The P.U.R.E. (10 page)

I shook with self-righteous anger as he led me to a private conference room and wondered if he’d have the gall to fire me.

“Okay, Gayle, let’s hear it. Tell me the whole story.”

I stared at him, mute for what seemed like a minute. I had no idea if he was truly listening or going through the motions, but I spilled it all.

Bob took notes and nodded in an almost fatherly manner. “The firm takes these matters seriously. I assure you, we will look into your accusations thoroughly. In the meantime, however, I need you to stop making wild statements about what the company will and won’t do about the matter. You are protected from retaliation while your claims are being investigated. However, making false claims for vindictive reasons will land you on your fanny on the street with no reference from Anderson-Blakely. Do I make myself clear?”

We stared at each other before I said in a barely audible voice, “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “When will the investigation begin, and who’ll be conducting it?”

“I can’t say. Human Resources takes charge of these types of situations. Do you have any further questions or concerns?” He stood.

“Yes. One. Does your wife still own Elizabethan Investments, the parent company of Dalrymple Beauty Consultants, which in turn owns five thousand shares of Aphrodite stock?”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped.

My confidence went up a notch. “Five thousand shares of Aphrodite, redeemable for eight hundred percent of stated value. Shares that are ultimately owned by a company your wife and Libby Jameson formed. Those shares. Ring a bell?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He ground his fists into the table surface as he stood there like a gorilla in a suit. “Where would you get such an idea?”

“I’ve seen the documents.”

“What documents? Show me.”

I wasn’t sure whether he was bluffing or truly didn’t know about his wife’s entanglements. I leaned toward the first. No way I’d show him the copies I’d made.

“Jayna had them on her desk.”

“Are you sure?” He tapped his first two fingers against his lips and chin as he stared down at me.

“Yes,” I said. I leaned back in my chair and squared my shoulders.

“Does anyone else know about the stock?”

“No. Just you—for the most part.”

“Why didn’t you tell Doug?”

“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen. He said I was seeing things and had misread the documents. He shut me down.”

“I see.”

Bob acted like he had an ‘a-ha’ moment at my mention of Doug’s disbelief. I’m sure he thought Doug’s skepticism enough to discount my claim, had I actually told Doug. If Bob already knew about the shares, he wouldn’t ask Doug. If he didn’t know about them, he might seek confirmation.

I wasn’t too worried about being caught in a lie. My fib paled next to Bob’s clear breach of independence. Of course, Bob might not only know about the shares, but he could have killed to keep their existence a secret.

Uh-oh. Time to play dumb.

Bob coughed into his fist. “Since my independence may
appear
to be impaired, I’ll need to remove myself from the Aphrodite engagement but not until I can investigate your story. I’d appreciate the opportunity to do so and would ask you to keep your suspicions to yourself for the time being.”

“Sure. Of course.” I nodded with deference I did not feel.

“Go back to the audit room. Not another word about this, or the other matter, until I’ve been in touch again.”

I stood and followed him back. Only Tony waited, mindlessly tallying a column of figures on his adding machine. Scarlett and Jon returned a few minutes later, followed by Doug, and Marilyn shortly after.

Jon winged up a brow after he took his chair. I shook my head as imperceptibly as I could. On a scrap of paper, I jotted a quick note telling him I’d call him later to explain all. I slipped the note into his jacket pocket on my way to the ladies’ room.

• • •

The jarring ring of the telephone at an otherwise silent moment had us all jumping. We shared one phone since the few calls we received usually came from Aphrodite staff answering our questions.

Doug answered. “Gayle, it’s for you.”

My stomach clenched. I hoped the call had nothing to do with my conversation with Bob a few hours earlier. Surely Human Resources wouldn’t call me at a client’s office to discuss an internal matter.

“Hello?” If I had to talk about the harassment, the audit room was the worst possible place. Everyone would be able to listen to my side of the conversation.

“Hi, Gayle.” The patronizing voice of Anderson-Blakely’s human resources rep, Sandy Gomez, chirped in my ear. “I need to schedule an hour with you to chat about some of the … challenges you’re facing. Can we set up a time now?”

