Layers: Book One (5 page)

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t tell you everything.”


“You don’t tell me anything.”

I scowl. “Hey, I’m not going to come crying to you every time someone make a pass at me. If I did, there would be days that I would be in your office more than mine.”

He gifts me with
The Brow.

And there goes all my gratefulness and relief. I look away—until it un–puckers.

“Can you think of anyone else?” he says with an edge of jealousy, I think.

Speaking of jealousy
. “There are the members of the Chuck-n-Fuck club.”

“What? You know about them?”

“Oh…please.” I smirk. “I heard about the infamous club my first day at Ryan. Everyone was taking bets on how long it would take before I joined.”

“Well FYI, there hasn’t been a new member in almost two years.”

“You’re lucky that no club member has sued your fine ass.”

“Former
club members.” He huffs.

“Sooo—sorry
, former
club members. Why did it take you so damn long to get it?”

“Get what?”

“The Golden Rule man. You don’t screw the crew, fuck the flock, and you
never
shag on the rug—where you walk.”

“Miss Golden Rule girl—FYI I never pursued any of them, not one. All of them came on to me; I just gave them what they wanted. Besides I had each of them sign a release.”

“Seriously? That’s not even legal. It doesn’t matter who the pursuer was. You’re the CEO.”

“Well, my attorney says it does matter and when they signed a release it became personal, non–work–related.”

“Well la–de–da. Your personal attorney is an idiot.”

He huffs. “Why the hell are we even talking about this? It’s in the past.”

“We’re talking about it because some of the members are my enemies—they fucking hate me.”

“Oh come on. Why would they hate you? Besides—long time ago, former club, and all that.”

I stare at him in absolute disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you really that naive? Ten or more years could pass and some of them would still hate me.” Hell, maybe even twenty years.

“Come on,” he mocks, “Name one.”

“One?” I huff. “I can name a dozen.” I count off on my fingers. “Ann, the main receptionist. She can’t look at me without giving me her
fuck off
look. Stacey Ames in payroll made a voodoo doll of my likeness about two years ago—she
still
sticks pins into it every day. Jamie Jones in HR claimed she was your fiancé and followed me home for weeks. She wouldn’t leave me alone so I asked Jules to storm into her office—claiming to be my jealous lover.”

“Jules played your lover?” He cringes.

Jules and Jaxson have issues. We’ll get into that some other time.

“The one and only. She was more than happy to play the part.”

“Of course she was.” He snorts.

“She marched into Jamie’s office with all guns firing. I missed most of the show but I did catch the part where she threatened to shove a ten–inch strap–on up her ass if she didn’t bug off.”

“So, is that why she resigned?”

“Maybe.” I grin. “Who’s to say?”

“You’re cheeky, you know that?”

“No, I’m a victim and a survivor of your mess.”

“Let’s see, there was Sandi in accounts payable or was it receivables? I think she worked for both departments. Anyway, she came to my office every day for a month crying and begging me to quit. She said you were the
one
––ruined her for all others. She though that if I quit, she could be your
one
. It was pathetic and sad.”

“Wait a minute, I don’t remember a Sandi.”

I frown. “That’s why it was so sad. On her last visit to my office, she told me that you two had bumped into each other in the hall. You smiled and flirted a little, but then you asked her if she was a new employee.”

She was devastated. I wanted to shake her and say—‘you stupid bitch. What did you expect?’”

“I’m a real prick.”

“Yes, Jaxson sometimes you are.” I sigh, then continue even thought my point has been made.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim and hit my head like the V–8 commercial. “The Crème–de–la–crème. Hanna Wilson. Do you remember her? Part time tech support: tall, red hair, always wears a sneer? She didn’t even try to hide her disdain for me—bitch likes to see me bleed. I had a few run–ins with her. The last one was in the elevator about six months ago. I’d run to work and had my head down catching my breath—she slipped in the elevator just before the doors closed—I looked up and Wham! The sneering bitch, clobbered me on the back of my head with her Jimmy Choo bag. I swear she stuffed the Choo with bricks—it friggin’ almost knocked me on my ass.”

I rub the back of my head in remembrance. “Two days later, I had Dale call her up to his office, claiming he was having problems with his desktop. While she was in his office I went to hers and exchanged her twelve- hundred-dollar Jimmy Choo with a counterfeit.” I chuckle.

“Then after work I gave her bag to Glenda, a homeless women who sells jewelry near my gym.”

He huffs. And I know––I just fucking know its coming. And there it is—
The Brow.
I.H.T.F.B!

“Eight stiches? That’s why you had eight stiches on the back of your head?”

“Yeah.”

“I asked you what happened and you told me you ran into something.”

“Well I did, a Choo.” I laugh.

He scowls. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny. You should have told me this shit was going on.”

“Oh pooh you. I handled them. Besides, most of your former F-n-C club members have quit or joined some other club. Hanna is the only one I would have considered a threat but she up and quit, just days after our last altercation.”

“Jules?” He asks.

“No, not this time. I think Dale and some of my other team members had something to do with it. But he refuses to divulge any details.

“None of it should have happened.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t have happened but it did. And I have you to thank. I would get the occasional sneer or cattiness but the claws didn’t come out until the
accidental
e-mail.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?” He takes a deep breath. “I swear it was sent out by mistake.” He crosses his heart—like that’s going to help. He’s as guilty as Mr. Simpson—glove or no glove.

