A Billion Little Clues (15 page)

For once, my prayers were answered. I heard the soft ding of the elevators up ahead, and put on an extra burst of speed. Still holding the papers that Carrie had thrust into my hands, I slid into the elevator, my finger stabbing at the "close doors" button. And mercifully, I felt the sensation of lift as the elevator carried me up to safety.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

As the elevator carried me back up to the top of the building, to the waiting billionaire, I felt my fears of being murdered in the basement fall away, left below me. I had done it! I knew who the killer was, and I was going to prove my sexy new boss's innocence! And then with that done, there'd be no threat of jail, and he could totally be with me, and sweep me away on a glamorous vacation to some island that he owned where there was a strict no-clothes policy...

I shook my head, trying to ditch this oh-so-persistent vision, but I couldn't get the smile off of my face. I couldn't wait to tell Roman!

On the twenty-eighth floor, I stopped briefly at my office to drop off the papers that Carrie had insisted on pushing into my hands. For all I knew, they were right, but that still didn't mean that she hadn't been the one to kill Silvers.

Actually, I noticed that there were a lot more papers in my office than there had been earlier today. What were all of these? I picked up a sheet at random, and grimaced as I saw row after row of very dull looking numbers.

"They dropped those off earlier." I jumped at the languid voice, and spun around to glare at Eleanor. She was leaning against the door of my office, smiling a little as she saw the discomfort she had caused me. "They're from Silvers' office. Roman thought you might need more evidence."

"Thanks," I told the insufferable woman, my tone making it clear that I meant the exact opposite. But the stupid receptionist just shrugged and walked away, somehow still managing to swing her hips back and forth on those model-thin legs.

I dropped down Carrie's papers on top of the other ones from Silvers' office. As I did so, however, one of the papers on top of a stack caught my eye. I reached over and picked it up.

"Quarterly department allocations," I read off from the top. "God, these are such boring titles! Why can't they call it something that actually makes sense and isn't mumbo jumbo?"

A quick computer search, however, revealed that this list of numbers actually was the amount of money given to each department during the year - the same thing that Carrie had claimed was wrong. I picked up Carrie's chart again and set the two papers down side by side, running my finger back and forth from one to the other.

Huh. That was odd. Sure enough, just as Carrie claimed, her numbers were off - by quite a bit. And it looked like they were getting worse as time went on - the further back I went, the smaller the discrepancy shrank. But it was still there, stretching back...

My finger ran down the list, counting back. There! Just under a year ago was where the numbers started being off. A whole year, and Silvers hadn't done anything about it? He really didn't seem like a good accountant.

So, I reflected, sitting back from the numbers. This meant that Carrie was right about her budget being off! But that still didn't mean that she wasn't the murderer. If Silvers refused to admit this, perhaps she had grown so frustrated that she'd just killed him in the heat of the moment.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by the sound of a knock on my door. I looked up, already getting an insult ready to snap at that damn receptionist - but my words died unspoken in my throat as a smile spread across my face.

Roman was standing there, leaning easily against the entrance as he ran his smoky dark eyes over me. "Back from the basement?" he asked.

I nodded, getting up from behind the desk as the man stepped into my office. I noticed that he seemed to have recaptured his old swagger, and he looked once again calm and collected. And there was a glint of something in his eye as he advanced on me that made my heart beat faster. "I think that I know who committed the murder!" I exclaimed.

Roman's eyebrows jumped up. "Don't keep me in suspense," he cajoled me.

I grinned back at him. "I think it was Carrie," I said.

"Really? Why?"

I pointed down at the sheets of numbers in front of me. "Because her budget was being cut, but Silvers refused to admit it," I explained. "And that woman is crazy! She nearly tore my head off when I just asked about it! I know that she was on the guest list for your party, and maybe in the heat of the moment, she just couldn't stand him not telling her the truth any more and lashed out."

Actually, now that I said this, I wasn't quite as confident in my decision. But Roman nodded, as though it all made perfect sense. "She does have a temper," he admitted. "When people have abused IT in the past, I've seen her hurl a hard drive across the room. Nearly beaned me with a mouse, once."

He believed me! I felt a rush of happiness bloom inside me like a firework. But an instant later, that happiness was totally overpowered by another rush of feeling - this time as Roman's hands slid around my waist, pulling me in close to him.

"You've gotten a hell of a lot figured out in just a day," he whispered down to me, his breath hot against my ear. "I think I need to take you out to show you my proper thanks."

"You do," I told him, feeling the heat of his hands through my blouse. "Someplace really fancy. And expensive. And with champagne." Ooh, he was bringing up all sorts of naughty thoughts with just his touch!

Roman grinned at me - I could practically feel the damn man smile! He had to know the effect that he had on me. "I know just the place," he replied smoothly. "How about tonight, around seven?"

I probably would have agreed to show up at work naked the next day if he asked me in that voice. "Seven sounds good," I said dreamily, leaning in to try and inhale the man's scent.

"Good," he whispered back to me. "I'll text you the address. You can meet me there - how does that sound?"

I didn't even question how the man had my cell phone number. It had to be magic. Or fate. Or some combination of the two. "Sounds good," I replied again. God, I must sound like an idiot!

But even if this was the case, Roman didn't seem to notice - or care. "Good," he told me. "Oh, and one more thing - this is a very fancy place. And since I'm paying, the least you can do is make sure that you look especially... sexy." He pinched my ass to emphasize this, making me squirm delightedly in his arms.

"Of course," I told him, already lost in fantasies. "I'll wear whatever you want." Or nothing at all, I added, just barely managing to bite my tongue before that particular sentence came slipping out.