I recognized the modulated rhythm and tone of Sandy’s carefully selected words, certain she’d been taught how in HR101.

Approach the subject with compassion but objectivity. Seek to strike a balance between the concerns and rights of the individual with those of the firm.

I had visions of HR reps sidling up to me like they would a wild, skittish colt. They would extend a shiny red apple to lure me close enough to throw a bridle on me.

“Gayle?”

“Sure. No problem.” I scanned the room’s other occupants to gauge if anyone seemed interested in my business. Everyone but Doug buried their heads in their work. “Do I need to clear my absence with my supervisor, or do I need to come in on my own time?”

I looked Doug in the eye as I spoke, not giving a rat’s ass by then who overheard. I was only warming up.

Computer keys clicked in the background. “We can meet anytime between seven a.m. and six p.m. Many people choose to come in before or after their scheduled hours at client offices so they don’t disrupt their day too much.”

In other words, get your billable time in first.

“I’ve been working seven to six at a minimum, so I’ll need to take a few hours away to meet with you no matter when we schedule it.”

“I understand, Gayle. Be sure to inform your current supervisor far in advance of whatever time we set up.”

“Well, Sandy, that might be a bit awkward since he’s the one I’m filing the complaint about.”

Scarlett gasped. Doug leveled a menacing glare at me. Marilyn and Bob frowned at what they probably deemed a lack of discretion. Jon tried to hide his reaction, but I could still read the shock on his face. Only Tony seemed oblivious to my conversation.

“You don’t need to divulge why you’re coming to see us, just that you have an appointment with precedence over your client engagement.”

I rolled my eyes at her corporate speak. “Gotcha. How about two p.m. the day after tomorrow?” I locked gazes with Doug as I spoke.

Neither of us blinked.

“You got it. We’ll talk to you then, Gayle. Goodbye.”

She hung up, but I continued to talk to the dead air. “Okay. I’ll let my supervisor know. What if he tries to retaliate though? Oh, wow! Nice to know. I appreciate those kinds of measures. Truly. I feel better already. Thank you so much. I’ll see you Thursday at two. Bye.”

I hung up and smiled at Doug. As if he hadn’t eavesdropped on a single word of my conversation, I said, “HR needs to see me Thursday at two o’clock. They said it will probably take the rest of the day, so I won’t be able to return until Friday.” I lowered my head and went back to my work. I had no need to observe his sneer.

My imagination worked well enough.

• • •

Doug hadn’t said a word to me since the call with Sandy. I had begun to hope my idle words about anti-retaliation measures had been more than an impotent attempt to hold him at bay. At six, Doug told us all to quit because he had a basketball game he wanted to watch.

Scarlett and Tony zipped out first, followed by Jon, who I hoped would wait for me.

“Gayle,” Doug said. “Since you have to leave early Thursday, I’ll need you to put in some extra hours tonight and tomorrow,” he began. “Do the shredding tonight. It shouldn’t take you too long.”

I held my tongue and tried to keep my face as expressionless as possible as I gathered up loose papers scattered on the floor near the box.

His voice carried no hint of anger or sarcasm. “I’ve lined up a referencer to fact check the financial statements Thursday morning. You’ll need to prepare the referencer’s aid tomorrow night after the rest of the team leaves. That way you’ll be able to grab whatever files you need without interrupting the rest of the team.”

“What’s a referencer and a referencer’s aid?” I asked.

He released a put-upon sigh. “A referencer’s aid is a financial statement roadmap. Every statement of fact in those financials, whether number or text, must be cross-referenced back to the support in our working papers. A referencer is the person who does the fact-checking, usually someone at my level who didn’t work on the job.”

I still couldn’t believe Anderson-Blakely would affix its name to the Aphrodite mess. “For Aphrodite? Already?” I hadn’t seen any drafts of the financial statements, but I supposed Doug, Bob and Marilyn could have been working on them.

“Yes, already. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No problem. So I’m basically doing the referencer’s job in advance of the referencer?” Doug had made a legitimate work request, though his timing was suspicious. To refuse might be deemed insubordination. I didn’t dare risk a counter claim given the complaint I was about to lodge.

