Uncovered (6 page)

You won’t regret it, but it’s your call.

-Oliver

I rapped my fingers on my desk to shake
out the tingles bursting across my skin. I wanted to reply—God, did I want
to—but I stopped myself and pulled my hands in my lap, wringing them together.
It hadn’t taken him long to get into my head. Somewhere in L.A., he was
probably sitting in his luxurious corporate office, waiting for me to continue
this exchange with him, and the thought of that both thrilled and terrified me.

But here was the thing: Oliver’s job wasn’t
on the line, so of course it wouldn’t matter to him that his mother had
declared him off-limits.

It was my place to put an end to
contacting him, no matter how much a part of myself reveled in his words.

I was here for Margaret, and the only way
to get anything I needed from her was to give her what she wanted. Period.

Moving the Rolodex from the far side of
my desk to sit right in front of me, I flipped through it until I found the
business card for Natalie Roche Events. As I dialed the event planner’s number
and got to work, I reminded myself again what I had to do—uncover, expose, and
get the hell out.

Uncovering Mr. Sex-in-a-Business-Suit
didn’t fit in those plans anywhere.

*

“How’s
life on the seventh floor?” Stella asked as she held the door open to the bar
she’d picked—a hole-in-the-wall called Sunny’s—on Tuesday. Processing the
skeptical look I wore as I took in our surroundings, she released a throaty
laugh. She hooked her arm through mine and led me to two open seats. “It’s a
little rough around the edges, but it’s quiet here,” she promised, setting her
Burberry bag on the bar. “Now, spill it, girl. How’s working for Mrs. Emerson?”
She emphasized Margaret’s name, causing me to scrunch my nose. To my relief,
she hadn’t noticed because she was digging around in her satchel in search of
her wallet.

“It’s…” I slid onto the stool beside her
and shrugged. “It’s different.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.” She pushed a thick
black curl behind her ear, causing her gold triple drop earring to swing back
and forth. “What did you say you did before?”

I hadn’t mentioned it, but I’d gone over
my pseudo-history so many times with Pen that I could probably tell people more
about Lizzie Connelly than Gemma Emerson. “I worked for the VP of a
telecommunications company.” I twisted the corner of the drink napkin in front
of me. “My job was mostly answering the phone, not—”

“Picking up Margaret’s laundry, trying to
remember her coffee order, and harassing people she thinks owe her for their
existence?”

Stunned by the unconcealed animosity
dripping from her beautiful accent, I stopped tracing the whorls in the
counter’s worn wood and looked up at Stella. “You said it,” I replied
carefully.

“Believe me, it’s easier to say when
there’s nobody around to run and tell her.” She turned her attention to the
blond bartender who was busy drying glasses a few feet away and called out,
“Hey, Luisa? Can I get a lemon drop and a—” She looked at me over her shoulder.

“I’ll take a bottle of Pumpkin Ale,” I
told Luisa, who winked at us before starting our order.

Placing her elbow on the counter top, she
rested her chin in her palm, drumming her scarlet-painted fingernails gently
against her cheek. “Didn’t take you for a beer drinker.”

“I’m not,” I admitted. “
But
I’m a
bit of a Halloween junkie and anything pumpkin-flavored goes with the
territory, including seasonal beer.”

“Mmm. You know, the company throws this
big Halloween charity gala for foster kids, and—”

I cringed. “Don’t remind me, I spent most
of Friday and today playing phone tag with the event planner.” I’d quickly
learned that
verify the final details with Natalie Roche
meant that it
was my duty to stay on top of the event planner until after the party.

“I’ve always heard good things about
Natalie,” Stella said, her forehead creasing. “She’s not rude, is she?”

The bartender slid my beer in front of
me, and I gave her an appreciative nod. Tipping the bottle up, I swallowed a
liberal amount before shaking my head. “No, she’s nice. Hell, she’s probably
too
nice. I just—”

Noticing my hesitation, Stella leaned
closer to me, her expression firm. “Honey, if I planned to tell you-know-who
everything you say about her, I would’ve just asked you to come to my office.
Anything said here is between you and me.”

Dipping my face close to her ear, I said,
“The party is in two weeks. Natalie has everything ready—I mean, I personally
have a walkthrough of the venue scheduled with her next week—but Margaret still
has me harassing her a few times a day.” It wouldn’t have been so bad if I called
the event planner with legitimate concerns, but it had gotten to the point
where I felt like a broken record. Adding that to the fact she was thirty-six
weeks pregnant and had another major event scheduled for this week, I was
certain Natalie wanted me to go jump headfirst off a cliff.

I straightened my back and rolled my
eyes. “Plus Margaret
loathes
waiting for a callback.”