The billionaire's hands loosened around me, letting me step back slightly from him, but not totally letting me out of his grip just yet. "I'll see you there in a couple hours," he promised me.

And then, just as I started to nod my assent, he leaned in and planted another mindblowing, electric kiss on my lips. "A promise of what's to come," he whispered into my ear as he withdrew from my office.

Oh my god. I had to pinch myself as I watched him go sauntering away. I had solved the murder, and now I was going to go out with a billionaire who was most assuredly very into me! And he was going to do all sorts of naughty things to me afterwards! I was certain that I had to be dreaming.

But no, even after several test pinches, I was still here. Which was a mistake - I had to get home! I had to get ready for tonight!

Just over two hours later, I stepped into the dining room of "La Pomme Et La Terre," a ridiculously fancy looking place that was at the address Roman had texted to me. Just like at his party, the restaurant had valet parking (at least this time I knew what to do when the red-jacketed man came dashing up to the side of my car), and the interior was a wash of deep maroon velvet fabrics and wall hangings. Even the snooty host behind the front desk, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, spoke with a French accent. And when I stepped inside, he proved that he had the "stare down the length of his long nose dismissively at someone who obviously couldn't afford to be here" talent down to an art.

But as soon as I mentioned that I was meeting Mr. Wayland here, the man's entire attitude changed, and he became the picture of a gracious servant. "Of course! Forgive me, madam. Please, follow me right this way and I shall show you to your table personally." And with a series of bows and flourishes, he was off, sweeping through the main floor of the restaurant through the tables. I followed after him, nervously tugging down the hem of my dress.

Oh yes, my dress! With a bit more help from Rachel, I had picked out the absolute perfect outfit for tonight! I had on another little black dress (Rachel was a big fan of the little black dresses, so there were plenty in her closet for me to choose from), but hidden underneath? Some very lacy, very sexy hot red underwear that I had picked out nearly six months ago for an extra special occasion. They had lain in the bottom of my drawer since their purchase, never worn, but I had known that I'd need them someday. And that day was today! Trust me when I say that they made my body, usually not quite so impressive, look absolutely amazing.

So when I stepped into the restaurant, picking my way through the maze of tables after the host, I knew that I most definitely looked my best. This was more dressed up and fancy than I could ever remember being in my life.

And yet, when i laid eyes on Roman, I instantly felt awkward and underdressed.

The man looked absolutely perfect. He was dressed in a navy suit, so dark it was nearly black, with a crisp white shirt underneath. No tie wrapped around his neck, so his shirt hung open at his collar. I could see the faintest hint of a bare chest beneath, a couple slim hairs poking up and tantalizing me, urging me forward to explore more. The man's hair was actually combed for once, not mussy, and it really showed how much he was trying. As his eyes caught mine, his face bloomed into a smile and he rose up from his seat.

The host had danced in front of me and pulled out my chair so that I could take a seat. "Here you are, miss," he said smoothly as he pushed me forward. "And your server shall be along shortly to collect your drinks order."

The host scurried away, but he might as well no longer exist. I was staring at Roman, torn between desire and pure awe. I just wanted to leap across this table and tackle him, food be damned!

After a moment, Roman unobtrusively cleared his throat. "Still hard to believe," he said, shaking his head slightly. "That Carrie could snap like that after so many years with the company and attack Silvers. A real tragedy."

I nodded. "Yeah, it's really sad," I said, hoping that my voice sounded more convincing than I felt. How could I be sad, when I was out at a super fancy restaurant, getting dinner with a sexy billionaire? In fact, I deserved a medal for being able to think of anything besides dragging Roman off to the closest hotel room I could manage to afford.

The man looked downcast for a minute longer, but then seemed to shake it off, perking up a bit. "Ah, but that's a matter for the police, now," he said, brightening. "And for now, let us celebrate my not being in jail!" He raised his hand, and a waiter came scurrying over. "Let's get a bottle of champagne started," Roman told him before the waiter could even speak. "Something dry, not too aged." The man nodded and hurried off.

A moment later, leather-bound menus appeared in front of our faces, placed there by another waiter who had appeared out of nowhere. "When ready, sir, madam," he told us, standing by with pad and paper at the ready.

I scanned my gaze down the list of very fancy sounding dishes, trying not to look over at the prices on the right side of the menu. They didn't even print the numbers after the decimal! Fancy cut of steak that sounded incredibly expensive. All it said next to it was "83". Was that eighty-three dollars??

When I looked up, trying not to hyperventilate over the prices, Roman was grinning at me. "Shall we get some oysters for the table as an appetizer?" he asked, one eyebrow quirking up.

I hadn't tried oysters since my uncle's wedding a few years ago, and I remembered them tasting unpleasantly slimy, like someone with the flu had sneezed in my mouth. But they were supposed to be sexy, and I didn't want to give Roman any wrong ideas. "Oysters sounds great!" I replied brightly.

Roman nodded to the waiter beside us, who scribbled it down on his notepad. I quickly looked back at the menu, up towards the top section where the appetizers were presumably listed. "And some chicken drumsticks, too," I quickly added. That sounded a bit more like my style of food, even if they did cost eighteen dollars.

The waiter didn't even blink. "Right away, sir, miss," he told us, and popped away.

I spent a moment longer looking over the options on the menu, but eventually gave up and set the stiff leather aside. I would make a decision later when the waiter came back. Or maybe there would be some special, or Roman would end up ordering for both of us. He probably had much better taste in this than me - I didn't even know how a quail was supposed to taste. If it was slimy, do I send it back, or is it supposed to taste that way?