“Got it in one, Gayle. There may be hope for you yet.”

“I’ll just get on with the shredding then.” I started toward the door, the heavy box in my arms.

Doug let me pass unmolested by nothing more than his phony smile.

Jon hovered outside the door, waiting. “Everything okay?” He took the box from my arms as we walked toward the shredder.

I peeped over my shoulder.

Doug stood in the frame of the door, his gaze right on us. No question he’d known Jon waited outside the door for me. The presence of a witness explained his restraint.

“I think so … for now. I have to shred before I can go. Would you mind waiting?” My bravery had ebbed, and no doubt it showed.

He smiled. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone with him. I’ll help you, then we can both get out of here.”

I gazed at the man who walked by my side, who carried my burden and offered his protection. He’d been passing me tiny puzzle pieces of who he was, one by one, day after day. I finally glimpsed how all those pieces might fit together to include me. The picture both frightened and thrilled.

I’d never had a bigger crush on anyone in my life.

14

The doorbell rang moments after I’d thrown on my sweats and a T-shirt. I peered through the peephole and, with a sigh of relief, unchained my door.

“Hey, Jon. Come on in.”

“Were you aware the second you put your eye to the peephole, the lighting changes? You alert your visitor that you’re home and standing just on the other side of the door when you do that.”

“Okay, Clousseau.” I shut the door behind him. “Did you get the note I left in your jacket?”

“What note?”

“I guess the answer would be ‘no’.”

“What did it say?”

“Just to call me tonight so I could tell you what happened. “

“Assuming you haven’t eaten yet, can we talk over dinner?”

“I could make us something quick here, except … I haven’t been to the grocery store in a while, so … ixnay on that idea.”

“Get your purse.”

I grabbed my bag off the sofa and trotted to the door like a dog with a leash in its teeth. “Where are we going?”

“To my apartment. I’ll make us something. We won’t have to fight over the check that way.”

“Okay. I guess I can stand another turkey, bacon and avocado sandwich,” I said with mock resignation.

“Not quite what I had in mind.” As if he needed to bolster his suggestion’s merits, he tacked on, “We also won’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us.”

“Right. Good thinking.”

I was a little confused as to the evolving nature of our relationship. Were we just friends, or was one or both of us working up the nerve to make a move? My own wants in that respect ran the gamut. Despite a raging crush, I had an inviolable rule against dating a co-worker. Worse, he had the added complexity of rebounding from a long-term relationship.

Neither of us seemed to be sticking to our script.

• • •

An hour later, the citrusy aroma of chicken piccata with some kind of fancy pasta, salad, and red wine filled Jon’s apartment. I shared all the details of my meeting with Bob as we ate and drank the amazing food he’d cooked. Jon doled out my red wine a thimbleful at a time.

Smart man … or a dumb one, depending on his end game.

“I can’t believe you put Bob on the spot. If he’s the one who killed Kenneth, he could be very dangerous.”

“Of course I realize that now, but he had me seeing red, and it sort of slipped out. I will say this though. He either has a stellar poker face, or he had nothing to do with Kenneth’s death.”

“He did at least call in your complaint. Talk about a fast turnaround.”

“I find that rather odd, to be honest. I’d been told Bob watched out for Doug. Maybe Doug finally ran out of rope.” I held out my wine glass for a refill.

Jon hesitated.

“I’m fine!” I cried.

He obliged me a few drops I downed with a dramatic toss of my head and fell off my chair onto his floor.

“Gayle!”

I got up, laughing. “Chill out, Jon. I was only messing with you. I can’t have drunk more than three or four ounces at the miserly rate you’ve been sharing.”

“Effective immediately, you’re cut off.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

A text chimed its arrival on my phone. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Don’t you want to find out if it’s another one from your secret admirer?” Jon asked.

I sighed and strolled over to retrieve my phone from my purse. I hadn’t received a text message, but a photograph. One taken inside my apartment. In my bedroom. “Oh my God!”

That day’s newspaper lay on my bed next to one of my thongs, its matching bra, and an unopened condom. I dropped the phone like it was radioactive and backed away, hyperventilating.