“Lord, just now you sounded exactly like
her. That woman loathes a lot of things.” Raising her glass, Stella shivered in
delight as she took the first sip of her drink. “Ahh, I needed that. We’re
launching a new marketing campaign, and it’s been a pain in my ass.”

I nodded understandingly. “How long have
you been there?”

“At Emerson & Taylor?” she asked, and
I moved my head up and down. “Just under a year. During that time, Margaret’s
gone through two assistants.”

“Three assistants in a year is a little
outrageous.” I ran my finger around the rim of my beer bottle. “So what
happened to them?”

“Know that lovely little NDA Dora had you
sign on your first day in the office?”

Keeping the surprise off my face, I
bobbed my head. The truth was the HR director had never asked me to sign a
non-disclosure agreement. For the second time in less than a week, Dora’s
distractedness was working in my favor.

“Well, the PA before you started an
anonymous blog about an unnamed, bitch-faced fashion CEO. She messed up when
she blogged about a very specific argument she and Margaret had.” Snorting,
Stella signaled the bartender for another lemon drop, even though she wasn’t
halfway finished with her current drink. “And the assistant before her had sex
in the conference room.”

“With Oliver?” I hated that he was the
first person who came to mind when I thought of someone screwing an assistant
on the executive floor—and I hated that my chest tightened at that thought.

She swirled her drink. “Oliver Manning
steers clear of his mama’s employees.” She was silent for several seconds, and
then, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, she informed me, “The
VP was on the other end of the conference room romp.”

“
What
?”

“Uh huh. The man can’t keep it in his
pants to save his life.”

Although he hadn’t been with the company
when my father was CEO, I’d seen pictures of the company’s vice-president on
Emerson & Taylor’s website. From what Margaret had told me, he would be on
company business in London for the rest of the week, but I was in no hurry to
meet him, especially now that I knew he was a horn dog.

“Well, since I don’t have a blog or a
desire to hump a man whose official bio lists him as being happily married with
four children, I should be safe.”

“Yes.” Stella murmured a “
thanks”
when the bartender set her second drink in front of her. Scratching her head, she
leaned away from me, her dark eyes inquisitive. “You’re not going to ask about
Oliver?”

“What’s there to ask?” But of course my
thoughts automatically pinged to the ridiculously expensive gift card waiting
in my desk drawer and the email from last week I’d yet to erase, even though he
hadn’t messaged me since. “He doesn’t work there.”

“You’re not going to ask about him and
Dora?”

“If I did, what would you tell me?”

I could clearly hear Oliver’s voice
pounding in my skull, telling me that he absolutely wasn’t sleeping with the HR
director.

“That there is no Dora and Oliver.” She
studied my expression carefully as I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful.”
“They’re just close friends.”

“Close friends?” I felt my face heat up
when I blurted the question.

“Yes ma’am.” Polishing off the remainder
of her first drink, she lifted her shoulders playfully. “Not that there was
anything to ask.”

When
I stepped into the comfort of my apartment an hour and a half later, I kicked
off my black heels and left them by the front door. Plucking the hairpins out
of my updo, I dropped them on the foyer table and padded across the laminate
floor, following the sound of Pen’s voice to the dining room. I found her at
the table, squinting at her laptop screen. She was holding her phone between
her ear and her shoulder and making quick notes.

“Hey, I’m home,” I whispered.

Her head popped up, and she covered the
mouthpiece with her hand. “August business,” she explained.

August. The name conjured up images of
strong shoulders and a ready laugh. I’d met Pen’s longtime
associate
—another
“white hat” hacker who did the occasional side job—only a handful of times, but
he’d always been friendly.

When my tire had blown out on I-15 almost
two years ago while Pen and I were on our way back to my place after a Best Buy
excursion, she’d called August instead of her brother to help us. He’d come to
our aid quickly, looking more like a model than a tech whiz. While I watched
him change the tire—so that I’d be able to help myself if it ever happened
again—he’d made small talk with me. We talked about everything from my job to
the improvements my landlord was making to my apartment, until I’d finally
stopped him and warily asked if he planned on using all my information.

“
I wouldn’t be asking if I wanted
something from you
,” he had brazenly informed me, winking up at me as he
tightened a lug nut with the tire iron. “
I could crack your computer from my
phone.
If
I wanted to.
”

To date, I was one hundred percent
certain he’d never tried, so I nodded at my best friend. “Ahhh, I see. I’ll be
in the bath if you need me.”

She shook her head and jabbed her finger
toward the living room. “Coffee table,” she said, before snorting at something
August said and replying, “Are you kidding me? I can get it done in a week!”