I sit and study his eyes. Yeah, he’s still got those lying eyes. But do I need to harp on this any further? Hell yes! “Jaxson, really? I tell you we can’t continue our relationship. Then a couple of months later you find out that I’m dating Tim Howard in Legal. Then you compose a personal e-mail at work expressing in vivid salacious detail—what you did with me—still want to do—and what I can do for you. Then said e-mail gets sent out by
accident
.”

“I told you that I was just working out my feelings. It helped to type them out. It was intended for my eyes-only. Why would I intentionally send it out?”

“Really? I think it’s called marking your territory.”

“Why are we even talking about this? It’s water under the bridge.”

“I guess you’re right Ryan, because I
no
l
onger
work for you.”

He gives me
The Brow.
Please God, no more, I can’t take it.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant there is nothing I can do about the e-mail.”

“Whatever.

“Let’s just move on,” I whine. “My ass and head hurt and I’m hungry,” I whine-pout and it sounds pathetic. What am I, like two? My stomach growl-gurgles—growgles.

Jaxson cocks his head. “I think I need to feed you before that happens again. I also think a change in venue is warranted.”

Less than an hour later we’re sitting in his office—I’m eating a salad—not because I’m one of those girls that eat like anorexic rabbits. No. It’s because I’m a vegetarian and when you don’t give specific instructions on what you would like to eat, you get a salad.

As I contentedly chomp away on my lettuce I take in the scene that’s playing out before me. Jaxson has taken off his coat, tie and shoes. His shoeless feet are propped on the coffee table, while he reads the Times and eats his meat-lovers pizza. You see, Jaxson is a meat man. Don’t get me wrong; he does eat the occasional vegetable and fruit. You can’t look like a badass underwear model if you don’t.

Every time he eats a meaty meal he shows it to me and runs it under my nose. He thinks it’s funny. I think it’s stupid. Looking and smelling animal flesh doesn’t wig me out or make me ralph. I’ve told him this but he continues with his idiot meat-eater behavior. Whatever.

He looks up from his paper and catches me taking him in.

“Like what you see?” He raises his brows a couple times.

“You’re such a cocky bastard,” I say and put down my salad.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m hot.

I smile despite myself. “Arrogant much?” I say with faux disdain.

“A little, maybe.”

I roll my eyes. “A lot, maybe.”

“Okay, a lot.” He smirks. “It’s come in handy when I’m trying to acquire and or dissolve companies.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to agree with you. I’ve seen you in action, and although what you do isn’t pretty, it’s pretty damn impressive to watch.”

He looks up and studies me with intense eyes.”

“What? Do I have lettuce in my teeth?”

He clears his throat. “You’ve said many things to me Lex, but that was hands down one of the best. Thank you.”

I grin like an idiot. “You’re damn good at running this company. Your parents would have been proud. How could they not be?”

He looks away and I know I’d gone too far. Crap. From what he’s divulged about his parents, I know, they were very close. And even years after their tragic deaths in a plane crash, talking about them is difficult for him. I totally get it.

He recovers from his emotional moment then looks up.

“So who else hates you?”

Nice change of subject.
“You make it sound like I’m Cruella DeVille.” I fling my heels off and tuck my feet underneath my ass. I might as well get comfortable.

“If the Dalmatian coat fits.” He laughs.

“Okay, that was lame.”

He laughs. “Lame but funny.”

Really?
“Whatever.”

We sit and look at each other for a minute. Then I get it. It hits me like a brick wall.

“We’ve been looking at this whole thing wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this isn’t about my enemies. You don’t set someone up for embezzlement because you dislike them or they stole your dream man. You might super glue their laptop shut, or loosen the wheels on their desk chair, or send them flowers and sign the card ‘Your Love Slave, Frankie’. Not that I would do any of that.” I bat my guilty eyes.

Jaxson chuckles. “You’re cheeky.”

I lift a brow. “And quite creative, if I do say so myself.” I grab the reports and look through them again. “We’re missing something.”

“What are you looking for?”

I sigh. “I don’t really know.” I think for a minute. “Embezzlement isn’t easy to pull off. Other than access to the accounts and brain skills, it takes balls. And if you’re going to set someone up it takes mucho balls. We need to look at this from their perspective. What is my motive? What is the end result of my set up?”

“The end result is that you’re charged for a crime.”

“Yes, but what would most likely happen regardless of charges?”

“You would lose or leave you job.”

“Yes, out of a job and distracted. If you’re thinking about how to save your ass, you’re not thinking about your job.”

And then the brick wall crumbles and the bricks fall on my head. “Oh my God.” I flip through one of the files until I find what I’m looking for. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Jaxson stands up. ”See what?” He says and I hand him the file and point to an e-mail.”

“You might set someone up, if they know something that they shouldn’t. Right?”

“Yeah, you might.”

“Then you would need to cover your tracks, but maybe when you covered your tracks you missed a small detail.”

Jaxson looks at me with a confused scowl. “Okay I’m lost.”

“What do you do if someone has evidence against you, and you have access to said evidence?”

“You get rid of said evidence?”