monster I’d come to vanquish.

The room’s decor was consistent with the rest of the building’s interior earth tones, but these walls were more of a warm, latte color. A moderate-sized water feature had been built into one of the walls, giving the room a spa-like effect. Four simple chairs and two small end tables stood just inside the door. The only other piece of furniture in the room now stood before us at its center.

“This is where I sit,” Vanessa said, waving her hand in true Vanna style.

I couldn’t help but gape at the mammoth, dark mocha-colored reception desk. It put my little desk at home to shame. I was instantly struck with a serious case of desk envy.

She cast me a sideways glance. “Took me
years
to talk Michael into ordering that desk. But after we remodeled the lobby, I insisted that my old partition-style
beast
had to go—it was destroying the room’s feng shui!”

As we passed by her desk, I noticed it was spotless, save for a large, thin computer monitor, a sleek black phone, and a copper-colored pen and pencil holder. Not a paperclip to be seen, nor a single speck of dust. Vanessa, it appeared, was of the uber-meticulous type.

“You, however,” she continued without looking back, “will have your own office down the hall, adjacent to Michael’s. His is at the far end.”

We continued down a hallway beyond the Marketing lobby, its walls painted the same warm beige color. Large photographs printed on sepia-like paper and framed in wood the same coloring of Vanessa’s desk hung throughout the hall. Cookie cutter offices dotted either side of the aisle, most with doors still closed at this early hour.

As we neared the far end of the hallway, I glanced at the nameplate on the corner office’s door.
Michael E. Frankston, Vice President of Marketing
My stomach twisted into a knot. If that was his office, then—

“And this…” Vanessa stopped in front of the door to the right of Mr. Frankston’s. “Is where you will be sitting.”

I glanced up at the nameplate holder on the door and was relieved to find it blank.

She produced a key connected to a glittery, bungee-looking cord around her wrist, and followed my gaze. “Sorry your nameplate isn’t up yet. But I did place a rush delivery on Friday, so it should be here any time.”

“Oh, I completely understand.” I watched Vanessa insert the key into Grace’s office door and turn it. The latch gave way, and a small pop and click sounded.

This was it. I was about to officially step into Grace’s old job. Unless my stomach turned any more sour—if it did, I’d be racing for a bathroom instead. Vanessa swung the door open and stepped aside so I could pass. Instead, I remained glued to the floor, willing my stomach to settle, and took in the sight.

This office may have been the same shape as all the others, but I knew even from where I stood that it was Grace’s. The Monet prints I’d helped her select and frame only a handful of months ago still hung on the walls. And the coat tree we’d found at a garage sale down the street stood like a silent sentry in the room’s far corner. Even her Van Gogh calendar had been left in place.

Alternating waves of grief and guilt pummeled me.

Vanessa turned around and smiled. “Ah, yes. The view is rather breathtaking, isn’t it?”

Still frozen in place, I forced my eyes away from the Van Gogh and looked to the wall of glass opposite us. Apparently the front of the building was not the only side comprised of mostly glass and steel. I stepped carefully into the room and gazed out at the view beyond. The office overlooked a small pond, complete with a white picket gazebo, and skirted on both sides with what in the summertime had surely been two beautiful perennial gardens. The view was amazing, though of course it wasn’t the real reason I’d been rendered speechless.

“You get used to it after a while.”

“I sure hope so,” I said, my voice small.

“Well.” She clapped her hands together lightly. “Like I said, Michael won’t be in for a while. Why don’t you take some time to get settled in and familiarize yourself with your new office. I’ll stop back by after I’ve gotten some coffee in me, and take you on a tour of the rest of our floor.”

“Great. Thanks.”

After she headed back down the hall, I stepped around behind the desk and lowered myself into Grace’s old chair. My eyes scanned the room again, more thoroughly this time, and I told myself there was nothing to feel guilty about—this whole assignment was temporary. Get in, find the villain, get out.

Though, now that I was actually here, the idea of looking for clues seemed so much more…dangerous.

I shook that worry from my mind, and began opening drawers, skimming through the contents stored in each. I found an empty one to stow my purse and lunch bag. There was even a cute little key inside, left there for me so I’d be able to lock them up if I felt so inclined. The next drawers I came to were shorter than the first, and were overflowing with an unlimited supply of pens, mechanical pencils, highlighters, paper clips, staples, stapler, staple remover, correction tape, Post-It Notes, scissors… You name it, it was probably in there.