Expecting mail, I turned on my heel and
crept back toward the living room. The sight of the stunning, floral
arrangement waiting on the coffee table stopped me in my tracks. Snow-white
lilies and vivid blue-dyed roses.

How had I missed these when I came in?

The strange, sexy combination brought a
splash of color to the neutral room. When I blinked, an image of cornflower
blue eyes and a sinful grin slunk into my mind. I didn’t even try to fight the
intense shiver that ran through me when I let his name wrap around my thoughts.

Oliver.

He was the only person I could think of
who knew my address, and who might send me flowers, but I’d chalked up his
radio silence since last Thursday to disinterest.

Swallowing hard, I stood over the coffee
table and plucked the note from the arrangement, a shock hissing through me
when the back of my fingers brushed a rose and I immediately pictured Oliver
again. I tried to remember the last time someone sent me a gift—not because
they were a client of mine, but just
because
. About a year ago, the man
I’d been dating gave me red roses over dinner, a week before he found out what
I did for a living and subsequently ended things. But this arrangement—they
were sadly a first for
me
this year. My hands trembled as I opened the
envelope.

Lizzie,

I still want to know more.

-Oliver

Wow. Two names, six words, and my mood
suddenly shifted from pensive to …
Oliver
—which was a confusing
combination of exasperation and desire.

He wanted to know
more
.

Even though I knew that likely had
everything to do with what was beneath my dress, and nothing to do with the
what, when, or why of Lizzie Connelly, his words set my skin on fire.

“I just ordered a pizza, and…. Damn, Gem,
you look like you’re about to combust,” Pen spoke up, dragging my focus from the
card to where she was now standing behind the armchair.

“Combust?” I managed unsteadily, grateful
for her intrusion. If she hadn’t said anything, I’d have probably kept
rereading the note, continued looking at the flowers.

“Would you have preferred I asked you
about the current state of your underwear?” When I glowered at her, she smiled suggestively.
“So, you already have a suitor other than the mystery caller who dragged your
ass out here? Impressive. Very impressive.”

I folded the note and shoved it back into
the tiny envelope. “For starters, the mystery guy who called me is definitely
not a suitor. If anything he’s the bane of my existence.” Running my fingers
through my long platinum hair, I sunk down in the leather cushions of the couch
behind me. I looked up at Pen, confusion clouding my expression. “Oliver
Manning asked me to dinner,” I confessed.

“And I think
my
panties just
melted.”

I’d successfully tiptoed around the
subject of Oliver and had even brushed off going into details about the gift
card situation last week, and the grin on my best friend’s face reminded me
why.

 “Pen,” I groaned, and she held up her
hands defensively.

“Whatever. Okay, so he asked you to
dinner. Why not just go with him?”

Realizing that I was still clutching his
note, I dropped it beside the flowers. “I don’t need the distraction. I don’t
want the complication. I
should
just concentrate on what I came here to
do.” Seeking a temporary reprieve from the Oliver onslaught that I’d brought
upon myself, I turned to face her. “What kind of job can you do for August in a
week?”

“The usual.” She shrugged, and I twisted
my lips.
The usual.
When it came to Pen’s job—and her solo side work—she
had no problem telling me things she definitely shouldn’t share. Of course, I
was the same way. Pen and I had that mutual trust in one another that few
people were lucky to find.  The moment she started a job with another person, however,
she was tight-lipped. As long as she wasn’t in danger, I never protested.
“How’d your drinks with the marketing chick go?”

“It was ... fun.” Thinking of how easy it
had been to talk to Stella, a sincere smile played at my lips

“Good. That you’re getting in with
Margaret’s employees, that is. Is she still going out of town tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Won’t be back until Friday
night.”

“
Perfect
. Gives you time to back
up her computer files.” At the look I gave her, she cocked her head. “Don’t
make that face at me, Gemma. We’ve been playing dirty thus far, no point in
holding back now.”

“You make it sound so bad.”

“Quit your bitching.” She opened her
mouth to say something else, but every time she started to speak, she stopped
herself, flicked her tongue over the center of her lips, and reconsidered her
words. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt if you said yes.”

“What?”

“To the manwhore. Let him take you out in
his douchemobile.”

“His douchemobile?” I threw my head back
and laughed. “Last week you were praising the design of the Viper and now it’s
a douchemobile?”

“Yeah, well, I’m also a jealous bitch.”
She fisted her dark hair into a ponytail before releasing it to fall around her
face. “You go out with him and then you can pick his gorgeous brain about his
wonderfully adoring mother.”

I brushed my finger over a velvety blue
petal and jerked my head to either side. “Unwise.”

“It might be fun. Did you ever think of
that?”