I felt like I’d landed in stationery heaven.

* * * *

“All settled in?” Vanessa called from my doorway.

I nearly jumped out of my own skin. I’d been staring at the desk calendar I’d given Grace for her birthday this summer, and hadn’t heard her coming. “Oh! You scared me!” A nervous laugh escaped me. “Yes, I think so, thank you.”

She put a hand on her hip. “You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that. Michael’s even threatened to put a little bell around my neck. I told him that’s fine, so long as it’s got
24K
stamped on it.”

I glanced at the multiple strands that already graced her neck and smiled. The woman clearly loved her jewelry.

“Shall I take you on a tour of the floor?”

“That’d be great.”

We stepped back out into the hallway, and Vanessa resumed her role as tour guide.

“Our department takes up half the second floor. Michael’s office is here, next to yours. The two across from you are unoccupied, left that way on purpose. See, sometimes we have major projects come up. And when they do, Michael sometimes brings in consultants to help us. He lets them set up shop in there temporarily.”

“How often do we have projects like that?”

“Last year, we only had one or two people in for a few days here and there. This year, though, we had a group on site for several months—that project just wrapped up a few weeks ago. It really just depends on whether or not we have any major projects come up.”

A few weeks ago? I hoped like hell the person I was here to find wasn’t already gone—I’d be stuck here looking for clues forever.

Vanessa turned and continued down the hall. Next on my side of the aisle was the small conference room where my job interview had been. Beyond that was the beginning of a half dozen offices that housed Mr. Frankston’s senior marketing staff. Vanessa explained that I would be working with them from time to time, and introduced me to those present.

Everyone greeted me warmly except for one older gentleman. Harry Crimwall. Harry was irritated by the interruption to his early-morning train of thought, and grumbled under his breath something that sounded an awful lot like “damn women today.” We apologized and made a hasty exit from his office.

As we continued down the aisle and passed behind the lobby, I noticed the rooms in this portion of the wing were smaller and looked less polished. They included another small conference room, several storage rooms, and a set of his and her bathrooms. The last room in the hall was a small kitchenette—presumably the break room. It was nothing special, containing a few tables and chairs, two refrigerators, two microwaves and an assortment of small vending machines.

I scanned the room and longed for my usual lunch seat. At home. In my own kitchen. “Does this fill up pretty quickly at lunchtime?”

Vanessa shrugged. “Depends on the weather. If it’s nice outside, a lot of people opt for the picnic tables out back. Others just shut their doors and eat at their desk. I usually go out to lunch, myself. Can’t really eat at my desk like everyone else, since I’m right out in the middle of the lobby and all. And you never know who you might get stuck sitting next to in here.”

I turned to her in surprise. “Stuck?”

“After you’ve been here a few days,” she said with a wink, “we’ll talk.”

Excellent.

As we made our way back toward my office, I noticed Mr. Frankston’s door was open. A few steps closer, and his confident baritone voice wafted out into the hall. My palms began to sweat. From what Vanessa had said, I’d be spending a good chunk of my day with the man. And that’s what had me suddenly anxious—it was one thing to buffalo him during an interview, but to actually assume the role of AA and truly pull it off was something else entirely.

Vanessa stopped at his door with me two steps behind. I peeked around her shoulder to see he was on the phone, but after a moment he looked up and waved us inside. Mr. Frankston’s office was tastefully decorated with thick, leather seats and an assortment of potted green plants. But the massive mahogany desk against the far wall really caught my attention.

And the clutter bomb that appeared to have gone off on top of it.

Unlike Vanessa’s desk, Mr. Frankston’s was an absolute disaster. Notepads, loose papers and open filing folders were strewn out over ninety percent of its surface, along with innumerable paperclips and writing utensils. His computer monitor looked like a psychedelic lion’s mane, surrounded by sticky notes of assorted colors.

A grin stole across my face as I realized Michael and I were going to get along just fine.

“Okay, Don, I need to let you go. My new employee just arrived and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. I know I am. Yep, you too.”

He set the phone back in its cradle and smiled broadly at me. “Well, Miss Hartley,” he bellowed, “so glad to see you again. I assume that Vanessa has done what I’d asked and given you the grand tour?”