Sniffing, I got off the couch. “
That’s
why it’s unwise.” Although I wanted to take one last look at the flowers, I
kept my gaze straight ahead as I headed toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take
a bath before the pizza gets here.”

“Take too long and it’ll all be gone,” she
warned.

It wasn’t until I’d settled into the
bathtub, and a Rachele Royale song about having loud sex was throbbing in my
brain, that I came to terms with something that knocked me a little off my
axis.

I wished Oliver had sent those flowers to
me.
Gemma
, not Lizzie.

*

The
next morning, Margaret inundated me the second I set her scalding coffee on her
desk. “When did you say you were doing that walkthrough with Natalie?” She
didn’t look up from the paperwork strewn in front of her as she pointed to the
empty seat opposite her. “Did you make a note on my schedule?”

I sat down and crossed my legs at the
ankle. “Next Tuesday. And I’ve already updated your schedule.”

Although her attention was pointed down,
her frown of disapproval was clear.

Oh God, here it comes,
I thought. Picking a piece of lint off
the skirt of my navy fit-and-flare dress, I waited for Margaret’s next request,
and sure enough, a few seconds later, she ordered, “Move it to Monday.”

The possibility of changing the
appointment was slim, but I wasn’t about to let Margaret know that. If I was
ever going to get anything accomplished, getting on her good side was
imperative. “You got it,” I said smoothly. “I’ll have Natalie change the
appointment.”

Her blue eyes lifted to meet mine. “Wonderful.
Tuesday will be a full day. I’ll be in meetings with the board all day, and
I’ll need you close by to help keep minutes.”

So much for what Dora had told me about
the board meetings not involving me. Using the LCD writing tablet I’d picked up
over the long weekend, I made myself a note to get in touch with Natalie so I
could beg her to squeeze me in a day earlier. “Alright, I’ll shoot her an email
as soon as I get back to my desk and then I’ll follow up with her in a couple
hours.”

“Good enough.” Margaret sat up straight
in her high back chair and tapped her manicured finger against her chin. “As
you know, I’ll be flying to New York later today and won’t be back until Friday
afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve scheduled a car to meet me at the
airport?”

That had been one of the first things I’d
done the day I started—after my infuriating back and forth with her son. Any
thought of Oliver immediately pushed the flowers from last night into my mind,
and I knew I couldn’t ignore them.

Clearing my throat, I squared my
shoulders and began, “I emailed you the travel itinerary yesterday after—”

Margaret held up a hand. “I need you to
print them out and bring them to me.”

“No problem, I’ll drop them off shortly.”
When she realized I was waiting for her to finish today’s list, her eyes
narrowed into a slow, burning glare.

“Now.”

Fisting my hands in my lap, I smiled and
nodded, like a damn bobblehead. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As I departed
her office, my back uncomfortably straight and every muscle ticking in anger, I
wondered if she found any pleasure in this.

She had to, right?

“Absolute bullshit,” I hissed as I sat
down at my desk and began locating the documents I’d emailed her previously. As
I sent everything to the personal printer in my office, I glanced at the email
conversation I’d had with Oliver, reminding me that I’d have to thank him for
the flowers sooner than later. A frown tugged the corners of my lips. He could
have given up or moved on to another conquest—it wasn’t like the man was in
short supply of willing women, I supposed.
Though that would have been too
easy.

Releasing a frustrated noise, I gathered
the printouts and put them in a file folder before returning to Margaret’s
office. Her chair was empty, but when I heard her voice coming from the far end
of the room, I tiptoed closer to see her lying on the white sofa.

“God
damn
it, Oliver, I’m not
getting into this with you,” she growled, and I felt my breath catch. He was
everywhere—in my home, on my computer, and now on the phone with my boss. “I’m
leaving here in the next ten minutes as soon as that little—.”

Before she could call me who knows what,
I cleared my throat. She lifted her head slightly, observing me standing close
to her desk. “I’ll just leave these right here.” I flashed her the documents
before dropping them close to the based of her desktop screen.

She waved her hand flippantly, but before
I could completely leave her office, she stopped me. “Wait, Lizzie.” When I
turned, she was in an upright position, sliding her feet into her snake-print
Louboutin pumps. “I’m leaving shortly. I’m going to email you a list of things
I need you to take care of while I’m away.”

“I’ll look out for it.”

“Also, call the cleaning service in New
York and make sure they’ll have my apartment clean by this afternoon?”

“I’ll do it right now. Have a safe trip,
Margaret.”

Ignoring me, she resumed her call with her
son. “It’s too late to cancel, so you’re just going to have to deal with it,”
she snapped at him, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they were arguing about
as I returned to my desk to at least attempt to get some work done.